Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (53 page)

They buried them all in the sand with their weapons because there was no wood for funeral pyres and their hearts were heavy with sadness as they moved on, knowing perfectly well that those hurried graves would soon be violated by the voracious savages.

One day a group of scouts returned from a reconnaissance mission and reported they had discovered a group of villages near the coast, near the mouth of a small stream that brought a meagre flow of water to the sea. They decided to attack that very night. There was a full moon that lit up the chalky whiteness of the desert as if it were day.

Leonnatus hung his axe on its bracket, picked up his bronze shield, some sixteen minae in weight, and leaped astride his stallion, but Alexander put out his arm to stop him. ‘Your wound is still fresh. Stay here and let us deal with it.’

‘Not even if you tie me up,’ growled his friend. ‘I’ll make them pay for each soldier they killed, butchered in the darkness without even being able to defend themselves.’

The King, his Companions and the men selected to accompany them – some two hundred in total – had chosen black horses and wore black cloaks so as to blend in with the night shadows. Alexander gave the signal and all the steeds set off at full gallop, shoulder to shoulder, head to head across the deserted plain: demons born out of Hades.

It was too late when the Oritians spotted them, but they ran nevertheless to defend their villages, their children and their wives. They stood no chance at all with the first wave of attack, cut down like lambs at slaughter, while the Macedonians set about sacking and looting and Leonnatus let fly with his axe. The fleeing enemy fell like grain in the field; he massacred so many of them that at one point he felt his heart bursting in his breast and then he heard Alexander’s voice shouting, ‘That’s enough, Leonnatus!’

Only then did he stop, dripping sweat and blood from his panting body.

A second squadron of light cavalry arrived soon after, bringing with them the pack animals and the water bottles and the carts for gathering provisions, but all they found were flocks of sheep and goats enclosed in stone corrals. The thick layer of dry dung in the enclosures showed that they were taken out to pasture very rarely.

‘I wonder what they feed them with,’ said Eumenes, who had arrived with the supplies convoy.

‘It looks like they use this stuff,’ replied Seleucus, pointing to sacks made of dried seaweed fibre, full of a sort of whitish powder.

‘It stinks of fish,’ said Lysimachus.

‘It is fish,’ confirmed Eumenes, picking up a handful and bringing it to his nose. ‘Dried fish ground into meal.’

They returned to camp with the water they had been able to collect and the flocks of sheep they had stolen, but when they slaughtered the animals the taste of the meat proved to be revolting, like putrefied fish. There was nothing else to eat, however, and so they had to make do with what they had scavenged.

For days they moved forward under the relentless sun, tormented by the heat and their thirst. At times the desert suddenly changed colour, becoming blinding white, and the army found itself having to march over a crust of salt deposited by the ancient marine lakes that corroded the horses’ shoes and the infantrymen’s footwear, penetrating their skin and causing first deep cracks and then extremely painful sores. Many pack animals and horses died of thirst or hunger and then the men started falling as well.

They had neither the time nor the strength to bury them or give them any type of funeral. There came a stage when the soldiers rarely took any notice when a companion collapsed, and even when they did notice there was no help they could offer and the bodies were abandoned, prey for the jackals and the vultures – groups of the birds now circled continuously above the column as it marched. Not only did the King have to bear the pain of this ordeal, but he had to witness his young bride suffering such privations and difficulties, all of this combined with the anguish of not knowing what had become of the fleet; they had had no news of Nearchus since the day he left from Pattala.

In the midst of this terrible ordeal, while bearing all that suffering, only Kalanos seemed not to feel any pain or hardship: he walked barefoot across the burning sands, dressed scantily with a piece of cloth, and in the evening, when the darkness brought the cool air, he could be seen sitting alongside the King, teaching him his philosophy and the art of controlling the passions and the needs of one’s own body. Roxane as well, despite being so young, behaved in an exemplary fashion, with incredible pride and strength of spirit. She was often to be seen riding alongside her husband, wearing the jerkin of the Sogdian horsemen, and more than once she was even seen hunting for passing birds with bow and arrow.

One day, when the men were on their last legs, a soldier of the royal guard found a hollow in which there seemed to be some dampness. He began to dig with the point of his sword until slowly, drop-by-drop, he saw water appear. He managed to collect enough to cover the bottom of his helmet and after having moistened his lips, he gave it to Alexander who was clearly struggling through this ordeal because of the after effects of his wound, which was still causing him no small amount of trouble.

The King thanked him, took the helmet and lifted it to his mouth, but at the same time he realized that all his men were watching him. Their eyes were red from the salt, their skin was dry, their lips cracked and he could not bring himself to drink. He poured the water to the ground, saying, ‘Alexander cannot drink when his men are dying of thirst.’ Then, seeing that many of them were about to give up, all their strength gone, he raised his voice, ‘Men, take heart! Do you think the gods have let us perform such feats to then let us die here in this desert? No, believe me! I assure you that by tomorrow night we will be out of this furnace and you will have as much food and water as you wish! Do you want to give up now? Do you want to die just a few steps away from salvation?’

At those words the soldiers took courage and started marching again until darkness fell. They had left the sea behind them some time ago now and they were marching up towards a line of rocky hills where, as night fell, there was a minimum of freshness. On the following day, at sunset, they reached the pass and far off in the distance they saw a walled city.

‘It is Pura,’ said one of the Persian officers. ‘We are safe now.’

Alexander shouted, ‘Did you hear that, men? Did you hear? We’re safe! See? Your King always keeps his promises!’

The soldiers, one by one as they reached the top and saw the city in the distance, cried out with joy, throwing their weapons in the air, embracing one another and moved to tears.

