God of War: The Epic Story of Alexander the Great

FOURTEEN

We marched back over the Shipka Pass with our herds and our loot, and forty days’ worth of messages caught up with us all at once, and all the news was bad. The whole western border of Macedon was in arms – the Illyrians had risen, and were coming at us, to a man. Cleitus of Illyria – don’t blame me if everyone has the same name – had fifteen thousand men, and he had made a federation with two of the wilder northern tribes – the Autaratians and the Taulantians. According to our intelligence, the two northern tribes were coming down on our route of march.

Let me add that the best of our intelligence was from Thaïs. Thaïs had a stream of couriers, now – letters from Athens, letters from Pella, messages from the Triballians behind us.

‘It keeps me busy,’ she said. ‘It’s really no different from organising a party.’

I had to laugh. We were good at tactical intelligence collection – the Prodromoi and the hypaspitoi and the new Agrianian Psiloi were all excellent scouts, and they collected information and passed it back by couriers with professional competence, but at the next level we were still barbarians. Philip had some excellent sources, but they had all been intensely personal – his own friends in Athens and Sparta and Thebes and Persepolis, who sent him news. Alexander didn’t run his life that way, and we had to have new sources.

I hadn’t even seen the need. But Thaïs lived in the world of exchange of news. She bought news when she was a hetaera – now she merely bought more. And ran some of the sources herself.

Langarus, the King of the Agrianians, met us at the foot of the Shipka Pass. He’d covered our rear for two months, and now he was nervous. He had about four thousand men, and superb men at that – but the Illyrian actions meant that his neighbours might just choose to plunder him on their way to Macedon.

He was, I have to say, a fantastic ally. He stayed and watched that pass while his own crops burned. I’m not sure another ally so loyal existed in all the bowl of the world.

I read all Thaïs’s news during a long afternoon while the tent flapped in the early autumn wind, and then I took a stack of scrolls, tally sticks and small notes on papyrus to Alexander. He was sitting with Langarus and Perdiccas and a new man, who was introduced to me as Nicanor, son of Parmenio. He’d come from Asia to take command of the hypaspitoi, and to represent his father.

He glanced at me as I came in and then went back to talking to the king.

Alexander heard him out – he was discussing a point about Asia, of course. And then his eyes met mine.

‘It’s worse than it looks,’ I said. ‘I think the Illyrians are getting support from within Macedon.’ I started to synopsise the reporting, but Nicanor (as yet unintroduced) cut me off.

‘I’ll read them when I have time,’ he said. ‘Carry on.’

I looked at him. And laughed. It was becoming my new way of dealing with everything. ‘And you are?’

‘Your new strategos,’ he said. ‘I am Nicanor son of Parmenio.’

Alexander shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Nicanor,’ he said. ‘I have promised your father that you can command the hypaspitoi, but you will not be strategos. I’ll command myself.’

‘With all due respect,’ Nicanor said, ‘this is a time of real peril – not a time for boyish heroics. Pater sent me to put down the Illyrians. Riding about hunting Thracian refugees is not going to help you beat the Illyrians. Lord.’

I didn’t have to force a laugh. I could see this would be entertaining, and I sat down.

Nicanor turned and looked at me. ‘Who the fuck are you to sit down in the presence of your king?’ he asked.

Alexander settled his shoulders against the tent wall and smiled gently.

So be it. ‘I’m Ptolemy,’ I said. ‘If it has escaped your notice – I’m the largest landowner in Macedon after the king. I’m somatophylakes to the king. I grew up with him. And I have no idea who you are.’

‘Your insolence is astounding,’ Nicanor said.

I turned to Alexander. ‘May I smack him around, lord?’ I asked.

Alexander shook his head. ‘No. But Nicanor, most of the men in this army have earned their rank, through years of hard campaigning. To them, you are a newcomer and you will have to prove yourself. You will command the hypaspitoi under my supervision and direct orders until I say otherwise.’

Nicanor turned red and then white and then red. ‘Lord,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘You have been ill advised, if you imagine that you and your boys are ready to face the Illyrians in a campaign.’

Alexander didn’t explode. He nodded. ‘Would you care to place a wager?’ he asked.

When Nicanor stomped out of the tent, Alexander sent Nearchus after him.

‘Watch him,’ Alexander said. Then he turned and sighed. ‘So it begins,’ he said. ‘Parmenio will never see me as an adult – nor forgive me for outmanoeuvring him. Eventually . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Never mind. Give me Thaïs’s gleanings.’

I ran through what we knew, or guessed, about Cleitus of Illyria.

Hephaestion and Langarus had sat through all of this, and when I finished, Langarus made a face. ‘I think you should let Ptolemy here take Nicanor’s head,’ he said. ‘That one will make trouble.’

‘Perhaps in Pella,’ Alexander said. ‘Ptolemy, am I right in thinking he’ll make no trouble here?’

I nodded. I was glad he was asking my opinion about how the men felt – he needed the help – but in this case he was right. We’d just rolled over the Thracians – the men were worshipping their king like a god. Nicanor was not going to get anywhere with them.

Langarus smiled like a wolf. ‘Well – never mind him, then. I’ll take the Autaratians – I’ll head north in the morning along the old road. You go and take Cleitus, and we’ll crush this thing before it spreads.’

Langarus was, as I have mentioned, a pearl among allies.

We sent almost half the infantry home with all our loot and all the baggage. We kept about a third of the beasts – all cattle – to be able to drive our food with us, and we marched before the sun was up in the morning, heading west. We were in top physical shape, and we had just won a string of victories. The defeats of Pine Island were forgotten. We were invincible, and we raced across the Paeonian Mountains at a speed that was unheard of for an army with so many infantry. We’d marched three thousand stades in a month – now it was high summer, and even the high passes were comfortable.

Alexander’s goal was to turn Cleitus’s flank by rapid marches before he’d heard of us. He wanted to invest Cleitus’s capital at Pellium before Cleitus could gather reinforcements – especially from Glaucias of the Taulantians. It was an ambitious plan that required that we march eighty stades a day through mountains, and while we could do it, the cattle could not. Our carts started to break down, and our animals were dying – baggage animals cannot be pushed.

But neither could Alexander. He ordered all the baggage animals slaughtered. We ate for two days. Then everyone shouldered as much food as he could carry – officers and Hetaeroi included – and we marched without baggage. My whole camp went from a tent and three slaves and a cook pot with other pots nesting inside – to a bear fur robe that rolled on the crupper of my saddle, two cloaks and some spare chitons. I kept Ochrid to make my food and sent my other slaves home.

In truth, we looked more like a defeated army than a victorious one, and I worried every day about the weather. Five days of hard, cold rain in the mountains, and we’d have been in trouble. Even as it was, I knew – as keeper of the Military Journal – that we were losing men to desertion and exhaustion.

I had another run-in with Nicanor. There was no report from the hypaspists three days running, and when I approached Alectus, he simply made a face.

So I went to Nicanor.

‘You understand the Military Journal?’ I asked him, without preamble.

He shrugged. ‘Send it to me and I’ll show you how to keep it,’ he said. ‘You do it wrong, and it is full of information it doesn’t need to have.’

