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

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.’