Alexander the Great Page 5

  In October he received a message from Parmenion, that Darius had been spotted with a vast army, very close to the Pillar of Jonah and the Syrian border. Alexander immediately turned round and, by marching his men at the double, took the coast road, reaching the town of Issus in two days. While he waited for Parmenion to join him, he created a field hospital for those of his men who were either wounded or too exhausted by their forced march to carry on. As soon as Parmenion arrived, Alexander set off with a united army, back into the mountains, making for the pass at the Pillar of Jonah.

  Meanwhile, Darius had entered Syria and chosen a plain on which to fight his battle. It was ideal; the ground was level, excellent for chariots, and a perfect space from which to command his huge army. It was also only two days’ march to the mountain pass of the Syrian Gates. So, here the Persians waited for sight of the enemy.

  The Persian king waited and waited, but Alexander didn’t come. Darius hadn’t heard of Alexander’s illness and, when there was no sign of him, he began to think that Alexander had changed his mind about any further combat with the Great King. Besides, his spies and scouts reported back that Alexander was in Issus, reinforcing his communication lines and safeguarding his flanks.

  So, amazingly, Darius somehow persuaded himself, or was persuaded by flattering courtiers, to leave the plain and go on the offensive, attacking Alexander where he thought he would find him – in Issus. His generals knew better and begged him not to risk losing his advantage, but Darius ignored them. He moved up into the narrow gorges and passes, through the Amanian Gates, the pass of Mount Amanus, and swooped down onto the town of Issus.

  The same night that Darius entered Issus, expecting to find Alexander, Alexander reached the Pillar of Jonah, expecting to find Darius.

  Unbeknownst to each other, the two armies had passed each other on either side of the Amanid mountains.

  All Darius found in Issus was the field hospital Alexander had left for his wounded troops. Darius killed most of the wounded soldiers, while others had their limbs hacked off, leaving mutilated survivors to wander freely and instil fear, spreading the word that the Great King was on the warpath.

  Alexander had now moved back to the coast and was in the town of Myriandrus, only fifteen miles away from Issus, when he heard the news that Darius had left his position on the wide Syrian plain and taken over the far narrower Issus Plain. He could hardly believe it. He knew that the Issus Plain was a difficult area, hemmed in between the coast, a river and the mountains. Had Darius really left his prime position?

  Alexander sent a secret ship round the coast to see if it was true. Word came back, yes, and that the Bay of Issus was swarming with Persian warships.

  Alexander was shocked. This would be a perilous battleground for both of them. There wasn’t much room to manoeuvre. His generals thought the Persians had set a trap. Crossing a river with an army is always dangerous and here, there was nowhere to retreat to. They thought that Alexander had been wrong-footed, and that Darius had the upper hand.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE BATTLE OF ISSUS

  It is the last day of October in the year 333 BC.

  Yesterday, when the men were gathered round their fires, they were nervous. Had Alexander over-reached himself? There were ripples of anxiety coming from the ranks. Could they really overcome the Great King? This was to be Alexander’s first encounter with Darius himself.

  But today, Alexander is calm, and seems unruffled by the news coming back to him – even though descriptions of the might and numbers of Darius’ army should make the greatest warrior tremble.

  Alexander could always turn bad news into good. He set about rallying his troops and boosting morale with a passionate speech to his men. “You are a victorious army fighting a vanquished one!” He told them that it was Darius who was trapped. Darius who, having left the broad plain in Syria, had hemmed in his armies on the narrow Issus Plain, between the Pinarus River and the mountains on one side, and the sea on the other – “Surely an intervention from the gods on our side,” he declared.

  He encouraged them to remember their strengths and what they would gain by their victory over the Medes and Persians. He spoke to them like a brother rather than a king, a fellow fighter, who would not hesitate to do whatever he asked them to do. “They only have Darius to lead them, you have Alexander!” he shouted.

  As always, Alexander’s enthusiasm and powers of persuasion worked, and the men felt reassured. Their energy surged back as they felt the thrill of battle in their veins.