‘I keep it as the king commands,’ I said. ‘You need to send an officer with your reports.’

Nicanor didn’t even look at me. ‘No. When you serve under my father, you will learn your place. For the moment – don’t imagine you can give me orders. I have heard how you fucked up the hypaspitoi and had to be replaced – eh? Don’t play with me, boy.’

He had never served in the pages, and in many ways, despite his years of service under his father, he was soft. I threw him to the ground and rotated his left arm until he made a mewling noise.

‘I am not a boy. Next time you call me that, I’ll kill you and stuff your dick down your throat, understand? Your father is not worth shit here, understand?’ I was angry, and spit flew from my lips. ‘Your father is all but a convicted traitor, and if you so much as breathe in the wrong way with these troops, you will cease to be. Do you understand?’ I wrenched his shoulder with every word.

He said nothing. He was going to tough it out.

So I wrenched his shoulder harder, and he screamed. I had a knee in his back, and his Thessalian bodyguards were just a little too late – and Alectus was there, and so was Philip Longsword.

The two Thessalians were induced to stand perfectly still.

‘This is not Asia,’ I said. ‘Your father is not the king. And if I rip this arm off, nothing will happen to me. Now – order Philip to have an adjutant send reports to the Military Journal, or by Herakles my ancestor, I will make sure the hypaspitoi need a new commander today.’

‘Fuck youuuuaaheeh!’ he said. And then he collapsed. ‘Do it – just stop!’

I stopped. Looked around. ‘This was a disciplinary matter, and nothing will be said about it unless the king asks,’ I said. I let Nicanor go, and stepped away.

As soon as he was with his bodyguards, he turned on me.

‘I’ll have you skinned alive,’ he said.

I walked over to him and his Thessalians, who understood better than he did, and did nothing.

He flinched.

‘Go back to Asia or learn our ways,’ I said.

Macedon, eh? Tough crowd. And I had a temper, back then. Really, Parmenio made a mistake in not sending his sons to serve as pages. Nicanor would have known better. He’d have been one of us.

He never did learn, and neither did his brother, but that’s another story.

Fifteen days over the mountains. Alexander took me to task for beating Nicanor, and I took his admonishment with good grace, since Hephaestion told me in private that Alexander had blessed my name.

We were bleeding men by the time we reached Pellium. We’d come too far, too fast, and we lost more than a hundred veterans in the mountains. Alexander didn’t care, and you couldn’t make him care. He was on top of the world.

We came down the valley of the Asopus like a torrent, and our cavalry patrols were like a thunderbolt. Cleitus thought we were a thousand stades away.

In fact, I nearly caught him myself. I was leading two files of Hetaeroi in support of the Prodromoi, because the king wanted us to be able to do their job, too – a brilliant idea, really. So we took rotations as scouts, and it was my day, and we were fifty stades ahead of the hypaspitoi when we heard screams.

We were at the head of the valley, and we could see the ripening grain all the way to the foot of the rocky ridge where the grim fortress lurked – a true robber baron, our Cleitus, with his impregnable fort on a high rock so he would never need to fear the revenge of his many foes.

Somewhere away on my right, a child was screaming.

I had fifteen of the best warriors in the world. So I turned my horse and rode to the sound of the screams.

We burst out of the trees to see a ring of richly dressed men – furs, good wool cloaks, gold-mounted swords – and a big natural stone altar covered with blood. There were two sheep’s carcasses, and three dead children – two boys and girl. I saw it all in a glance.

The priest had his copper knife at the throat of the fourth child.

In truth, had Thaïs not been pregnant, I’d have captured Cleitus. He was right there, watching the sacrifices to see if the campaign against Alexander would be propitious. But her pregnancy had awakened something in me. That girl – she might have been two – set something off, and my first javelin took the priest high in the breast. He never got to cut her throat, but fell away from her, and she stood there and screamed while Nearchus and Cleomenes and all my lads started to kill the Illyrians around the altar.

Had I been a little quicker, or not wasted my javelin on the priest, I’d have had Cleitus. I didn’t know who he was, but he was there – we took a dozen noble prisoners and they all blabbed. He must have run the moment the javelins flew, and he must not have been dressed very well.

We killed a few of them and took most of the rest. I carried the girl back to camp. We had very few camp followers, but Ochrid took her. And of course, as soon as we made camp on the plain below the fortress at Pellium, we acquired hundreds of Illyrian women. Women are attracted by successful soldiers. I picked up a woman old enough to know her own mind and purchased her services as a nanny for the girl, whom I called Olympias for her imperious way with Ochrid. She was a funny little imp, and I liked her.

The problem was, we weren’t really all that successful. We occupied the fertile valley easily enough, and when part of his army came down from the hills, we chewed them up. But the bulk of his forces outnumbered us, and he had a heavy garrison in the fortress.

Alexander sent to Pella for siege machines and specialists. A small convoy reached us right away – the light catapults we’d left in the Paeonians came almost immediately, and we assembled them.

But then, Glaucias arrived and occupied the high ground behind us in the passes.

It was, to be frank, one of the worst errors I had ever seen Alexander make. He’d said – back there at the foot of Shipka – that we needed to strike before the Illyrians combined.

We failed, and they combined.

They started to eat our foraging parties. Our Agrianians and our archers could hold their own, but the slaves – what was left of them – were taken or killed.

The last of our Thracian cattle were killed and eaten, and we started on the food available in the little valley below the fortress. I knew – it was my job – that we had about five days’ food.

Alexander knew. We had an officers’ meeting – forty senior officers.

Alexander laid out his plan – a simple one – and we all listened in silence.

Nicanor waited until the king was done. ‘This is foolishness, lord. Send me to negotiate. If this army is lost, the army of Asia will have to be recalled.’

Alexander ignored him, and the rest of us saluted and headed for our units. On the way out of the tent, Hephaestion could be heard asking Nicanor how his shoulder was. And if he’d ever worried that the other one might be made to match it.

How Nicanor must have hated us. It still pleases me.

We marched off by regiments, out into the grain fields at the centre of the plain. We only had about seven thousand men, and we filled less than five stades’ frontage.

I’d written Alexander’s orders down on wax when he gave them, and there they are, copied fair in the Military Journal. We moved in line – eight deep – to the centre of the plain, and then we wheeled by subsections – ten files to a subsection – wheeled to the right to form a column, and then marched a few stades and formed front by inclining our subsections, so that we started in column, moved into a deep echelon, and then as the formed phalanx moved at half-step, the rest of the expended column gradually caught up – a beautiful manoeuvre, with the hypaspitoi on the right and the Agrianians on the left – the new Agrianians, not the ones integrated into the hypaspitoi. The Hetaeroi squadrons were on the wings, split left and right, as usual.

Then we retired from the centre by sections – right/left/right, the phalanx facing an imaginary enemy shrinking and shrinking while the column marched away to the rear – a manoeuvre we practised to be ready for a day of heavy defeat. And to the rear, the phalanx suddenly expanded at the run and faced in the new direction.

