Besieger of Cities

By Alfred Duggan

Epic historical adventure of one of the most infamous of ancient Macedonians.

In the dawning of the Silver Age of Hellas, the Greeks have exchanged political freedom for enormous wealth. But is membership to the new world Empire worth the loss of Liberty? In this new world, any man might be capable of anything. The enigmatic Demetrius believes he can do just that; win back the Empire that his father had helped Alexander to found.

Fighting with increasingly ingenious methods, he becomes known for using archers mounted on elephants to conquer castles, and will become one of the most famous men of his time…

This epic historical adventure of the ancient Macedonians is perfect for fans of Conn Iggulden and Bernard Cornwell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781788632331

Book preview

Prologue

Captain Aristippus, sir, said the clerk and retired, closing the door-curtain behind him. He would listen on the other side, but ostensibly the captain had been granted a private interview.

Ah yes, captain. Take a stool. There is a lot you must know about your new appointment. I want you to understand the position from the start. Then you won’t begin too gently, and have to tighten up things later. That always causes difficulties, and it isn’t really fair to the prisoner.

The provincial treasurer spoke the Ionic of Miletus, but he was some kind of barbarian all the same; Aristippus could tell that from the layer of fat on his stomach, and his general lack of muscle. It was commonly said that only eunuchs won high positions in the treasury; but with barbarians who chose to shave their cheeks in the Hellene fashion you could not always be certain.

He is a prisoner, then? Not, for example, a guest of the King of Kings; or a hostage; or an envoy on his way home but detained by sickness until the doctors declare him well enough to travel? I’m glad you have made that clear. Aristippus felt pleased that he had been so quick off the mark. The treasurer would note that here was a soldier who listened carefully and was not afraid to speak out, even to a senior official.

He surrendered to our victorious army, because he could no longer maintain the struggle, said the treasurer with a little gesture of dignified satisfaction. He is undoubtedly a prisoner of war, and he must admit it. By the laws of war he might have been sold as a slave, or set to work in the mines. But our glorious King of Kings chose to show mercy. A very famous hero, the son of an old comrade in arms, related by marriage to the ruling house – there were many cogent reasons. So he is both a prisoner and a king, and he lives in greater luxury than if he were a royal guest. But we want him to stay where he is – the King of Kings himself wants him to stay where he is. That’s why your position as com­mander of his guard will be one of some delicacy. You will be anxious, sometimes worried, always busy. But you will also live in comfort, you will be generously paid, and you will be far from any battlefield. I understand that those who make arms their profession value highly all these amenities.

Who doesn’t? I’m not ambitious. I won my rank on the battlefield, and I shall be quite content if I never draw my sword again. So my chief duty will be to see that he doesn’t get away? But when I pull him off his horse I must still address him as ‘my lord king’?

You sum it up very neatly. You Hellenes have a gift for words. But then you are speaking in your mother-tongue, while I must use a foreign language. The king may do anything he likes, within reason. But he must stay where he is. His expenses, which are enormous, are a charge on the provincial treasury. That is why I control his palace. You must keep him in that palace, and, by the way, you may not harm him.

The last bit makes it more difficult. I suppose I can use force, so long as I don’t shed his blood? Is he here for life, or is there some chance that eventually he will be released? It makes a difference, you know, or I wouldn’t inquire into a matter of high policy. If he hopes for freedom it will be easier to control him. If he is quite desperate he might snatch a sword from one of his guards and go down fighting. That would be in character, as I remember him. When I was a boy I saw him in all his glory.

He won’t die fighting, like a hero trapped in his own hall. But I forget. I was thinking of the barbarian legends of my own childhood. You Hellenes see a man who fights on after all is lost as merely obstinate, not heroic. He has been here for more than a year, and he understands the rules that define his life. I think that answers your questions, but if you want specific orders here they are: On no account may you shed his blood. If all else fails you may seize his body, you may even put him in fetters. But that is only if he tries to escape. While he stays peacefully in his palace he must live as much like a free man as you can manage.

And the prospect of release? Aristippus insisted. It’s important, and I ought to know. Will he risk anything to get away, or will he sit quiet in the hope that good behaviour will gain him an earlier pardon?

The treasurer frowned and answered slowly, picking his words with care. I cannot of course disclose to you high matters of state, and indeed I do not know them myself. I can tell you no more than the declared intentions of our mighty King of Kings. Release has been promised, at a suitable date when foreign affairs are peaceful. The King of Kings has added a graceful compliment. My lord Antiochus begged his father to be merciful, and it has been promised that the royal heir will come in person to escort the prisoner to freedom. That promise was given rather more than a year ago. Since then my lord the royal heir has been too occupied with his exalted duties to find time to visit these parts.

I understand. I wonder whether the prisoner understands? But even if he does he will still be hoping. That makes my job much easier.

Perhaps. But you must still be vigilant. If the prisoner were to escape, the King of Kings would be angry, with me as well as with you. I shall know whether you are vigilant. As provincial treasurer I have no right to give orders to the troops; but it is my duty to provide for the expenses of the palace, including the pay of the guards.

Quite so. You express yourself in Ionic much better than I do. Now could I have a chat with the officer I am to relieve? He can tell me the daily routine. You say it has gone on for more than a year, so they must have worked out how to run things easily.