  Under the cover of darkness, Alexander turned his forces round, climbing through the night, back towards the Pillar of Jonah. Huddled and cold, among the rocks, the troops got what sleep they could, while Alexander made sacrifices to the gods of the sea and the night. The next day, they would descend down to the narrow plain between the river and the sea.

  This is what happened on the first day of November, the day of the Battle of Issus.

  At daybreak, fed and rested, the army rose in an orderly fashion. It was a twelve-mile march down to the battlefield, so, at first, Alexander kept his men in a single route column. As the ground opened up, he extended his line of troops, sending Parmenion across the River Pinarus to set up a left flank as far as the seashore. Alexander put himself and his cavalry squadrons to the right, as far as the foothills.

  Now they were face to face with the enemy – and it was an awesome sight.

  Spread before them, glittering through the smoke of thousands of campfires, the Persian forces were vast, with contingents from across the Persian Empire. There were perhaps over 316,000 thousand men, though many of the number were not soldiers, for the whole of the royal court had come along with wives, children, concubines, musicians, administrators, cooks, servants and slaves of every description.

  Darius himself was at the heart of it, seated in his resplendent gold chariot, draped in his royal cloak, with spear and shield in hand as if he were the sun god himself, surrounded by the cream of his army, the archers of the Royal Guard. These were the Immortals, 10,000 of them, spoken of with awe and dread, because when any one of them fell, another appeared in his place.

  So confident was Darius of victory, that he had not only brought along his treasures and wealth, but also his mother, wife, two of his daughters and his young son to witness the battle.

  He had created a front line with his royal bodyguards which was 2,000 strong in the centre. On either side was a heavily armed cavalry made up of about 30,000 Greek mercenaries. On the wings, he had deployed two divisions of light-armed Persian infantry – young men who were barely out of training.

  It was mid afternoon. The Persians were in position. Alexander showed no impatience. He moved down from the hills at a leisurely pace, with frequent halts to rest his soldiers and check the enemy’s movements. He had calculated that King Darius would attack him on the right wing. But with sudden surprise, there was a swift movement of Persian cavalry, and a surge to the left. A tight phalanx of Darius’ forces were attacking Parmenion on the seashore.

  Alexander had to think quickly and change his tactics. He was being assailed on all sides. There were enemies to his left, and others coming up behind him to the right. He ordered a contingent of Thessalians to reinforce Parmenion, instructing them to ride unnoticed behind his infantry and their wall of sarissas, and sent lightly-armed commandos into the hills to deal with a ragtag of inexperienced Persians who were occupying a spur of a mountain behind them.

  Forming a three-mile front, Alexander’s army continued to move forwards. The vast forces of the Persian army glittered before them. The Macedonians halted out of bow-shot. Alexander hoped the Persians would be tempted to charge, but they didn’t. There was nothing for it but to continue the advance into arrow range.

  The Persian archers fired first. A ferocious volley of arrows hissed over the river into the Macedonians. A trumpet sounded. Alexander’s men charged across the river, driving back the Persian archers and scattering them amo
ng the light infantry. But it was messy. The soldiers struggled in the river, and the phalanx fell into disarray. Darius saw that Alexander’s charge had weakened his centre, so he attacked in the middle, driving a deep wedge into it. It was a brief victory. 120 Macedonians were killed, including Ptolemy, son of Seleucus.

  Once across the river, Alexander pulled the wedge of his cavalry together and, urging his men onwards with huge ferocity, he swung the wedge into the centre. The target was the Great King Darius himself. If he could be killed or captured, it would not only change the course of the battle but weaken the entire Persian Empire.

  There was the royal ornamental chariot, and Darius in the midst of his bodyguards, the Immortals, in their amazing robes of gold brocade, with gold collars and long-sleeved tunics studded with gems – as if they could dazzle their enemies and prove that they were indeed immortal.