It was all well done – and best of all, it was done in total silence. Oh, here and there some awkward sod got struck by his phylarch or his file closer, but the effect was awe-inspiring.

We did it for three hours. We could see the Illyrians, up on the ridges above our little valley, moving around – gathering to watch – wandering down the hills to the edge of the woods. The bolder ones came right out into the fields to watch.

The whole valley was only twenty stades long and ten wide, and every time we changed formation or direction, we eased a little closer to the valley entrance. There was a low knoll there between two steep hills where the enemy had posted some armoured infantry and some archers to stop us from getting out of the valley.

We changed front to the right and then to the left. We faced about. We advanced with ponderous slowness, our lines perfectly dressed, our officers silenced. Even the horses were silent.

And every manoeuvre brought us a few paces closer to the knoll.

We advanced by wings, leaving the centre standing fast, and then wheeled the whole army all the way around, silently, swinging like an enormous and very slow door.

At the completion of that silent, slow wheel, the centre under Alexander was just about two hundred paces from the knoll.

Alexander raised his right arm and pumped it, once, and every man in the army gave the war cry. And then the whole army charged. The spears slammed down into the fighting stance, and the men of the pezhetaeroi charged at a dead run. No ponderous slowness at all. We were on the knoll before the Illyrians could react – and the cavalry rode right up those steep hills.

Cavalry doesn’t need cohesion to fight. It’s a lesson that infantry get to learn over and over.

I was the first man up the left-hand hill, and it was thick with Illyrians, many of whom were completely unarmed. But more of them were armed, and a lot of them had spears and bows, and we took hits. And every one of us had to pick our way over rocks and steep slopes.

Well – that’s what courage is for.

My long spear was perfect for the fight – I could reach up and punch it at a man a little above me on the hill, and it was long enough to pierce an eye socket a horse length away.

Illyrians are brave, and skilled hill fighters, and they tried to get under Poseidon, who was well recovered from his wound. But I used my javelins carefully and then my lance, which I ended up throwing into some bastard who needed it, and then I had the Keltoi sword in my hand, and I was at the top of the rocky hill, and I had beaten Perdiccas, who was still climbing the far hill.

Down in the valley below me, on the knoll, Alexander had the hypaspitoi formed in a small phalanx – now facing the way we had come, because we’d cleared the hills on either side and now, by the grace of the gods and pure luck and daring, the Illyrians were in the valley and we held the knoll.

My men cleared our hill – but we could already see that the victory would be fleeting. We couldn’t charge down the hill, and only surprise – complete and total fucking surprise, may I add – got us up that hill. Now the Illyrians were coming to their senses, and their chieftains were arming up and getting their warriors ready to rush us.

I sent Cleomenes down to ask Alexander if we were to dismount and hold the hilltops.

He waved us away as soon as he heard Cleomenes. I didn’t need to wait for orders. I ordered my troopers to file down the back of the hill – shallower, and better riding – but some men still had to dismount to negotiate the paths. Despite which, we were down the hills before the Illyrians could come at us, and we formed wedges in the rear of the hypaspitoi.

The hypaspitoi demonstrated the retreat by files from the centre manoeuvre that the pezhetaeroi had done earlier. The hypaspitoi did it in the face of a real enemy, but as soon as their front had shrunk enough to make them vulnerable, I charged from behind them with my squadron. We dispersed the Illyrians and rode over them, past them, and into our camp.

We had almost no baggage, you’ll recall, but I was damned if I was losing Ochrid or the little girl. I got him on a horse and her across my saddle-bow, and then we cut our way back through the Illyrians – who were as angry as hornets and just about as organised.

Perdiccas’s squadron charged as soon as we were on the knoll, and by the time they came back, the hypaspitoi had marched away. Then Perdiccas retired, and I covered him. It was all just like parade-ground practice, because the Illyrians didn’t really have any cavalry and they weren’t really interested in pursuit, anyway.

We had no food and no baggage and we’d just lost all our slaves.

It was ten days’ march back to Macedon.

But we hadn’t lost a fight and we were intact, and I thought that Alexander had done very well indeed.

Just goes to show how little I knew him.

We marched for two days, a little more than a hundred stades through the mountains. We had no reports from anywhere, and that, by itself, was suspicious. Someone was killing our couriers.

Two hours before sun-up on the third day, Cleitus wakened me.

‘The king wants you,’ he said.

Well – no interruptions in Illyria. I was sleeping in my boots. I got up, pulled my Thracian cloak around me in the pre-dawn cold and followed Cleitus.

For the first time in ten days, it started to rain.

Morale was going to plummet.

The king was standing by a huge fire – a fire made by cutting down three dead trees and lighting a small fire under the intersection. You can warm a great many men that way.

If the fire is big and hot enough, it launches a column of smoke and heat so dense that the rain won’t penetrate it. Seriously – you can sleep dry, if you can stay close enough to the fire. And remember, we had no tents of any kind by this time – even Alexander’s pavilion had been abandoned to the Illyrians.

‘We march in one hour,’ he said. It was Nicanor and Hephaestion, me and Perdiccas, and the three remaining regimental commanders of the pezhetaeroi. Black Cleitus was the unofficial commander of the Psiloi.

Cleitus frowned. ‘Lord, they are not behind us.’ He shrugged. ‘We have all the time in the world.’

Alexander grinned. ‘We’re not going to Macedon,’ he said. ‘We’re going back to Pellium.’

Of course we were. Where had I been?

Alexander gave me charge of the ‘new’ Agrianians and my Hetaeroi, and we moved as fast as unencumbered, hungry men can march – all the way back up our own trail. The whole valley was deserted. We rode fast, and the tribesmen ran alongside us like hounds. Behind my last files came the hypaspitoi and the other Hetaeroi and the archers, under Perdiccas and Alexander. Ahead of us were the Prodromoi. They picked up or killed every Illyrian on the road – the track, the pair of cart ruts and deep mud puddles that passed for a road in Illyria.

But we moved.

And when darkness fell, we had a new wrinkle. The Prodromoi had spaced men out along the track, with torches – guides – every half a stade.

We kept moving.

All night.

That was new.

I was done in when the sky started to get lighter. I was leading my light riding horse, saving Poseidon for the battle. My legs were like hot lead, and my ankles had twisted and twisted going over the rocks, and my feet were soaked and I had thick crap between my toes, because in the dark you can’t see where the worst puddles are.

Nicanor halted just behind me. He was the first man in the hypaspists, and I was shepherding the rear of my vanguard.

‘He’s either insane, or brilliant,’ Nicanor said. ‘And if you try for me right now, I have a sword in my hand.’

I looked back at him. He wasn’t afraid of me. None of Parmenio’s sons were yellow. ‘It wasn’t personal,’ I said. ‘You had it coming. If you obey the king and join with us, the king will accept you.’

‘Hmm,’ Nicanor said. ‘If the king pulls this off, I may be convinced.’ He shook his head. ‘My pater’s going to take even more convincing, though.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said. It was. I knew the king didn’t want conflict with Parmenio’s faction. He wanted them to join him, and he was winning Nicanor over. He was, after all, the most charming man ever born, like one of the very gods when he chose.

