Forging kingdoms, p.23
Forging Kingdoms, page 23
Now, as the dawn sun rose behind the mountains to the east, he looked back to the west bank at the hundreds of craft, just visible in the gloom, being loaded with men and horses, each one attached to a rope spanning the river, rigged overnight. Much had gone into the planning and so far the operation had gone smoothly. The assault troops, commanded by Andronicus, had created a perimeter long enough to encompass the landing area and deep enough to accommodate the first wave now embarking over on the opposite bank. But there was now an urgency developing, growing more critical with each degree the sun rose, for during the night only infantry had been transported across as, in Polyperchon’s experience, horses tended to be spooked travelling on river craft in the hours of darkness. But now with the operation no longer a secret, he needed light cavalry on this side of the river to scout for signs of the enemy, for soon the army would be at its most vulnerable: split in half with a fair proportion mid-river.
‘Get them moving, now!’ Polyperchon bellowed across to the officer in charge of the embarkation. ‘There’s enough light for the horses to see!’
If his shouting did anything to speed up matters it was hardly evident, and the long queues leading to each of the ropes seemed to remain stationary despite the efforts of his hand-picked officers – clansmen of his personal guard, a Tymphaean loyal to him to death – commanding each embarkation point to move things along. Eventually the men manning the first of the craft to cast off started hauling on the rope, hand over hand, pulling themselves and their cargo of sixteen cavalrymen and their mounts east.
One by one the rest followed until the river was dotted with crafts at various points of the crossing. As the first craft touched the east bank Polyperchon urged the officer at that landing point to get the cavalry off at speed. ‘Keep them moving, Ialysus; we need to go faster.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the officer responded, pulling at the bridle of the first horse, encouraging it and its rider into more haste.
Thank the gods I still have loyal clansmen to reply upon.
‘Get pulling!’ Ialysus shouted to the handlers as the last beast splashed through the shallows onto dry land. ‘Get back to the other side as fast as you can, otherwise you’ll all be on fatigues.’
The men glanced at him, taking the threat seriously, as they busied themselves with the guide rope attaching the vessel to the spanning rope, pulling it towards what would now become the stern as they returned. Grateful that he at least had the respect of the loyal core of his officers, Polyperchon jogged away as they heaved off, heading for the next craft to urge them into swifter action and then the next until the pace of the operation had picked up to what he considered acceptable.
By the time the sun appeared over the peaks to the east, the light cavalry had all been transported and were now setting off north, east and south, looking for signs of Crateuas’ army as the remainder of the heavy infantry, not transported during the night, began to make the crossing. On through the morning the operation continued, exactly as Polyperchon had planned it, his lists and orders ensuring every unit knew where it had to wait on the west bank and where to go once it reached the east bank.
By midday half of the army was across, but, although this was the juncture that caused Polyperchon the most nerves, he found himself able to relax as the first of the scouts had come in from all three directions reporting there was no sight of any enemy activity within three leagues of the bridgehead, not even a stray scout.
To greater efforts he tried to urge his tired men, even as they once again changed shifts manning the craft, but all his shouting and cajoling were for nought as they were already working at the limits of their strength; his Tymphaean officers had seen to that.
On they came, crossing into Macedon, the infantry packed close on the craft, their shields slung on their backs and their pikes, unscrewed into halves, as two poles resting on their shoulders. In good humour did they splash through the shallows, the old hands joking about coming home using the rear entrance and getting as much ribald humour as possible from the situation as they moved with the ease of professionals to their muster points and the craft returned once more.
With the heavy infantry across, the heavy cavalry were next in line. The beasts were heaved and pulled onto the craft, their hooves stamping on the wooden decks, their riders holding their bridles firm and blowing into their nostrils whilst stroking their muzzles and speaking soft words in their ears. By mid-afternoon they were all across, Herakles among them, although Polyperchon did not see him land as he was busy at the other end of the bridgehead having the guide ropes supporting a bracing stake retied after the stake had come loose.
And then it was the turn of the light infantry to make the crossing, with the braver ones who had knowledge of swimming hanging onto the vessels as they were hauled across, their equipment being no threat to their buoyancy. Up and down the lines did Polyperchon jog, checking with his officers at each landing point, ever observant as to the state of each spanning rope, testing it remained secure to its stake, and that the two teams of four men manning each craft rotated their shifts every three crossings.
As the last of the light infantry jogged up the bank the first of the baggage carts was hauled off its transporter with others following over the breadth of the river. With mules braying in protest and oxen lowing in fear, the final part of the army, its stores and supplies, most dear to Polyperchon’s heart, made its way into Macedon. All his sacks of grain, crates of spare boots, tunics and cloaks, the replacement shields, pikes, swords and javelins and all the other stores that kept an army in the field for a season were ferried over with haste and care; and it was with great relief that Polyperchon could tick off the last of his precious wagons as it rolled onto the east bank for, apart from the rear-guard now embarking in the fading light, the whole army, more than twenty thousand, plus the baggage had made it across the Haliacmon in a day; and it was, to Polyperchon’s certain knowledge as he congratulated himself upon a job well done, down to meticulous planning and well-ordered lists. With the rear-guard now well on its way across, Polyperchon’s mind turned to food for he had eaten nothing since before dawn, such had been his concentration on the smooth running of the crossing. But first he knew his duty was to report to his king.