  But Alexander not only created myths, he smashed them too. The Immortals were only too mortal. Once again, it was Alexander’s manoeuvrability which made him so lethal. Mounted on his beloved Bucephalus, he wheeled and turned, pitched and thrust, plunging nearer and nearer to the king. The fight was desperate. There was a confusion of men and horses, struggling and dying. Alexander was wounded in the thigh. Darius’ chariot was being carried closer and closer into Alexander’s lines. His brother Oxathres tried desperately to protect him. Darius himself grabbed the reins of his chariot and attempted to extricate himself, but it was no use. In the heat of battle, Darius and Alexander stared each other in the face, eyeball to eyeball.

  Then the Great King’s nerve broke. Darius had always been portrayed as the great horseman, archer and warrior, but when he saw defeat was inevitable, he sprang from his chariot into another which had been brought up alongside, and fled, abandoning his men, his mother, wife and children. Confused and panicked, some of his army followed him, but the rest – thousands of them – crumbled and fled in all directions; into the river, into the sea, into the hills; some were trampled underfoot, while others plunged over precipices.

  Alexander went in hot pursuit, and chased the Persian king for 25 miles, deep into the mountains. If only he could capture him, his victory would be complete. Frantically, Darius abandoned the chariot for a horse, and flung off his royal cloak and insignia, his shield and bow, all to be gathered up by Alexander.

  Night was falling. It was clear that Darius had escaped.

  Alexander knew he could go no further. Though the king had got away, Alexander could triumphantly sport Darius’ royal cloak, shield and insignia, and he had possession of the considerable spoils of Issus, which he badly needed to fund his army. Most importantly of all, his biggest prize was Darius’ family: his mother, his wife, who many said was the fairest in all Asia, their two daughters and their son. Priceless hostages.

  Dusty and exhausted, Alexander returned to his camp – at least to enjoy the spoils of war. Tonight he would sleep in Darius’ sumptuous royal tent with its gold and silver inlaid furniture, and bathe away the dust of war in the extraordinary royal bathtub. “So this is how a king lives!” exclaimed Alexander with relish.

  As food was being served to Alexander on the royal gold and silver tableware, the sound of wailings and lamentations reached his ears. He paused in his eating and asked what the noise was about. “It is Darius’ family, his mother, wife and children,” they told Alexander. “They have seen the Great King’s cloak and shield, and believe him to be dead.”

  Alexander had them brought before him.

  THE HOSTAGE QUEEN

  The two queens and the children entered the royal tent. They knew anything was possible. They could be humiliated, enslaved or killed. Darius’ mother, Queen Sisygambis, saw two noblemen, both handsome, both dressed the same but one taller than the other. Thinking the taller man to be Alexander, she prostrated herself before him.

  “No, no!” She heard whispers, sniggers, shock, for she had fallen before Hephaistion, Alexander’s best friend. Disconcerted and confused, she tried to bow before Alexander, apologizing for her mistake, but he said with a kind smile, “Fear not, Mother, he too is Alexander.”

  So the Battle of Issus was over. A letter came from the runaway king, Darius, begging for the return of his family. Alexander rejected his request and added scornfully, “From now on, when you have occasion to address me, do so as the King of Asia. Do not write as equal to equal.”

  Although Alexander refused to release the family, and ignored all peace overtures from Darius, he treated his royal prisoners with the greatest respect, and Queen Sisygambis became one of his closest friends and confidantes.

  After Issus, Alexander marched down the Phoenecian coast. Town after town fell or surrendered. Many had disliked the savagery of some of their Persian rulers. Tripolis, Byblos and Sidon yielded fairly peacefully, and Tyre was next.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SIEGE OF TYRE

  Tyre meant a lot to Alexander; not just because it was an important and strategic port, but because here was one of the most ancient temples to the demi-god, Heracles, who the Tyrians called Melkart and to whom Alexander claimed to be related. The town was surrounded by rich pastures, where the finest quality cattle roamed – like the divine herd of Geryones, which Heracles had been ordered to capture as one of his Twelve Labours.