‘But I owe you for the shoulder, and no mistake,’ he added.

‘Think of Pausanias’s fate with Attalus, and count yourself lucky,’ I said.

We were never friends.

An hour after first light, the Prodromoi reported that the whole enemy army was down in the valley in our old camp, and that they had no guards, no earthworks, no fortifications and no ambushes.

Alexander detached the Hetaeroi, the Agrianians and the archers to hit them immediately, while the hypaspitoi formed in close order on the knoll. Messengers were sent back for the pezhetaeroi, to hurry them along. They’d fallen behind in the dark.

We didn’t wait for them, and they were never required.

We fell on them when most of them were still in their blankets. The Agrianians went in first, and then the archers came in from the west, and they were silent and grim. I never saw them, and Illyrians died – throats slit, spears in bellies – without waking. By the time the alarm was given the ‘battle’ was over. My Hetaeroi charged the camp on horseback, and we were the least effective part of the raid. And the raid turned into the ‘battle’, because the Illyrians lost their nerve – Cleitus lost his nerve and ran for his fortress, and the silent Agrianian killers ripped his retinue to shreds.

It was horrible work, and we did it without much thought – I wasn’t in a single ‘fight’ and my life was never at risk. I killed men who were running, and I killed men who were sleeping, and I killed a great many men who were simply cowering away from my lance-point with empty eyes.

And then we were done.

It was noon before the pezhetaeroi caught up. They’d taken a wrong turn in the mountains. By then we’d recovered our slaves and camp servants, taken a horde of prisoners and we were mostly asleep. Except that we had sentries, and order.

I was awakened from a brief and exhausted sleep to find the King of Macedon standing over me.

‘Something wrong?’ I murmured, or something equally banal.

His eyes sparkled, and he seemed to be bursting with energy. ‘Everyone’s asleep!’ he said. By which he meant Hephaestion.

I got up and dusted the pine needles off my chiton. ‘Everyone’s exhausted,’ I said.

Ochrid got up when I got up. He raised a bronze kettle and an eyebrow.

I nodded. Ochrid was an essential part of my life – he knew I wanted something, and he made hot wine and water with spices without interrupting my conversation.

‘That was the best battle,’ Alexander said, out of nowhere. He was all but bouncing up and down. ‘Did you see – did you see me? I was with the Agrianians. I was the first man into the camp.’

I hadn’t seen him. It had been dark, and I’d been worried about everything from enemy alertness to my retreat route if it all went wrong.

‘I was the first into camp and I killed a sentry. Alectus said I did it perfectly.’ He grinned.

These moods were delicate and easy to puncture, and the blackness that followed was worth avoiding.

‘Well done, lord. Killing a sentry is the most dangerous task, and deserving of the highest honour.’

‘That’s just what Alectus said!’ Alexander’s smile grew wider. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d understand. You don’t always.’

I shrugged. I was looking around for help. This was Hephaestion’s job, not mine. ‘I don’t always agree with you, lord.’

Alexander looked away. ‘I’m supposed to admire that in you, but to tell the truth, I’m not sure you are ever right. Sometimes I think you disagree just to be contrary.’

That was scary talk. ‘Lord, I try to keep you in touch with the common men.’

He nodded. ‘I know you think so, Ptolemy. But I understand them perfectly. They are cattle – but glorious cattle, and I know how to make them rise above themselves. You want them to stay comfortable, down in the mud.’

I want to keep them from cutting your throat, you arrogant popinjay. Demosthenes isn’t all wrong, either. I can remember thinking that.

‘It’s all right, Ptolemy. You’re the best of my generals – but you can’t be expected to understand everything I can see.’ He put a hand on my back – too tentatively, not quite the right physical contact, the way a certain kind of boy touches girls – not enough firmness, not enough confidence.

He could conquer the world, but he wasn’t all that good with people. Unless they wanted to worship him, in which case he was perfect.

I remember giving him a cynical smile. ‘I do my best to keep up,’ I said. I pointed at Nicanor to change the subject. ‘Parmenio’s son is coming around.’

Alexander nodded. Ochrid brought us cups of warm, spiced wine, and Alexander took his and nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

Alexander never noticed slaves. It was a sign.

Ochrid almost stumbled. ‘My pleasure, lord,’ he said.

Alexander beamed at him. Then turned back to me. ‘He’s a good man, your . . . what’s his name?’

Ochrid had been serving Alexander for three years. ‘Ochrid, my lord.’

Alexander nodded. ‘Nicanor will come around in time, but only until his father is here, and then something will have to be done.’ He shrugged. ‘You know that Attalus handed me all his treasonable correspondence – all Parmenio’s, all Demosthenes’ – before I had him killed. Yes?’

I had not known, but I had had my suspicions.

‘Parmenio was in the plot up to the hilt,’ Alexander said.

Now, I was no fan of Attalus, and I had little time for Parmenio, but my contrary streak was aching to point out to Alexander that before he killed his father, he’d been the plotter, and they were the faithful servants of the king. Luckily, I didn’t mention it.

I looked around to make sure no one was listening. ‘I think we’re facing an organised opposition right now,’ I said. ‘Thaïs believes—’

Alexander nodded. ‘I know what Thaïs believes,’ he said.

‘Do you have any news from Greece?’ I asked.

Alexander shook his head. ‘Thebes has already been taught her lesson. They won’t rise again.’

I felt like a conspirator. ‘They would if they thought that someone else was going to be King of Macedon,’ I said.

‘Amyntas?’ Alexander asked. ‘Or Caranus?’

I shrugged. ‘If you like.’ Amyntas son of Perdiccas was the heir apparent by virtue of being the last legitimate claimant to the throne left alive. He had ties to Attalus and to Parmenio – marriage ties, family ties, office-holding ties and landownership ties.

Caranus – I hope you are keeping track – was Cleopatra’s son by Philip, Alexander’s father. He was two years old and unlikely to make trouble for a would-be dynast, meaning that he was the perfect candidate to figurehead a rebellion.

‘Parmenio and Attalus and Amyntas were negotiating just four months ago,’ Alexander said.

‘Fuck me,’ I said. I hadn’t known, and I wasn’t cynical enough, yet. It’s amazing how cynical you have to be to keep up with human behaviour.

Alexander nodded. ‘When we leave the circle of the mountains, it is at least possible that we march to face Parmenio at Pella.’ He looked at the entrance to the pass. ‘And it is at least possible that Nicanor is here to watch us and do what damage he can.’

I had little love for the arrogant bastard, but – ‘That makes no sense, lord,’ I said. ‘Parmenio – whatever his faults – loves his sons like he loves himself. He wouldn’t sacrifice one.’

Alexander gave me the look of a man to whom all other men were expendable. ‘I can’t trust to that,’ he said.

‘The lads need a rest soon,’ I pointed out.

‘So you always say,’ Alexander said.

‘We’ve marched seven thousand stades, according to the Military Journal. We’ve fought four major actions and two dozen skirmishes.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘Lord, that’s four years’ worth of campaigning in one summer. They’re tired. I’m tired.’

