Christian Cameron - God of War - The Epic Story of Alexander the Great

Polystratus laughed at me.

I left him to watch the rocks and galloped back to the column. From two stades away, the column was nothing but a thin line of bronze and a haze of steel spear-tips in a dust cloud.

I rode back to my taxeis. ‘At my word, we will incline together to the left!’ I called out. I rode up and down my files until every man had heard me. Awkward sods on the left files began to incline and had to be swatted back into their spots with cries of, ‘Wait for it, you dickless fuck!’

I trotted back to the head of my part of the column. ‘Taxeis of Outer Macedon! To the left! INCLINE!’

I left Leosthenes in charge and rode back to the front until I could see Polystratus. Then I halted. Leosthenes knew his job – he guided the right front phylarch – another Philip – to moderate his incline step until he matched perfectly with my line and Polystratus and the cairn, after which he ordered them to face front and march forward.

Then I galloped. I put my head down and raced for the head of the right flank column. I found Hephaestion – Alexander was gone on another errand.

I pointed well behind him and to his left. ‘See my lads? They are on line.’

Hephaestion nodded. ‘Column! Halt and form front to the left! Look for Ptolemy’s taxeis to dress on!’

My men were marching forward all this time, so that they were already halfway from the rear of the right column to the front, a stade or more to our left. They were easily visible in their magnificent armour.

Hephaestion held out his hand. ‘This is it,’ he said.

I clasped his hand. ‘He’ll do it,’ I said.

Hephaestion nodded.

And then time sped up again.

I was back with my taxeis, and I sent my Poseidon to the rear and my view dwindled – the height of a horse makes an enormous difference on a flat, dusty plain. And then – then we were so close to them that I could see individual men, horses, helmets.

We were opposite the Persian Royal Guard. Again.

And the last time, they’d held us.

Well, the last time they’d had a man-high riverbank to help them.

Polystratus rode up and handed me my greaves, which I snapped on my shins while walking. I’m sure I looked like a clown, trying to get them on while walking, bouncing on one foot and then another, but only a fool goes into hand-to-hand combat without greaves.

Then I ran, and sprinted across my own front. We were, just in that moment, the very point of Alexander’s arrow. We were the lead element, and our right flank echeloned away to the right, so that the hypaspitoi were a little behind us but perfectly formed on our flank, and the Aegema – the household companions and then all the rest of the Hetaeroi – were formed on them, each squadron a horse length to the rear of the one before, and then, far out in the dust, I could see more horses, each squadron back from the last – less like an arrowhead than a bent bow, but from where I was I could see the men, the horses, or their dust.

We were two stades from the enemy, and Darius was getting his first look at our formation.

By Herakles, it was beautiful.

Of course, had some unit cocked it up, we’d have had a hole in our own lines.

I got a few yards in front. ‘Friends!’ I roared. ‘In a few moments, we will have the pleasure of ripping the guts out of Darius’s Royal Guard. The same bastards we saw at Issus. NEED I SAY MORE?’

And then Darius let loose his scythed chariots.

I’ve heard stories about those chariots. So here’s what I saw.

They were useless.

The speed of our approach caused somebody – probably Darius himself – to misjudge the moment of their release. Horses take time to get to a gallop, and horses won’t gallop at a solid wall of spears. They would have had to start while we were farther out in the plain – but then, of course, we weren’t a solid wall, we were in parallel columns, and there was nothing for the chariots to hit.

Moreover, our echelon allowed us to form gaps – quickly, and without fuss – in any direction, because each unit was ahead of or behind the next, so that we could all move to the flank. That scarcely mattered, because all the chariots on our front – the moment their drivers bailed out, and many jumped before their chariots were even moving – headed for the gaps that already existed, between the taxeis.

Craterus took the worst of it, because his taxeis was echeloned well back, giving the horses time to reach their gallop, and because bad manoeuvring by the taxeis on either flank left him with no place to go. Even there, however, he dropped four files to the rear – a brilliant manoeuvre – and another pair of files lay down with their aspides over their heads, as we had fighting the Thracians. Some men had arms broken. Two men died.

Two. Not to belittle their sacrifice, but Darius unleashed a storm of war horses and flashing bronze, and we lost two dead and about forty injured.

And most important, we paused, took the stroke and marched on.

We were picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off – remember, I couldn’t see what happened to Craterus’s phalanx, I had to wait for word. The dust was as thick as smoke in a burning house.

Alexander came out of the dust, with his staff behind him.

‘Darius has a gap between his centre and his left,’ Alexander said, as if we’d been together all afternoon.

Never mind how he knew. The Paeonians must have reported it.

I wanted to say something like, ‘Hello to you too’, but he was too intent on the battle.

‘I am about to charge it,’ Alexander said. ‘The hypaspitoi will follow. You must hold the ground they give up. Cover our front. And press forward, or, at worst, give no ground.’ He glanced at me. I was not Ptolemy, his boyhood friend. Merely the commander of the Taxeis of Outer Macedon. Truly, I don’t think he could have told anyone my name at that moment.

I wanted to protest that my men would have to double their frontage. That we would be at most six deep, to fight Darius’s finest infantry.

But I was sure that my men could do it. And so was he. So there was no point in complaining.

‘Halt!’ I roared. ‘Right division – half files to the right! Turn! March!’

I tucked half my taxeis in behind the hypaspitoi. Now my men were six deep – four deep, in one place. I had expanded my front by one third.

While my phylarchs readjusted their files to balance the numbers and close up, so that we were as ready as we could be in this shallow formation, the Persians stood close enough that we could see the silver apples on their spears. But they didn’t loose an arrow.

And they didn’t charge us.

Listen, I could tell you what happened on the rest of the field. But I wasn’t there. On our left, Bessus, of whom more anon, led his Easterners in a well-timed attempt to turn our flank left. He sent his Sakje to raid our camp, which they did with ruthless joy.

On our right, Persian and Mede noble cavalrymen, backed by Bactrians and led by Scythians, tried to turn Alexander’s flank; racing to the edge of the unlevelled ground and then curving out and around our Paeonians and our veteran mercenaries under Menidas, they closed in. But they didn’t charge home – they came in as a skirmisher cloud, shooting their bows.

Menidas charged them, because he had no other choice. He kept his ranks closed up, took serious casualties in men and horses and dusted them back into the bad ground, and then the Paeonians pursued them.

In time, the reckless pursuit of the Paeonians was punished by the Scythians and the Persians, but it took time.

On the left, Bessus and Mazaeus were more determined and more reckless, and Parmenio was a little too cautious. But when the Albanians and the Armenians were in the rear of the second line and threatening to turn Craterus, who had had to halt to prevent his flanks from being penetrated, Kineas and the allied horse under Coeranus countercharged. Their triumph was short-lived. But it bought Craterus time, and it bought Parmenio time.