  THE TWELVE LABOURS OF HERACLES

  Heracles, who the Romans later called Hercules – half god, half human son of Zeus, born of Alcmene, a human princess – was loathed by a jealous goddess, Hera, wife of Zeus, who was determined to destroy him. But Heracles had been endowed with a colossal strength and, even as a babe in his cradle, fought off two monstrous serpents that she sent to crush him to death. When Heracles had completed his education with Chiron, the Centaur, and was at last a man, he set out into the world, still pursued by the vengeful Hera.

  One day, Hera caused him to be seized by madness and, in a fit of delirium, he killed his wife and children. His punishment was to serve the evil Eurystheus, his wicked cousin.

  Eurystheus demanded the impossible of Heracles and set him twelve tasks, any of which could bring about Heracles’ destruction. But whether it was slaying a monstrous lion, or the many-headed serpent, Hydra, or whether it was fighting the loathsome giant, Cacus, for the divine cattle of Geryon, Heracles finally succeeded in overcoming all his labours.

  But was not jealousy the start of all his troubles? Jealousy would also be the cause of his downfall. Heracles had saved the beautiful Deianeira during one of his labours and had married her. When he left her to continue on his way across the world, completing his labours, she had been given a special garment by the lustful centaur Nessus, who had tried to make off with her. This present of repentance was supposed to have magic powers. Nessus told her that if she ever felt Heracles no longer loved her, she should ask him to wear this garment, and all his love would return.

  On his way home, Heracles stopped at the court of Eurytus, where he beheld the maid, Iole. He had first met her when they were children, and he had loved her then. Now, she was still young, and he realized he still loved her. How hard he found it to leave. Day by day, he lingered on in the court, just to be near her.

  Deianeira heard rumours, and was desperate to keep her husband. At last she heard he was on his way home, but bringing Iole with him. She took out the magic garment and gave it to a messenger. “Deliver this to Heracles,” she ordered, “and beg him to wear it.”

  The messenger delivered the garment. It was a wondrous glittering thing, and when Heracles saw it, he couldn’t resist putting it on.

  But the wicked centaur, Nessus, had cheated Deianeira. The garment would not restore Heracles’ love, for it was laced with poison, and the moment Heracles put it on, the poison enveloped his body like fire.

  Wracked with agony, Heracles despaired that he would never be free from the torments of this world. He ordered his servants to build his funeral pyre, but they couldn’t bring themselves to do it, and begged him to live. No amount of entreaties could make
him change his mind, and when they wouldn’t build his pyre, Heracles climbed a mountain, tore out huge oaks from their roots, and made his own funeral pyre. Then he laid down his pain-racked body, and asked his best friend, Philoctetes, to light the pyre.

  As the flames rose, Zeus came down to clasp his son’s mighty soul in his arms, and bore him away to dwell with the gods on Mount Olympus.

  So the Tyre of Heracles meant a lot to Alexander, and he was determined to have it. Taking first the diplomatic route, he sent an emissary to the city asking if he could sacrifice at the Temple of Melkart.

  For the Tyrians to allow Alexander this favour would be in effect to acknowledge him as their ruler, for only kings and priests were allowed to sacrifice in the temple. The people of Tyre had no intention of letting Alexander take the most strategic port of all. They were proud, with a fine navy and much wealth. They were willing to welcome Alexander as a guest into their city, but announced their neutrality, unwilling that either a Persian or a Macedonian should take them over. “After all,” they said, “we don’t yet know who the winner will be.” And they killed Alexander’s emissary.

  Alexander was furious, and immediately declared war on the city.

  While Alexander prepares for battle, hear now of the glories of Tyre; listen to stories going back as far as the creation of the world.

  THE AMBROSIAL ROCKS

  In the beginning, when the people of Tyre had just begun to build their city on the edge of the sea, they had very little room to expand. Just a little way offshore into the sea were two rocks known as the Ambrosial Rocks. The citizens longed to be able to extend their city and build on the rocks too. But they were unstable, often floating up and down with the waves. The seers had said that an eagle must be sacrificed to make the rocks stable.