Alexander finished his wine. ‘I’m tired too,’ he said, very quietly. ‘But we’re not done. I can feel it.’

Three hundred stades south of Pellium we found Langarus and his little army of Agrianians marching to our relief. They had won two actions and burned a swathe through the home country of the northern Illyrian tribes, and the Illyrian confederacy was smashed to pieces.

But Langarus had opened the road to Macedon as he came up it behind us, and with him were a dozen couriers, elements of our camp, the siege train, and Thaïs.

Thaïs wasn’t showing, and she was riding astride, dressed as a man, with a big straw hat, and only her maidservant, the black woman. I embarrassed my friends by kissing her in public – most of them had no idea who she was in her men’s clothes, and the image of me kissing a groom in public was indelibly printed on them. I took a great deal of ribbing.

That was fine.

Thaïs had intelligence – dozens of reports, most of them from Athens.

I took her to the king, and left them together.

She told me that he listened to her, read the letters she had and then wrote a long letter to his mother – it took him an hour to write, and he did it entirely himself, with no secretary.

Alexander offered Thaïs anything she wanted – a rich marriage, an estate. She told him that when the time was right, she would ask her favour, and he kissed her and swore by Herakles.

We lay together that night. The sex was emotional but not very athletic. She was distant.

I prodded and pulled at her until she snapped.

‘It’s all coming apart,’ she said. ‘And friends of mine will pay. People I like are going to betray Alexander, and he will kill them, and I’ve chosen sides.’ She cried in my arms.

In the morning, she rode back down the hills to Pella, and I sent Polystratus and all my grooms to guard her.

Alexander was wrong. The Greeks had stabbed us in the back.

Demosthenes, that paragon among Hellenes, had arranged for a cloak to be shown, covered in blood, in Thebes and Athens. The story was that Alexander had been killed in a rout in the Thracian hills.

Thebes laid our garrison under siege and some Macedonians were murdered. Athens vacillated – Demosthenes was not universally trusted or popular, and men like Phokion and Kineas’s father were powerful enough to stop outright rebellion. But Athens was on the brink.

Sparta was calling up her allies.

But that was not the worst of it.

In Asia, the new King of Kings had finally reacted to Parmenio’s presence. He had sent his best general – Memnon, the brilliant mercenary officer – with a largely Greek army to turn Parmenio out of the Troad, a region bounded by the Dardanelles to the north-west, by the Aegean Sea to the west and separated from the rest of Anatolia by the massif that forms Mount Ida, drained by two main rivers, the Scamander and the Simois, which join at the area containing the ruins of Troy.

He crossed Mount Ida and almost caught Parmenio by surprise at Cyzicus, and then slipped past him and took one of his supply bases at Lampsacus. Calas, one of Parmenio’s brigadiers, lost an action and had to retire – in the messages, it sounded as if he’d been trounced. Parmenio had given up two years’ conquests in Ionia. And worst of all, Darius, this new and powerful King of Kings, had offered Athens and Demosthenes three hundred talents of gold to ally with him and Thebes against Macedon.

Athens and Thebes held few fears for us. Right or wrong, we were sure we could take them. But Athens and Thebes backed by internal rebellion inside Macedon and the Great King – especially if Parmenio was complicit . . .

‘Look on the bright side,’ I said. I was drinking wine with the king, Hephaestion and Langarus. ‘Parmenio isn’t waiting for us on the plain in front of Pella. He’s trapped in the Troad, and he can’t even get his army across the straits. The Great King has done us a favour.’

Alexander raised his cup in my direction, as if toasting to me. ‘Sometimes,’ the king said, ‘you and I share a thought. You are a deeper man than you appear, Farm Boy.’

Well, take that as a compliment if you want. Alexander had a way of being at his most offensive when it was his intention to compliment.

We marched next day, from deep in Illyria, almost due south. It was another brutal march, and there’s no great story to tell – but if you look at the Military Journal you can see that we averaged a hundred stades a day, in mountains.

That’s the stark fact. A hundred stades on mountain tracks – tracks pounded to slush, mud and rock after a hundred men went over them, tracks where no wagon wheel could go and where, sometimes, the cavalry had to go by a completely different route from the infantry. Most nights, we slept without fires in early-autumn conditions, wrapped in blankets, sleeping on rocks.

Sometimes the rocks held the heat of the day. There are some rocks that are quite comfortable. Ask any veteran.

There was no wood.

No grain for horses.

No wine, no oil, too little food and no fire to cook it.

And little things began to spiral into big things. Imagine the wear that our nailed sandals had taken. The thongs that bound them had probably all snapped and been replaced by the time we were south of Pellium, but in the mountains, the soles themselves began to give way. Men’s shoulder-bag straps broke. The porpakes on our aspides were bent, deformed, sometimes separating from the wood of the shields. Spear shafts all had a cast to them – every time a soldier leans his spear against a barn, it bends a little. Javelin heads rattled when you picked them up, because successive cold nights and warm days worked the rivets. The beautiful homespun wool of a good soldier’s chiton, made by his wife or his sisters, was threadbare and lacked warmth, or worn through to holes; his chlamys was filthy and brown and ragged like a beggar’s, and knife blades were dull – or snapped. There weren’t a thousand sharp razors left in the army, because men dumped their sharpening stones when they were tired. Swords were like iron clubs.

All of us were as skinny as children in a hill town and most of us had lice.

And we had won all our battles.

But we’d been living like this since before winter – and habituated as we were, men’s bodies were starting to break down. As an example – I began to pull muscles – in my sides – every day, just climbing and letting myself down the mountains. Just walking. I hadn’t had a massage in ten months.

But Alexander was at his best when he was desperate. He communicated to his men that this was a gamble, and that the throne and empire were at stake – and that he took their trust for granted and that he needed them. He went from mess group to mess group every evening, which was unlike him – he wasn’t aloof, he listened when common men talked, and he made them promises – promises of rest when Greece was returned to obedience. And promises of loot I didn’t think we could fulfil.

We rose in the dark and we didn’t get to sleep until darkness fell again. In between, we marched.

Some days, I could look back from where I was near the lead of the column – mostly single file – and down a mountain valley I could see our army stretching back ten stades or more, filling every trail.

Villages emptied ahead of us.

That was just as well, because when we found a village, we looted it down to picked bones, and the bones were broken to get at the marrow.

And that will give you an idea of what it cost to go a hundred stades a day across the mountains.

We came out of the mountains in northern Thessaly. We raced across the Thessalian plain fast enough to shock every man we came across, but slowly enough to feed our horses to bursting on the good Thessalian grain – and grass – every day for four days. Our men ate beef and goat and lamb and bread – ate sausage even as they marched. Thessaly was friendly and had magazines and the king – who had no money at all – had credit there. We ate our way south.

I led the cavalry patrol that seized the Gates of Fire. I knew the way, knew the passes, and I was there and in possession – with a powerful sense that I’d done all this before – and there was no opposition. The grumblers in every regiment began to suggest we were attacking nothing.

We marched over the mountains to Onchestus and no one troubled us with so much as a sling stone.