‘Very good,’ Herakles said, not looking up from his trencher of grilled lamb, having heard Polyperchon’s report.
Polyperchon stood in the entrance of the king’s tent waiting for him to say something else; to expand upon his feelings for an operation that successfully got over twenty thousand men and their support across a fifty-pace-wide river with no casualties in one single day.
‘Was there something else, Polyperchon?’ Herakles asked, finally deigning to look up.
Polyperchon swallowed, feeling awkward. ‘No, my lord king.’
Herakles waved him away. ‘Then you can get back to your lists.’
Humiliated once again, Polyperchon walked the short distance to his tent; pushing aside his body-slave waiting within, he kicked over the table set with bread, cold meat and cheese, swearing in a manner that would normally have shocked him.
‘I’ve a message for you, Polyperchon,’ a voice said, causing him to start.
He turned to see a figure seated in the shadows and frowned. ‘Who are you? How did you get in?’
‘Don’t blame your slave,’ the man said. ‘I told him I had a proposal that would be of great interest to you, and if he refused me entry then you would punish him for jeopardising a deal which could enrich you and get back the estates you’ve lost in the east of the country.’
Polyperchon was immediately interested. ‘Whom do you represent?’ he asked, already guessing the answer.
‘Kassandros and Thessalonike wish to talk to you. They’re waiting half a league downstream; I have a boat waiting on the fringe of the camp.’
It took but a moment for Polyperchon to make his decision.
*
‘So, other than the title of general commanding the king’s European army, Herakles has offered you nothing?’
The way Thessalonike put it made his part of the bargain sound very meagre indeed. ‘He’s promised reward when he takes the throne. Substantial reward.’
‘But he’s not going to take the throne,’ Kassandros pointed out, ‘is he?’
Polyperchon looked at the couple seated opposite him on boulders on the riverbank, their faces lit solely by the light of a half-moon. ‘Our army outnumbers yours.’
‘That’s not what my husband was talking about,’ Thessalonike said. ‘What he means is Herakles isn’t going to take the throne because you’re here talking to us, implying that your loyalty to him is less than absolute.’
‘He shows me no respect.’
‘So our informants say.’ Kassandros shook his head as if unable to believe how shoddily the ageing general was treated. ‘It must be intolerable.’
‘It is.’
‘We can make it right for you and give you the respect you deserve. We would offer you this should you eliminate Herakles: restoration of the estates around Amphipolis which we confiscated when we came to power, plus a hundred talents in gold.’
Polyperchon considered the offer. ‘That’s all very well; but wealth and property is one thing, respect is another. I must have a position.’
‘And so you shall, Polyperchon; of course you should have a position.’ Thessalonike pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders against the chilling mountain air. ‘We thought military governor with autonomous command of the Peloponnese from the isthmus down, with your own army and fleet.’
‘Military governor, eh? Autonomous, you say? That sounds very respectable. What about my daughter-in-law, Penelope? She still controls Corinth and Sykion.’
‘You are free to deal with her as you will; you’ll have the troops you need and the ability to land behind her wall. I think she’ll be very happy to join you in your support of us.’ Thessalonike leaned forward. ‘There is one other thing my husband forgot to mention: Barsine is also part of the deal.’
‘Dead?’
‘Dead.’
Polyperchon looked from Thessalonike to Kassandros and back again. They’re offering me the opportunity to avenge the humiliations I’ve been subjected to and become a man of respect in my own right with my own army and fleet. And as yet I’ve had no such assurances from Herakles and Barsine. ‘What about Andronicus?’
‘We’ve already spoken with him,’ Kassandros said.
Polyperchon could not hide his shock. ‘When?’
‘Last night as soon as he crossed the river with the assault troops. We agreed to pull Crateuas’ army back and he agreed to do nothing until we had spoken to you. You see, he sees the value of not having another king to fight over. Let the empire split into four or five kingdoms peacefully and all our lives will be far easier.’
‘Andronicus is a pragmatic man,’ Thessalonike put it, ‘which incidentally is, I think, why Ptolemy sent him. He will help you control the army once you’ve had Herakles and his mother dealt with.’
That had been his final worry. ‘Very well, I’ll do it. Herakles has done nothing to earn my loyalty, despite me giving him respect as a king. He does nothing but laugh at me and make jokes at my expense.’
‘Well, now the joke can be on him,’ Thessalonike said, her voice soft and smooth.
‘Yes, it can; and then we’ll see who’s laughing.’ A thought then occurred to him. ‘What about Artonis?’
Thessalonike’s eyes hardened. ‘She might not be a threat to us like Barsine and her bastard are, but she still supported them and would have gladly seen us dead. You can do what you like with her, so long as you kill her afterwards.’
