Alexander the Great Page 14
It wasn’t a mutiny. No one wanted to overthrow him. They just didn’t want to go on, and Coenus bravely put the men’s point of view to Alexander.
He reminded him of what the men had endured; death in battles, wounds, disease; of how many had been abandoned on the trail, and of those left unwillingly in the new colonies. They had been away for eight years, far away from their families, Coenus told him, and they all longed for home.
The next morning, Alexander relented. He knew the men would go no further, and that he had used up their loyalty. He agreed to turn back.
The men wept and cheered.
The moment Alexander made the decision to turn back, was also the moment when he realized that he would never reach the ends of the earth, or know everything there was to know. For Alexander, the explorer, his curiosity unquenched. It was a bitter decision.
When Alexander returned to Jehlum, there was more to dispirit him and make him wonder if the gods had abandoned him. Roxane had lost her baby, and now he began to hear of other omens: omens of death.
One day, he came across some holy wise men, naked and covered in ash, stamping their bare feet on the ground. When he asked what was the meaning of this strange behaviour, they replied: “King Alexander, a man can only own as much of the earth’s surface as the piece beneath his feet. You are human, like the rest of us, but always busy and up to no good, travelling so many miles from your home, being a nuisance to yourself and others. Ah well! You will soon be dead, and will only need as much ground as it takes to bury you.”
He was told of a garden with talking trees; trees that were like oracles and foretold the future. Alexander wanted to know more, and was taken to a sanctuary garden, where they told him that in the middle of the garden, dedicated to the Moon and the Sun, stood two trees – rather like cypresses, but with strange nuts and fruit. One tree was the Sun and spoke with a man’s voice, the other spoke with a woman’s voice, and was the Moon. They said that the tree of the Sun spoke prophecies three times a day, at dawn, at noon and at sunset, and that the Moon tree spoke at night, on rising, at its zenith and on setting. Alexander was curious to hear these voices. Perhaps they would tell him something important.
He could enter the sanctuary garden, they said, if he removed all metal from his person.
Alexander took off his sword, breastplate and all other metal, and went into the sanctuary with Indian interpreters, warning them that if the trees didn’t speak, he would have them burned alive.
From sunrise to sunset, he stood near the Sun tree and heard nothing. But just as the last rays of the sun was sinking below the horizon, a man’s voice spoke from within the tree.
The Indian interpreters looked flustered and afraid, and didn’t want to translate the words.
“What did he say?” demanded Alexander anxiously.
At last one Indian whispered in his ear. “Alexander, you will soon die by the hand of one of your own companions.”
At this disturbing news, Alexander wanted to hear the second tree speak, and to ask whether he would ever see his mother again. So he waited for the moon to rise.
The Moon tree spoke to him in Greek. “King Alexander! You will die in Babylon, by the hand of one of your own companions, and you will never see your mother again, and when you die, she, Roxane and your heir will be murdered.”
When Alexander heard this, he was filled with deep melancholy and made plans to leave India at once.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE JOURNEY BACK
But one thing was certain; Alexander’s retreat would not be ignominious. If he couldn’t continue further into India, then he would take a different route back, exploring the Hydaspes river instead till it met the Indus, from where he would follow it to the ocean. How wonderful, if he could establish a sea route from India to Persia.
He set his men to work felling trees. Within two months, they had built a whole fleet of boats: triremes for the men, 30-oared boats for the officers, flat-bottomed boats for the horses, and others for grain and supplies as well as a variety of craft required to take the women, children and all the other camp followers.
The boats were lavishly decorated and their sails were purple. So extraordinary a sight was it, that the local people ran alongside them for miles, while the rhythmic chants of the rowers echoed among the rocks and gorges. Alexander’s men sang joyfully. At last, they were on a homeward journey.
But for Alexander, who would be lucky to leave India alive, there was still time for more myth-making. They were constantly fighting skirmishes with tribal groups, and by this time, the monsoon was over, and the exhausting heat was back with a vengeance.
As they negotiated the different twists and turns of the river, they came near the territory of the Malloi, a fearsome tribe.
The Malloi had a fortess dominating the River Ravi, along which Alexander must pass. He insisted it must be captured. Even though it didn’t seem altogether necessary, the troops responded to Alexander’s call to arms. He praised their courage, invoked his heroic image as son of Zeus, the invincible, and downplayed the numerous defeats and setbacks they had suffered in India. Before, after many previous low points, the troops had always rallied to his call. They did so again, with eagerness, begging him to lead them on with the help of heaven.
THE MASSACRE AT MULTAN
He led them on a detour across a muddy desert, they stormed a fortress and a town on the way, until at last they reached Multan, the stronghold of the Malloi. Alexander’s soldiers were outnumbered by more than ten to one.
Many of them had joined the army under his father, Philip, over twenty years before. They had known no other life, and now, under Alexander, had grown old; many were in their sixties. Yet, though exhausted from their campaigns, and suffering from the appalling conditions of India, they breached the outer walls, and headed for the inner citadel, inspired by Alexander’s youth and energy.
