The Pillars of Hercules (21 page)

But now Eumenes reined his steed in, drew it up short. If this skirmish was the first part of a larger attack, then his responsibility was to be back with Alexander, not out beyond the edge of the perimeter. Catching his breath, he stared down at one of the dead barbarians. The blood that obscured the man’s features couldn’t mask the fact that this didn’t look like any tribesman Eumenes had seen. He wore thick furs of some animal Eumenes didn’t recognize; his legs were practically bowed from spending so much time in the saddle. There were strange tattoos up and down the man’s arms. The shouts and screams up ahead were receding: the tribesmen were drawing off, galloping back into the forest. And Eumenes could see why, for their quarry had eluded them: another rider bolted in amidst the Macedonian cavalry—a Macedonian courier, the one who the tribesmen had been chasing.

“Thank the gods,” he muttered. “They almost had me.”

“Forest must be full of the buggers,” said someone else. A chorus of questions followed, but then—before Eumenes could intervene—the voice of an officer barked above the clamor: “In Zeus’ name, let’s get him to the river. Those bastards could be back at any moment.”

Soldiers saluted as the officer designated one patrol to keep covering this section of the forest while the other escorted the courier back to the Danube. Eumenes cantered in among that second patrol—there were more than a few eyebrows at suddenly finding one of Alexander’s top lieutenants right in their midst. In short order, Eumenes was riding alongside the courier.

“My lord,” said the man as he spotted the general’s stripes on Eumenes’ shoulder.

“You have correspondence?”

“From Pella. The king. A satchel of papers.”

“Then why in Hades did you ride through the forest? Why not just follow the army up the river?”

The messenger looked sheepish. “I was taking a short-cut. Between bends in the river.” He caught sight of the look that Eumenes was giving him. “We were told the eastern part of the forest was clear!”

Eumenes kept his voice level. “By who?”

“The fleet captains back on the Black Sea.”

“Who are safe back on their boats at the coast. And can thus indulge in such fantasies. Next time, stay within sight of the river.”

“My lord.” They rode out onto that river bank, the columns of marching infantry parting to let them through. The messenger’s eyes went wide as he saw the fleet arrayed out on the river—his eyes focused in particular on the massive octere that was Alexander’s eight-leveled flagship, although it wouldn’t retain that status for much longer. Soon the deeper-keeled warships would have to turn back, and the fleet would rely ever more heavily on the barges, some of which were bigger than the warships, and crammed with men and horses and supplies.

Most of the boats were far smaller, of course. Eumenes glanced at the skiff that was now reaching the shore; barely larger than a typical fishing vessel, and manned by three Macedonian sailors. They helped the courier in; Eumenes climbed aboard as well and they rowed out to Alexander’s flagship.

So far Alexander had spent all his time there. He hadn’t even bothered to go ashore; indeed, neither had any of his high command, which was why Eumenes had felt compelled to check out conditions shoreside for himself. Now he was returning to the flagship with a messenger from Philip, which struck him as more than a little ironic. Eumenes wondered what that messenger carried. Hopefully not orders. That might be awkward. Alexander had made it all too clear that he regarded himself as his own law out here. But the messenger was evidently carrying
something
of importance—his sealed satchel testified to that. Eumenes led the weary courier up a lowered ramp and onto the deck of the flagship, past bodyguards, beneath folded sails and between rows of ballista—and then into the pavilion-tent that occupied the entirety of the rear portion of the deck. This was Alexander’s command center.

Which also meant it was a lounge and drinking-parlor. Alexander had been holed up in here with Hephaestion for the last few days, his mood darkening the further up the Danube they got. Eumenes had been trying to stay clear of him, which wasn’t easy. But that was one of the reasons why he’d gone to the shore earlier—obstensibly to conduct a personal inspection of the vast moving city that was the Macedonian army, but also to stay out of Alexander’s hair. Eumenes entered the pavilion to find the prince and Hephaestion and two officers playing dice on a table littered with charts and maps.

“So what’s this about a skirmish on the shore?” asked Alexander.

“Scythians,” said Eumenes.

The reaction to that made him want to laugh. It was as though he’d tossed a burning brand into the center of the pavilion. No one wanted to hear that one of the fiercest tribes in existence—right up there with the Amazons themselves—was on this part of the Danube. Scythians were supposed to be way out in the steppes. Everyone stared at Eumenes—everyone except Alexander, who just looked like he’d been expecting this.