ARTONIS.
THE WIDOW.
ALL SENSE OF urgency had evaporated from the invasion; for two days now, since the river crossing, the army had remained in its camp and Artonis could see no purpose for such inaction. It was no surprise to her that Polyperchon claimed the reason for the pause was to scout forward, seeking news of the enemy, whilst repairing equipment damaged in the crossing and taking stock – what of, he did not say. What Artonis did find surprising was that Andronicus did not dispute these pathetic excuses and would do nothing to hasten the move east along the river valley. Even when, that morning, she, Herakles and Barsine had confronted the two generals and ordered them to advance immediately, Andronicus had said they were not yet ready but they both promised the advance would commence at dawn the following day. Frustrated, they could do nothing but accept the situation for, between them, the two generals controlled the loyalty of most of the officers. The consequence of Herakles’ calamitous error of spending so much time hunting during their march north rather than getting to know the men who would be fighting for him was now clear to Artonis and Barsine – if not to him: he was nothing more than a figurehead.
‘But at least we’re moving east tomorrow,’ Artonis said to Barsine as they walked together that evening towards a large tent especially erected by the riverbank for a banquet to celebrate the commencement of the campaign proper.
‘Perhaps, my dear,’ Barsine said, ‘but I find this new concord between Andronicus and Polyperchon disturbing. The fact Andronicus brazenly supported Polyperchon’s pointless delay surely is a matter for concern; to me it smells of bribery. You don’t think Kassandros and Thessalonike could have got to them, do you?’
It was the first time Artonis had given any thought to the subject. ‘How would they benefit from going over to Kassandros?’
Barsine nodded to the guards standing either side of the entrance to the dining tent. ‘Try looking at it from the other way around: how do they benefit staying with us? What have we actually promised Polyperchon?’
Artonis had to concede the point. ‘Well, apart from an empty title, nothing.’
Barsine took her half-sister aside as they entered the dining area. ‘Exactly; and Andronicus is, essentially, a mercenary: it’s neither here nor there to him who wins this war, he’ll just go back to Egypt and tell Ptolemy he did what he thought was best.’
Artonis understood the awful implication. ‘And for Ptolemy it makes no difference if Kassandros or Herakles is in power in Macedon; it’s far away from Egypt.’
Barsine looked at Artonis, her expression grave. ‘Which means, in the final analysis, we can’t trust either of our two generals as neither has a vested interest in Herakles becoming king.’
‘But Polyperchon is so deferential to him; he calls him “my lord king” and boasts of being general of the king’s European army.’
‘Which, as we said, is an empty title. No, Artonis, I think we’ve been too complacent in assuming their loyalty was totally fixed on Herakles.’
She’s right; I should have seen it, especially as I’ve no reason to trust either of them. I just made the assumption they would far rather see Herakles as king of Macedon than the odious Kassandros. ‘We should watch them carefully. The trouble is: if we can’t trust them then who can we trust in this army?’
‘That’s the problem I’ve been wrestling with since Andronicus started agreeing with Polyperchon.’ Barsine turned and looked towards the assembling guests, mainly senior officers of Polyperchon’s Companions along with a few of their wives. ‘Come, my dear, this evening we should cultivate some new friends.’
‘My lord king,’ Polyperchon, said, rising, along with the rest of the guests, as Herakles entered the tent, impolitely late, ‘you are welcome. I’m honoured that you’ve accepted my invitation.’
Herakles dismissed the welcome with a curt nod. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to mess up your carefully compiled list as to who should recline next to whom. I know how much you pride yourself on your lists.’
Artonis saw the anger in Polyperchon’s eyes at her nephew’s demeaning of him and then looked around the assembled guests: none showed any surprise or shock in the way the king had just treated his senior general, and none found it amusing. She whispered in Barsine’s ear: ‘We’ve been remiss in allowing Herakles to treat Polyperchon with such disrespect – see, no one is the slightest bit surprised by that insult and none are amused. Most are from Tymphaea and don’t take kindly to their clan chieftain being treated thus.’ What does Andronicus make of it, I wonder? But of him there was no sign.
Barsine walked towards her son, arms outstretched. ‘Come and recline next to me, Herakles.’
Herakles took her hand. ‘If that doesn’t interfere with our host’s lists.’
‘Herakles, my darling,’ Barsine said, lowering her voice as she ushered him to her couch, ‘a man’s loyalty doesn’t survive such mocking. You should pay more respect to Polyperchon; he works very hard for your cause.’
‘Mother, he’s a finicky old woman who needs me more than I need him. I tried to respect him at first but then his pedantry began to grate on me and I realised why we found him where we did, hiding behind a wall. What would he be without me? A faded nonentity. No, Mother, I’ll treat him as I wish.’
‘And you expect him to fight for you?’ Artonis asked as the three reclined with Herakles in the middle.
Herakles looked at his aunt in surprise. ‘I’m his king; he’ll do as he’s told. Besides, he does the organising; Andronicus and I will do the fighting.’