Speed was of the essence. Where were the ladders? Always first into the fray, Alexander seized the nearest ladder, and climbed to the top. He was an extraordinary sight; this handsome, fair, godlike man, with flowing locks, with his shining breastplate and sword in hand. Behind him came his shield-bearer, carrying the shield of Achilles, with which he had travelled all the way from Troy.
His soldiers surged forward and tried to follow him up the ladder, causing it to collapse under the weight of their numbers. Alexander and his three attendants were stranded. Taken by surprise, the Malloi poured out. What should Alexander do? Should he jump backwards to be saved by his friends, or forwards into the arms of his enemies?
We speak of Alexander! Believing in his own myth as son of Zeus – a god-king, he hurled himself forwards among his enemies, who instantly fell upon him. The arrows flew; his attendants were wounded. Alexander lunged and thrust with his sword, keeping them at bay, while missiles thudded all around. He was encircled. An enemy arrow pierced his corselet and penetrated his chest. Surely this was the end for him! An Indian leaped forward to finish him off. With one last desperate lunge, Alexander stabbed him with his sword, then fell back with blood spurting from his wound, while his desperate attendant held the shield of Achilles over him as protection.
By this time, the Macedonians had smashed through the gates and walls, and were pouring in, bellowing war cries. Seeing their stricken Alexander, they were enraged, and fought with passion, hatred and vengeance. Alexander too struggled on, till, fainting with the loss of blood, he finally collapsed over his shield.
Believing that their king had been mortally wounded, his men massacred every single man, woman and child. The price for killing a king.
They carried Alexander back to camp. Messages flew. Hephaistion, leading the advance party, was told Alexander was dead. The arrow had pierced his lung.
But Alexander did not die. His skillful Greek physician removed the arrow and staunched the blood. Hurriedly, he was carried to the boat and taken downstream to where a grief-stricken Hephaistion was waiting.
He e
xpected a corpse, but as the boat neared the river bank, Alexander raised an arm to wave, and the army cheered with relief. They wanted to take him from the boat to a bed, but Alexander said it must be to his horse. When his men saw him mounted, again they cheered and wept. To show he was very much alive, Alexander dismounted from the horse and walked unaided to his tent. His men, who had been terrified that they were leaderless among hostile tribes, reached out to touch him and shower him with flowers, reassured and grateful that Alexander would live.
Tales of the massacre at Multan spread, but to Alexander’s advantage. This was the land of the Mahabharata; of the Pandavas and Kauravas, with tales of the bloodiest of battles, revenge and heroism. Either from fear or admiration – or both – the locals came pouring in with lavish and wonderful gifts of jewels and elephants. Banquets were held, and the hospitality was royal.
For two weeks Alexander recuperated. At last, though suffering immense pain, he continued by boat, still organizing, ruling, handing out territories, building dockyards, and even founding another Alexandria.
It was in mid-July 325 BC that Alexander reached the city of Pattala at the mouth of the Indus. As usual, he was full of activity and plans. While Hephaistion and his men built a fort, a shipyard and more ships, Alexander explored the upper reaches of the tributaries which poured into the Indus, and then followed the Indus river down to the Indian Ocean, making constant sacrifices and libations to the gods. He was sure that he was about to discover a new sea route which would link India with the rest of the world.
INTO THE MAKRAN DESERT
At last he was ready for the next leg of the journey home. He split up his army into three sections. The first group led by his general, Craterus, was instructed to take his men and elephants overland to the Persian Gulf, via Arachosia and Drangiana and through the Bolan Pass to Carmania, near the Straits of Hormuz, where they would wait for Alexander.
The second group would go by boat, following the Indus down to the sea, and sailing on to the Persian Gulf.
Alexander would go with the third group, a contingent of soldiers and hundreds of camp followers, who would follow the fleet along the shore. They would keep the ships supplied with food and water until they reached the Persian Gulf. This could be the start of a major trade route, opening up the wealth and riches of India to the rest of the world.
But Alexander’s decision to take the shore route meant that it would be one of the most unpleasant and near fateful journeys of his entire life, for it would take him into the Makran Desert. No army had ever come through this desert successfully, neither the legendary Queen of Babylon, Semiramis who, came back from India with only twenty survivors, nor even King Cyrus who came back with only three.
“Don’t go,” he was urged by his advisers. “It is absolute folly.”
But the more they told him how dangerous it was, the more Alexander was deaf to their advice. After all, he was Alexander, the explorer, a descendant of Heracles, obsessed with the challenge of finding the new; unwilling to listen to any talk of obstacles.
It is October 325 BC.
Craterus begins his long journey overland, the fleet sets sail down the coast under the command of Nearchus, one of Alexander’s most trusted generals, and Alexander himself, with some thousands of men, women and children, keeps pace with the ships along the shore, never straying more than twenty miles from the sea.
They enter the Makran Desert.