Ptolemy approached with an expression of sheer astonishment on his face: ‘How did you manage it?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Do you remember yesterday when we came to that fork in the track? One arm that went westwards along the sea and the other climbing up towards the hills?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Kalanos said to me, “The more difficult road is the better one.”’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘So you took a risk’

‘Not for the first time.’

‘Quite. It’s certainly not the first time.’

They arrived at sunset, squeezing the last drops of energy from their exhausted limbs, and the commander of the stronghold at Pura came out, suspicious, to meet them.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

Alexander turned to Ptolemy: ‘Is Oxhatres still alive?’

‘I believe so,’ came the reply. ‘I think I saw him a few days ago.’

‘Find him for me.’

Ptolemy moved off and then came back a short time later with Oxhatres who explained to the Persian governor all he needed to know regarding the guest who had just arrived.

‘Alexander?’ asked the Governor of Pura in astonishment. ‘Isn’t he dead?’

‘As you can see he is alive and well; but I beg you, let us in. We are exhausted.’

*

The governor gave orders immediately to all the men under his command and the gates of Pura opened to let in the army that everyone had believed to be lost and the king everyone had believed to be dead.

They stopped at Pura for four days, to rest and eat after the hardships they had endured. Alexander asked the governor if news of their fleet had reached Hormuz, and the Persian replied that he had heard nothing, but that he would make enquiries and would let him know.

‘I wouldn’t bargain on their having made it,’ said Seleucus. ‘I have heard that these waters are very dangerous at certain points because of sandbanks and pirates who specialize in attacking grounded ships. If they had already landed here, there would certainly be news of them.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ replied Alexander, ‘but we too were given up for dead and we’re here now. We should not give up hope.’

They started marching again in the direction of Persis, moving across burnt, arid terrain once more, but the commander of the garrison at Pura had given them expert guides who led them to wells with good water and to shepherd villages where they found milk and meat and dried pulses kept in large clay jars.

It was midwinter by the time the army came to Salmous, near the border with Persis. Alexander sent a group of scouts southwards to seek news of his fleet – a pair of Macedonian officers and a dozen auxiliaries with a Persian guide, together with half a dozen camels loaded with water bottles.

They moved forward for ten parasangs over completely deserted terrain with just one stop until, around midday, when the sun was at its highest, they saw something off in the distance.

‘Can you make out what it is?’ asked one of the auxiliaries, a Palestinian mercenary from Azotus.

‘Looks like men,’ replied a companion.

‘Men?’ asked one of the officers. ‘Where?’

‘Down there,’ pointed the other officer, who now saw them distinctly. ‘Look, they’re making signs, shouting . . . I think they’ve seen us. Quickly, let’s go!’

They set off at a gallop and soon found themselves before two men who barely resembled human beings – their clothes torn, their eyes sunken, their skin covered in sores and burned by the sun, their lips split with thirst. ‘Who are you?’ the wretches asked in Greek.

‘We’re the ones who should be asking that,’ retorted the officer, ‘and what are you doing here?’

‘We are sailors of the royal fleet.’

‘Are you telling us that Nearchus’s fleet is . . .’ the officer did not dare finish the sentence because the two men before him looked as though they had been through a shipwreck.

‘Safe,’ said the man with his last breath, ‘but for the sake of the gods, give us some water if you want us to tell you the rest of the story.’

‘M
OUNT YOUR HORSES
!’ shouted the King, much agitated on hearing the news. ‘Nearchus is on the coast with all the ships. He hasn’t lost a single one! Eumenes, have the carts prepared – water, supplies, meat, sweets, honey, fruit and wine, by the gods! All the wine you can find. Follow me down there as soon as you can manage!’

‘But this will all take time,’ said his Secretary, trying to get him to reason.

‘Starting by nightfall will be fine. I want these men to enjoy themselves, by Zeus! We will have a great banquet on the beach! We must celebrate, we must celebrate!’

His eyes shone with emotion and impatience; he looked like an excited young boy. ‘And take care of these two sailors – treat them like princes, our honoured guests. And the Queen, I want the Queen with me as well.’

He set off at a gallop with all his Companions, followed by two squadrons of
hetairoi
cavalry. They came within sight of Nearchus’s naval camp by sunset of their third day of travelling, all covered with dust and sweat, but the light was still shining in Alexander’s eyes. The water gleamed splendidly with sparkling golden flashes and Nearchus’s ships stood out in black silhouette against the shining mirror of the Ocean, all adorned with their pennants and standards.

Nearchus came to meet them at the entrance to the camp and Alexander, as soon as he saw him, dismounted, so that the two men walked the distance between the ranks of joyous sailors on the one hand and equally joyous cavalry on the other. As they came closer they started running towards one another, impatient to embrace, and in the end their meeting was more of a collision than a fraternal hug. When they pulled away to look at each other, their faces expressed sheer incredulity. Emotion got the upper hand and left them both speechless. In the end Alexander burst into a resounding laugh and shouted, ‘You stink of rotten fish, Nearchus!’

‘And you of horse sweat,
Alexandre!’
retorted the admiral.

‘I cannot believe that you are all alive,’ said the King looking at the emaciated face of his navarch.

‘It hasn’t been easy,’ replied Nearchus. ‘At one stage I didn’t think we would make it. We sailed through two storms, but above all else our problems were thirst and hunger.’

They started walking into the camp and such was the curiosity and the desire to recount their respective adventures that the two of them did not even notice that Ptolemy had lined up the cavalry to pay homage to them.

The commander’s voice finally caught their attention: ‘For King Alexander and for Admiral Nearchus,
Alalalài!’