“Are you sure?” said Hephaestion.

“No,” replied Eumenes. “I’m not.”

“Then why—”

“The bodies don’t look like any tribesmen I’ve ever seen. They’re not Dardanians or Cicones—not like anybody we were expecting to find along this section of the river. They’re altogether exotic.”

“Really?” said Hephaestion. He sounded altogether skeptical.

“Philip himself fought them, didn’t he? And Herodotus discusses them in detail—”

“Fuck Herodotus,” said Hephaestion. “I’m sick of you quoting that
Greek
to paper over the fact that you don’t know what the hell’s going on out there.”

“That’s enough,” snapped Alexander. “The Scythians are real. Let’s not pretend they’re not.”

“Doesn’t mean that they’re
right on top of us,
” said Hephaestion. “We’ve got scouts out in force, Alexander. Eumenes is acting like the woods are full of bogeymen.”

“I said nothing of the kind,” snapped Eumenes. “All I’m saying is that we have Scythians in the vicinity and we should be prepared for further incursions.”

“We should
assume
further incursions,” said Alexander, waving his hand languidly. “Power abhors a vacuum, no? We emptied the whole eastern portion of the Danube, so no surprise that some of the more fearsome tribes from the north might have been moving down to take advantage of the disruption.”

“But surely they’d be moving in
behind
our path of march,” said one of the officers. “Into that vacuum—rather than directly against us. Who would try that?”

“The Scythians would,” said Eumenes.

“And that’s why we’re on the alert and ready for anything,” said Alexander. He looked at the messenger, who had been standing there awkwardly this whole time. “Who’s this?”

The messenger drew himself up straight and saluted. “I bring word from your father, sire.”

Your father:
the wrong thing to say, but the courier was too tired and too low-ranking to be sensitive to such nuance. Alexander stood up, face darkening—gestured at the courier’s satchel.

“Open it.”

The messenger hesitated. “He was most insistent that only you do that, sire.”

Alexander looked at Hephaestion, who was shaking his head. Eumenes knew what they were thinking—some kind of trap. But if that was the case, there were better ways to spring it. Subtler ways, and Alexander knew it. Still, why take chances…

“I said open it,” repeated Alexander.

The messenger nodded, broke the seal, slowly removed the lid….

And jumped backward as though he’d been bitten by a snake.

For a moment, Eumenes thought that’s exactly what had happened—that the messenger would collapse and start frothing at the mouth and Alexander would turn the entire army around and march back to Pella for a final reckoning with his father. But the messenger was still standing there, breathing a little heavily—then stepping forward again to pull out the contents of the satchel.

A human head.

Withered by whatever preservative agent it had been steeped in prior to being placed into the satchel, its features almost unrecognizable. But Alexander recognized them anyway: his eyes went wide. Then he looked at the messenger.

“At least your return trip will be easier,” he said quietly.

The messenger gazed at him, confused. Alexander signalled to two of his bodyguards, who grabbed the man and forced him to his knees. He began begging for mercy.

“Spare you?” said Alexander. “Spare
us
”—gestured with one hand. Another bodyguard stepped forward, grabbed the messenger’s hair and swung his sword, hacking off the head in a single stroke. Blood sprayed across the floorboards. The bodyguard placed the freshly hacked head in the satchel.

“Throw that box and body overboard and let them drift down the river,” said Alexander. “That’s my answer to the king. And you”—this to the junior officers and remaining bodyguards—“all of you,
get out
.”

The bodyguards saluted and dragged the corpse out of there, the white-faced officers following, pulling the tent-flaps down behind them. Now it was just Alexander, Hephaestion and Eumenes—and the shrivelled head sitting on the table. Alexander regarded it calmly.

“It was worth a try,” he said.

Eumenes finally remembered where he’d seen the sightless face staring up at them. It was one of Philip’s own bodyguards. He realized that Alexander and Hephaestion were both staring at him, as though awaiting his reaction. He looked back at them evenly, decided that boldness was the best course.

“So what was the plan?” he asked.

“There were two of them,” said Hephaestion.

“Two plans or two men?”

“Men.”

“Both bodyguards?”