And then we marched down on to the plains of Boeotia, the dance floor of Ares, and the race was run. The Athenians had not marched to the aid of Thebes, and Thebes did not have a Persian army camped under its sheltering walls.

That night, Alexander received letters from Pella, and a report that our siege train and most of our heavy baggage – including tents – was just five days behind us. Antipater had moved quickly, spending money Alexander didn’t have. In a few days, we were going to have twenty-six thousand soldiers.

Alexander dispatched heralds to Thebes. He sent them excellent terms – already, his mind was full of Asia. Or perhaps it always had been, but the spectre of Persian gold at Athens and Thebes brought home to him that Asia was not just waiting for conquest – Persia might, indeed, strike back at him. At every campfire across the Thessalian plain, he’d explained to us that he would be easy on the Thebans if they would bend the knee quickly, because he wanted to get fresh troops across the Bosporus before winter.

In his messages, he announced that he understood that they had been misled – and assuming him dead, had acted appropriately. He simply pointed out that he was not dead. He offered to meet a delegation and affirm the ancient liberties of the Polis.

The next morning, we marched early. Once again, I had the Prodromoi and the Hetaeroi, with orders to choose a camp – carefully, and with due respect for Thebes.

Well, I had little respect for Thebes, but I knew what Alexander wanted. Despite which, I fanned the Prodromoi out fifteen stades either side of our approach road, and I put strong parties of Agrianians in a chain behind them and kept the Hetaeroi together as a strike force.

Just another routine day, marching through Greece.

Before noon, the Prodromoi officers were reporting near-combat contacts, and parties of Theban aristocratic horsemen who they flushed from cover – olive groves, mostly – with flanking moves and who rode away. Since they had restrictive rules of engagement – in effect, we’d been told not to engage unless the Thebans started it – the Prodromoi just manoeuvred them out of their ill-set ambushes and continued forward. But that sort of thing is exhausting and annoying work, and by late morning, I was being begged for permission to ‘make an example’.

I didn’t have to. The idiot Thebans did it for themselves. They came at us in mid-afternoon, four hundred cavalry emerging from behind the low hills north of the city to flush my Prodromoi back on the column.

The Prodromoi retreated in good order, very quickly, and broke contact. The Agrianians went to ground and the Thebans never, I think, knew they were there.

I had a long chain of reports, so that half an hour after the Theban attack started, I had all my Hetaeroi in two small wedges facing down a long field of barley, with a hundred Agrianians on each flank.

The Theban cavalry rode into the other end of the field, as I had expected. After all, I was getting a new report on their movements every five minutes.

‘Don’t even twitch,’ I said to my men. ‘Let them do it, if they want.’

They rode away.

We rode up to Thebes and I picked a campsite – the same site we’d used the last time. I felt that sent the right message.

Alexander must have agreed, because he gripped my hand at the end of the day. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘They won’t fight now – but you left them no bodies to mourn. Well done.’

I loved his praise, when it was good praise.

I went to bed a happy man, and awoke to the sound of screams.

The Thebans had attacked our outposts in the dark – a huge attack, with twelve hundred hoplites. They came across the open ground in silence, and of course our army hadn’t fully entrenched, or anything like it. And Perdiccas hadn’t taken the precautions he should have. His outposts were surprised and overrun, and the Thebans killed at least two hundred pezhetaeroi and fifty hypaspists. And then they withdrew, untouched – we didn’t find a single body. Of course, they may have taken their dead with them – that’s certainly what I wrote in the Military Journal.

Either way, they hurt us and we did nothing in response, and that emboldened the war party. No matter that I’d shown them how toothless their cavalry was – never mind that we had every advantage. When men are determined on violence, it’s like a plague, and you cannot stop it.

Philip Longsword was among the dead. Alexander stood by his body in the new light of dawn, and he had white spots on either side of his nose and his lips looked pinched. His face was thinner than I’d ever seen it, and his ram’s horns were more pronounced. He looked like a satyr – a very angry satyr.

But despite that, he ordered our troops to dig in, and avoid combat contact.

So we did. The Hetaeroi, being aristocrats, didn’t dig – except in emergencies – but we were mounted in armour all day, moving from trouble spot to trouble spot.

The Assembly of Thebes voted for war to defend their liberties.

Our siege engines were three days’ march away. And our tents.

It rained. We were wet. Luckily, Greece is dry all summer, but autumn was coming.

The hypaspitoi marched out of camp and spread out, supported by the Agrianians, pillaging the countryside. This was an ancient tradition in Greek warfare. It was a public and somewhat formal statement – it showed the defenders that they could cower behind their walls, but they would lose everything outside them.

We understood from men inside the walls – because many Thebans were supporters of Alexander – that the Assembly was now divided. So, after some hesitation, Alexander had his heralds proclaim at the edge of the walls that any Theban who wished to come out of the city would be allowed to go free – or that if Thebes surrendered the two men who had murdered Macedonians, it could still avoid war. His herald reminded them that Alexander was the hegemon of the League and that Thebes was in violation of her sworn oaths.

The Thebans apparently read this as weakness.

The next day, their herald came out on the walls and called out in a voice of bronze, ‘Hellenes! Thebes stands with the King of Kings against the tyrant! Many times before, the King of Kings has aided Greece to throw off the yoke of tyranny and keep their cities free. Let us stand together, war down the tyrant, and be free together! But if the tyrant Alexander will give us Antipater and Philotas, as prisoners, men who are responsible for outrages against the Polis of Thebes, we will let him march away in peace.’

Philotas was Nicanor’s brother, and he was thousands of stades away, fighting the Persians in Asia.

I wasn’t anywhere near Alexander when the herald came out, but people tell me he went as white as parchment, and that when the man was done speaking, he spat.

No one likes to be called a tyrant. Least of all a tyrant. That was the same day we discovered that Olympias had killed Amyntas and Cleopatra’s children and that poor Cleopatra had hanged herself with one of her own dresses.

Macedon, eh? Olympias held the children face down in the coals of a brazier and literally burned their faces off. One at a time.

I didn’t need Thaïs to tell me what was in the letters from Alexander to Olympias.

But that didn’t make the cowardly Thebans right. Alexander had many failings. But we brought peace to the Greeks, and we made them ten times as rich and prosperous and lawful as ever before. We ended their petty squabbles, and how many women were raped, how many children burned in the endless cycle of wars? How many died when Athens and Sparta danced?

Thebes never had an empire. Thebes never thought beyond the narrow confines of the plain of Boeotia. Of the great cities, only Thebes allied with Persia – over and over. When Thebes defeated Sparta, they did nothing to pick up the reins of Sparta’s overseas commitments – and the cities of Ionia, liberated by Athens and supported by Sparta, went right back to Persia. Thebes raped Plataea – the first city of Greece ever destroyed by other Greeks. Thebes had a calendar of sins going back to ancient times, and Thebans were the most selfish, grasping and mercenary of all the Greeks.

I never shed any tears for Thebes. Don’t you, either.