It is impossible to describe the ordeal and the appalling hardship they began to endure. It was so hot they could only move at night – but then they endured freezing temperatures which dropped to below 35 degrees. The ground was not firm beneath their feet, but deep, soft, sifting sand which sucked the energy out of their every step. If they reached a watering place, the men were so desperate they often gulped the water till they bloated up and were then sick, and many died. As their food ran out, those who had been ordered to get supplies to the fleet often just tore into them for themselves once they were out of sight.
Ridge after ridge of sand dunes rose and fell like waves on a never-ending ocean, without any landmarks or characteristic features. Even the native guides got lost, and they wandered deeper inland. It was left to Alexander to set off with some men and regain the coast.
The route was utterly arid and there was no food or water for them, let alone to supply the ships at sea. Soon, hundreds were dying from exhaustion, heat, thirst and starvation, and hundreds more were lost, or perished among the drifting sand dunes. Flash floods washed away one camp, while poisonous plants killed their animals. They encountered strange fish-eating tribes who seemed barely human who scavenged along the coast, and stank from eating raw fish; who used their long curling fingernails, which they never cut, to poke out the goodness from molluscs and oysters. Alexander and his men tried to do the same, but were nauseated. And even here, there were snakes.
But there are stories of heroism; once when a small amount of water was found, it was given first to Alexander. Like the rest of them, he was tormented by thirst, but he poured it away into the sand saying, “Either we all drink, or none of us does.” And though his wound must have troubled him every inch of the way, he refused any special privileges.
Finally they found a route which took them inland to kinder pastures, and, at last, to their rendezvous in Hormuz, where Craterus was waiting for them. Alexander had entered the desert with 12,000 people, it took them 60 days to reach their destination, and more than a third did not come out alive. It was a disaster, but somehow Alexander survived with his reputation intact.
When the news spread that he had come through alive, people were amazed. Once more, he had lived up to his legend, and re-enforced the belief that he was godlike.
Meanwhile Nearchus and his men had also had their problems; the fleet ran into storms; there were tales of strange spouting sea creatures, which they saw on their voyage, not realizing they were whales. Without the food and water Alexander was supposed to supply them with, they had had to go foraging for food along the coast. They had skirmished with hostile tribes, met the fish-eaters along the coast, and were reduced to looking like a starved rabble.
Nearchus and a group of men finally left the ships and set off across land to try and rendezvous with Alexander. So bedraggled and wild did they look that they were unrecognized by a group of scouts Alexander had desperately sent out looking for them. They had already passed each other on the road, when a scout overheard one of them speak in Greek. Only then did they realize who they were, and embraced each other with tears of joy and relief.
At last, after ten weeks at sea, the fleet entered the Straits of Hormuz. A relieved Alexander welcomed them with games, music and feasting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The RETURN TO PERSIA
In January 324 BC with his army united again, Alexander marches back into Persia. It is like returning to paradise.
He retraced his steps back to Persia’s softer landscapes. He went back to Persepolis and, standing among the bleak ruins, soberly contemplated the terrible destruction. Realizing that he had destroyed something without parallel, he expressed remorse. Moving on to Pasagarde, he paused and took the time to restore the tomb of Cyrus, almost as act of repentance.
THE DEATH OF CALANUS
Then it was onwards – to Susa.
As they approached Susa, Calanus, the Hindu philosopher, fell ill. Calanus, who had joined Alexander in Taxila, and stayed with him all the way through his battles in India and the trek back to Persia, was an old man – 73 years old and, though he had never been ill before, the chill of a Persian winter brought on sickness. He told Alexander he had no wish to be an invalid and that the time had come for him to die. He asked that his funeral pyre be constructed.
Alexander was aghast and did all he could to persuade his friend not to think this way. But Calanus was adamant. “You may be able to compel a body to do your will, but a soul you cannot compel, any more than you can make bricks and stones talk.”
The flames flared up, the bugles sounded, elephants trumpeted and the whole army roared war cries as Calanus was engulfed without emitting a single sound.
All around him, the empire Alexander had conquered was teetering.
In his absence, there had been insurrection, corruption and many of the men he had left in charge had been murdered. Alexander knew only too well that an empire couldn’t be held together without the involvement and co-operation of its citizens. So it was at Susa that he not only took two more wives – one, Stateira, the daughter of Darius, and the other a daughter of the previous king, Artaxerxes – but he held a fabulous mass wedding at which 2,000 of his officers were ordered to marry Persian girls.
Hephaistion married another of Darius’ daughters, so that his children and Alexander’s would be linked by blood.
Never had there been such lavish celebrations. No expense was spared; there were sumptuous bridal suites, banquets, entertainments, music and drama. The weddings were conducted with full solemnity of Persian tradition. All the wives were given dowries and full Greek status and their children were to be given a Greek-style education – the boys to be trained into Alexander’s future army.
Alexander’s aim was to unite Persians, Macedonians and Greeks within his empire; but despite all his efforts, the Greeks and Macedonians still loathed the Persian way of life and deeply resented the customs which had been forced on them. Roxane’s brothers had been elevated to high positions and it seemed that Alexander was discriminating against his own kind.