“The other was a page.”

“With access to Philip’s bedchamber?” said Eumenes.

“Yes. It’s not clear what went wrong.”

You were in charge of it,
thought Eumenes. He could see it loud and clear on Alexander’s face: Hephaestion had failed his prince. Which was why Eumenes had been ordered to stay behind, to help clean up the mess. Eumenes recognized it as a subtle increase in his own standing, but now Hephaestion was going to hate him more than ever. And being dragged into a plot when it had already failed was never the most salubrious of propositions. Eumenes looked from the anxious face of Hephaestion to the far-too-calm face of Alexander. He chose his next words carefully.

“Philip has that palace locked up tight,” he said. “He’s set everyone to watch each other. Maybe the page betrayed you, maybe another of the bodyguards suspected something.”

“Not like it matters,” said Alexander. “We’ll never know.”

“No,” said Eumenes. “You won’t. But if you were going to try this again, I’d recommend it be done outside the palace.”

“Philip never leaves it,” said Hephaestion.

“He would if you burned it down.”

Alexander stared at Eumenes. A slow smile crept across his face.

“We’re not in a position to do that,” said Hephaestion.

“Not yet,” said Eumenes. “Wait till this expedition’s done. What’s the hurry?”

“The hurry is I’d like to be king,” said Alexander.

“You can proclaim yourself that anytime,” said Eumenes.

“Macedonia can’t have two kings,” said Hephaestion.

“Not when it was a tiny kingdom. But now it’s a world-spanning empire. Perhaps it
needs
two kings. I could certainly draw up a reasoned treatise proposing that. Release it in the name of some anonymous philosopher, get them all arguing.” Alexander looked thoughtful. “Wait till your next great victory,” added Eumenes. “Preferrably one that has allowed the army plenty of looting.”

“That could be some time,” said Hephaestion. Alexander shot him a look but Hephaestion wasn’t backing down—he was still the one man who could talk back like this to Alexander: “Why not? It’s true. It’s hard to rack up historic victories in the middle of nowhere. And in any event, the problem isn’t whether or not you’re king. The problem is what to do about Philip. Not to mention what he’s going to do about you.”

“Nothing,” said Eumenes.

“Nothing?” asked Hephaestion with more than a tinge of disbelief.

“What
can
he do?” Eumenes was smiling now. If there was one thing he knew, it was how the mind of the King of Macedon worked. “More than half the army is under arms on this river, under the crown prince. Even if someone arrived with orders to arrest or kill Alexander, how precisely would they do it?”

Hephaestion didn’t reply. Alexander looked as though he’d expected Eumenes to say exactly this. Eumenes had the odd feeling he’d been asked to stay in order to settle an argument. He warmed to the task, gesticulating for emphasis. “The fact of the matter is that professional assassins wouldn’t be professional if they didn’t want to
survive the deed
. There’s not a one out there who would try his luck in the middle of this army. And—more importantly—why would Philip even
want
to kill his son? Who else offers a chance of leading this army to victory? Any move the king makes either leaves this army without its best commander or else results in that army going back to Pella to tear down everything the king has ever built.”

Hephaestion nodded slowly. Alexander stood up as though the matter was settled.

That was when they heard it.

Distant shouts—a far-off din, followed by a nearer uproar, a maelstrom of shouting and screams—and then the clanging noise of all the bells atop the masts of fleet, all of them sounding the alarm. An almighty yell went up from all directions—all too much of it the product of voices echoing in from outside the Macedonian perimeter.

The tent-doors to the pavilion flew open. A bodyguard stood there, a grim expression on his face. Before he could open his mouth—

“Bring me my armor,” said Alexander.

Chapter Ten

C
harging through the flaps of the tent, Eumenes found himself looking out upon a sight that made him wonder if his eyes had rebelled against his mind. The fleet had just rounded a bend in the river to behold a barrier that stretched from shore to shore less than half a mile ahead. It was as though the Danube was a harbor with a boom stretched across it—and as Eumenes looked more closely he saw that it was a tangle of boats and wood and metal and all manner of debris, all of it chained together to form a barricade propped in place against the river’s current. Tribesmen armed with bows and slings crouched behind a makeshift wall of spikes and wood that stretched across that barricade; as Eumenes watched they began firing at the foremost ships in the fleet.