After the herald’s answer, we opened siege lines. The Thebans were cocky, and to be fair, their hoplites were superb. Epaminondas wasn’t so long in his grave that their tradition of victory was dead. They raided our lines with panache, took prisoners, put three lines of palisades around the Cadmea to wall the Macedonian garrison off from any support – they were active, brave and professional.

Our siege train arrived, and we set it up. We had engineers – military mathematicians whose work consisted of evaluating defences and planning – scientifically – to reduce them. Calixthenes was the best man – he was young, dark-haired, weedy and small, and he looked like a child in a breastplate, but he was brilliant both at sighting his engines and at predicting enemy counter-measures.

The third day, they released a cavalry sortie, and I captured half of it. It was one of my best actions – one of those actions that make you feel like a god.

When I came on duty, just after sunrise, I set a pair of ambushes well back from the two gates where they might sortie. My ambushes were both subtle – bah, I’m bragging. But I put men in hayricks near one, and in a dry watercourse by the other, with orders to let anyone who emerged go right past them.

Both gates had a small cavalry force at hand, whose sole job was to fake an engagement and then get routed.

The main body of Theban horse galloped out of the Plataean gate a little after dawn and raced for our foragers in their distant fields. My ‘small force’ of cavalry pretended to attempt to engage them, and then fled before contact, and the Thebans gave chase, pursuing my handful of desperate victims across farm fields, across a dry watercourse . . .

Into the main body of the Hetaeroi. We charged them down a low hill and broke them in one charge, and then we hunted them all the way back to their gates, and the Agrianians who had been hiding in hayricks emerged and picked beaten men off tired horses as they fled.

More than fifty of their cavalry broke the other way – towards Athens.

Poseidon was fresh, and the power was on me. I gave chase with anyone who was following me.

One by one, we caught them and captured them, or killed them – ten, twenty, thirty.

Darkness fell, and we were still running them down. None of us had horses to change.

Horses started to die. You can ride a horse to death, if you go long enough and you are sufficiently stupid – or desperate.

They were.

Poseidon ran on. He was magnificent – like a god himself. I overtook man after man, and these their vaunted best horsemen – and they would either beg for quarter, or make a cut at me with a sword or a spear, and I’d ride them down. One man, I remember well, I caught, and all I had to do was grab a fistful of his chiton and pull on Poseidon’s reins – Poseidon checked, and I pulled him right over his horse’s rump. I left him for slower men to take, and rode on.

Most of their horses foundered all together – ten or twelve in a bunch, the poor animals blowing blood out of their noses where their hearts, shattered by too long a run, had forced it.

They might have run into the woods on Parnassus and avoided me easily enough, but they stood like deer caught in torches and surrendered.

But one man rode on, and I stayed with him. He had the best horse. He was only a blur ahead, and we were riding in moonlight, and Poseidon had been moving for twelve hours, and I became afraid for him. I was not galloping, or even cantering – in fact, I moved at a walk and then a trot, and I got down as frequently as I dared to give him a rest.

I needn’t have worried. He was like a horse of the gods, and as we climbed Parnassus, he seemed to become more powerful, larger, faster . . .

I caught my foe at the top of the pass. He turned his horse, raised his sword and charged me.

I wanted his horse. Poseidon felt my weight shift, and he danced a little to the left, and the darkness betrayed us, and we were down – just like that – and a branch hit me on the head as I fell.

I came to and had no idea how much time had passed.

But I had a vast feeling of fear – of impending danger.

Poseidon gave a scream – not a neigh, but a long, loud call.

I got a foot under me, tripped over a root behind me and fell back so fast that the sword meant to cut me missed entirely. The will of the gods – no doing of mine. I fell backwards into the gully that caught the run-off from the narrow track, and hit my head again, and the earth trembled as in an earthquake.

On the other hand, the pain helped steady me, and I could see my enemy against the moon. He cursed.

I tried to get to my feet. The point of my hip felt as if I’d taken a spear or an arrow. It would support my weight, but I wasn’t going to execute any brilliant throws from pankration.

I started to climb the gully. I could hear Poseidon, and I aimed my climb at him. He had both my spare javelins, and I assumed that with a javelin in hand I could stand off my attacker.

He moved along the top of the gully and laughed grimly. I could hear his horse – breathing like an ironsmith’s bellows. He had his sword in his hand.

‘Come up, lackey of the tyrant, and I’ll gut you,’ he said.

I didn’t bother talking.

He came right to the top of the gully.

I whistled.

Poseidon kicked him, and he gave a cry and fell, clutching his thigh. I took his sword and cut his throat.

Glorious, eh?

He had a magnificent horse – a bay I called Ajax. Big as an elephant. His sons are still in my stable – mixed with Poseidon’s sons.

But both my horses were done in, and I had to walk back to camp, limping all the way.

As soon as I was back, Alexander sent for me, congratulated me and ordered me to Athens with a small escort of cavalry.

‘Take Thaïs,’ he said. ‘The city likes you, and loves her. I don’t care what you do – see to it that Demosthenes cannot raise an army to break my siege.’

Alexander was never bloodthirsty. Far from it – in his mind of wheels and gears, everyone and everything had a purpose and he could never see why people wasted time on anything so inefficient as hate.

And he said outright that if we had to lay siege to Athens, we’d never conquer Asia. ‘Athens could take us six months,’ he said. ‘Thebes I can surround. Athens – we’d need to go home and build a fleet, contest the seas with Lycurgus – at least a year wasted. Perhaps the whole war wasted.’ He shook his head and drank more wine. ‘I hate fighting Greeks. I’m beginning to hate Greeks.’ He looked into his wine cup.

‘Macedonians are better?’ I asked.

‘Amyntas is dead,’ he said. ‘There will be no more trouble in Macedon.’

I shrugged. ‘Unless Parmenio or Antipater decides to take the throne himself.’

Alexander smiled. ‘If I die. Not until. Or am defeated repeatedly in the field.’ His smile widened. ‘Which is never going to happen. I’m invincible.’

I took my grooms under Polystratus. Thaïs and I had an abbreviated reunion. She did not want to go to Athens.

‘I do not want to be treated as a traitor,’ she said.

‘You have a unique opportunity to save lives in Athens,’ I said.

She hit me. It was the only time she ever struck me, but she did it with venom. She meant to hurt me.

She loved Athens.

But she went.

I went with a letter from Alexander demanding that ten leading men of Athens be surrendered to the judgement of the hegemon. I don’t think Alexander meant to execute them – well, to tell you the truth, I doubt that Demosthenes would have survived an hour, but there were so many of us out for his blood . . .

Charmeides and Lycurgus were courageous, if wily, opponents. And they’d have made wonderful hostages. You need to remember the origin of the Hetaeroi – originally, the Hetaeroi and the pages were the sons of captured enemy chiefs and princes – hostages for their father’s good behaviour. It was a Macedonian custom to take prisoners and integrate them into our service – and reward them so richly that they became part of us. Charmeides would have done better with us, but he took ship and fled to Darius. Lycurgus lay low. Demosthenes doubtless pissed on his chiton in terror and hid in a basement.

Thaïs was cursed wherever she went. Her house had graffiti scrawled across the beautiful façade, and men yelled obscenities at her in the street.

But Phokion and Eumeles, Diodorus and Kineas and a thousand men like them stood with us, and the Assembly refused to vote for Demosthenes’ resolution to send an army to support Thebes.

I’m not sure I helped by being in Athens – in fact, I was hit with a stone on my first day and had little to say for a week – but Thaïs did. Despite her fears and her anger, she was unmoved by the catcalls and the vulgarity. She opened her house and held court – and men came.

And she told them what would happen if Macedon stormed Athens. And she drew them pictures of our siege machines. Athens had a few on the walls. She told them what Alexander had at Thebes.

But her most impressive speech was about Persia.

‘Just because Thebes – our ancient enemy – is choosing to waste herself against Macedon,’ she said, ‘must we? Thebes bragged – I heard them – that they were once again allies of the Mede. Is that who we are? Demosthenes has taken money from the Great King – would Miltiades approve? What about Pericles? Socrates? Plato? Did Athenians die at Marathon so that we could be slaves of Persia? Allies of Thebes?’ She shrugged. ‘Thebes is not in revolt against the tyrant of Macedon – Thebes has reverted to her truest self, and turned her back on Greece.’

Nice speech. I give it here in full, because I feel she might have been another Pericles, had she been born with a penis and not a vagina.

Her words, in Phokion’s mouth – and that was a matter for bitter mirth in itself, because Phokion and Eumeles hated her – and Demosthenes’ faction was wrecked.

The Athenians voted to send a delegation of ten men to Alexander to crave forgiveness. They sent Phokion to lead it, and Kineas with a squadron of elite Hippeis as an escort.

We arrived to find Thebes a burned-out husk, with her entire population raped and degraded, huddled in pens, awaiting sale. Later I heard Perdiccas, who led the assault, brag that no woman between ten and seventy remained unraped when the town was stormed. Children were butchered wholesale.

The Theban hoplites fought brilliantly, but they were no match for us. I heard later that they were the best fighters, man for man, of any foe most of the hypaspists ever faced. But as a body, they made mistakes, and a major gate was left virtually unguarded, and Alexander led the hypaspitoi through it and the town was stormed. Most of the hoplites died in the streets.

The Military Journal says that thirty thousand Thebans died. As many again were enslaved.

There were exceptions – a widow of one of the Boeotarchs, an aristocrat, was raped by one of our officers – a taxiarch in the pezhetaeroi. She didn’t break or even bend – when he went to take a drink after getting off her, she pushed him into her well and dropped rocks on him until he died. Alexander gave her freedom and all her property.

In fact, he was appalled. His troops had got away from him in the storming, and they were angry. Exhausted. They had marched across the world, in horrible conditions, because of these rebels (as we called them), and they wanted revenge for every boil and every sore, every pulled muscle, every broken bone, every day without food.

I won’t say Alexander wept. Merely that, like his father, he would have preferred other means.

But as I say, by the time the Athenian delegation arrived, there were no other means left. Alexander sat blank-faced on a stool and gave many Thebans their freedom – even their property. Many of the temples were spared. Several public buildings were spared. Slaves collected all the dead Theban hoplites and gave them a monument and a decent burial.

But the rest were sold into slavery en masse, and the town was destroyed. Turned to rubble.

Later – during the Lamian War – I heard Greeks claim that the true resistance to Macedon started there, and that Greek unity began in the ashes of Thebes.

Bullshit, says I. Thebes got what was coming to it. A nation of traitors, served the dish they’d ordered. The women of Thebes have my pity. The men died in harness, as rebels, and stupid rebels at that, and they got precisely what they deserved. And no one in Greece gave an obol. Had we done the same to Athens, it would have been war to the end – even Sparta, or Argos or Megara. But Thebes?

When we marched away, the ruins were still smoking, and Plataeans had come all the way across the plain, thirty stades, just to piss on the rubble. They waved at us and threw flowers.

We waved back.

And finally, we marched back to Pella.

Most of us in that army had been on campaign for more than a year. No one had been home that summer, and from the noble Hetaeroi to the lowliest pezhetaeroi, we had fought in at least five actions per man, marched ten thousand stades, killed enemies without count – fought against odds over and over.

We called it ‘The Year of Miracles’.

We called Alexander . . . king. He was king. He was king from Thrace to Illyria, from Sparta to Athens and across Thessaly to Pella. Demosthenes and Darius of Persia had tried to unite with Amyntas and the Thebans to make a web of steel to surround and crush our king, and he had beaten every one of them, all at once.

From the Shipka Pass to Pellium and down to Thebes, no enemy wanted to face Macedon in the field, ever again. And the smoke rising from the yawning basements of Thebes warned potential rebels of the consequences of foolishness.

Tribute flowed from the ‘allies’. Everyone in the empire paid their taxes that winter.

As the leaves reddened on the trees, we rode back to Pella. The last morning, Alexander was nearly giddy with excitement at returning victorious, and I suggested we put on our best armour and ride our best horses and make a fine show, and he laughed and agreed.

We spent the morning preparing. Veterans among the pezhetaeroi mounted their horsehair plumes, or their ostrich feathers. I’d gone back to the same smith in Athens and got another helmet – this one covered in gold. He’d delivered it with ill grace – but he’d done a magnificent job, and my helmet had a distinctive shape, with a brim over the eyes and a forged iron crest over the bronze bowl, and a tall ruff of horsehair. It was the kind of helmet men called ‘Attic’. It had less face protection, but I could hear and see and, most importantly, it was magnificent, and every man who could see it would know where I was. And the iron crest meant I would never be killed by a blow to the head.

Tirseas of Athens. Best armourer of his day. Hated Macedonians.

We put all our best on – clean chitons, full armour, polished by the slaves with ash and tallow. Swords shining, spears sparkling. Shaved. We were wearing a fortune in armour – brilliant horsehair plumes, Aegyptian ostrich feathers, solid-gold eagles’ wings, panther skins, leopard skins, bronze armour polished like the disc of the sun and decorated in silver and gold, tin-plated bronze buckles and solid-silver buckles in our horse tack, crimson leather strapping on every mount, tall Persian bloodstock horses with pale coats and dark legs and faces. Alexander was the richest and the best-armoured – unlike his father, he looked like a god. No one could doubt that he was in command.

At noon, the Hetaeroi entered Pella, and the crowds cheered us, I suppose, but what I remember is riding with the somatophylakes into the courtyard of the palace. Olympias was there, of course – best pass over her – and even the slaves were cheering us.

When we reined up in the courtyard, there was a moment – no longer than the thickness of a hair, so to speak – when none of us moved. We sat on our horses and looked around.

I looked up, to where I could see the marble rail of the exedra, and the double arch of the window of Alexander’s childhood nursery. I thought I saw a pair of small heads there, and I wondered if, despite Heraclitus, I could put my toe back in the same part of the river. If I could reach across time to those boys – if they were right there.

Those boys being us – me and Cleitus and Alexander. And tell them – some day, we will do it. We will be heroes. Fear nothing. We will win. We will do what Philip did.

But better. And the best was yet to come.