Unfortunately your predecessor is not available. Nothing serious, you understand. His head is still on his shoulders. The physicians attribute his disorder to too much wine and not enough exercise.

They told me this job was a real plum.

As you say. The etiquette is that you dine with your royal prisoner whenever he invites you. Otherwise, so long as he is indoors, it’s enough to have three guards where they can see him. Never less than three, mind; so that if necessary two can restrain him with their bare hands while the third raises the alarm. Then no one is tempted to use a sword.

Must they be within hearing as well?

Oh no, quite unnecessary. He likes to speak his mind, and the soldiers might be embarrassed if they heard his opinion of my lord the King of Kings. They keep an eye on him from the far end of an ante-room. When he goes out, especially when he hunts, you must ride with him. Be sure your horse is as fast as his. Of course he is not permitted to talk privately with men of any standing. But then so far he hasn’t tried. He knows the rules as well as I do, though no one has explained them to him, and he doesn’t want to get ordinary harmless people into trouble. When he gives a dinner you must look over the list of guests beforehand, and check that they all have permission to call on him. You will find that they have permission, always; and anyway they will be people of no importance – actors, loose women, philosophers, buffoons, creatures of that type.

There speaks the barbarian, Aristippus thought to himself; in Hellas creatures of that kind form public opinion, especially the philosophers and buffoons. But when he answered it was to express surprise on another point.

Hunting? Dinner parties? What kind of prison is this?

"A very special kind. Fifty years ago it belonged to Darius, the last King of Kings of the Achaemenid line. It was his local palace in these parts, as he had palaces in every province of his dominions. I don’t think he ever stayed in it; but if he had wanted to, there it was ready for him. Now of course it belongs to my lord Seleucus, though he has never visited it either. It’s a genuine palace after the Persian fashion; with a separate wing for the women – quite crowded now I believe – and what we call a paradise, a park for hunting – I don’t recall your word for that."

Because we don’t have a word for it. Small and crowded Hellas has no private hunting parks. But I know what you mean. We use the Persian word for the Persian thing.

Well, that’s where he hunts. He’s not allowed beyond the boundary fence; but, as I said, he won’t try to pass it. His pride would be wounded if he were stopped by force, so he never does anything that his guards would not permit. Why should he, anyway? He has all the pleasures of a king – feasting, hunting, dancing girls – and none of the labour of ruling. It ought to be the happiest time of his life.

That’s as may be, said the soldier, but if there’s a wall round you it’s only natural to want to get over it. As soon as you are besieged the most comfortable fortress begins to seem cramped and narrow.

Siege is an experience that has never come my way, though I’m sure you are right. However, the wall doesn’t run all round this palace. The sea lies on two sides, with the paradise between the house and the mainland. You needn’t bother about the sea, there is always a guardship patrolling. You need only watch the landward wall. It is, as you said just now, a plum of a job. But it must be done properly, mind. My lord the King of Kings is in earnest about that.

The frown with which he finished made Aristippus shiver a little.

Very well, sir. You have explained everything. Today I shall set off to take over my duties. By the way, you said that I must give the prisoner royal honours. What is his full style?

King Demetrius, son of King Antigonus. If you like you may add Besieger of Cities, the surname he took in his young days. He is proud of it – oddly enough when you recall that his most famous siege ended in a draw. Mind you never call him king of any particular place, because he rules nowhere. He is just king in the abstract, king by rank as it were.

---

Next morning Captain Aristippus was presented to his prisoner. At the palace gate a Hellene awaited him, a handsome grey-haired gentleman wearing rather too much jewellery. He was quick to note the captain’s stare at his adornments.

Good morning. My name is Sosigenes, and I have to wear two big brooches to indicate my double rank. Court etiquette, you know. This one shows that I’m officially the Friend of King Seleucus, and the other that I am also the Friend of King Demetrius. I run the palace for him, and try to cushion any shocks to his dignity. You had better talk to him alone. That will be less painful to him, though he is bearing up very well under his misfortunes. If you get the chance, persuade him to ride more often. He spends too much time thinking about the past, and then he drinks to forget the present. I like him, and you will like him too. He is a man of honour, and you can trust his promises.

But I am not here to trust his promises, thought Aristippus; though to the courtier he said nothing so crude.

One of the numerous palace servants led him through a deserted hall of audience to a dining-room at the end of the wing, whose three windows opened on a wide view of the sea. In the central window King Demetrius lay on a couch. The only other person in the room was a handsome young page, standing beside a large wine jar.

King Demetrius was also handsome, though no longer young; in his fifties, the captain judged. He wore a short tunic of red cloth; a fillet of red wool kept his grizzled hair in order. His feet and arms were bare; but then it was already a very hot day. He smiled at his visitor and motioned to the page, who came forward with two goblets on a tray.

You are the new captain of my bodyguard? Welcome. I’m glad they sent someone young and fit. Your predecessor found the job too much for him. Will you join me in a drink?

Thank you, my lord king, but it is a little early in the day. Later, perhaps.

Nonsense. It’s never too early for a soldier to drink. I see you have come in full uniform, greaves, helmet and all. Next time you need not bother, though I suppose when we ride together you must wear a sword. Take it, man. Add more water if you like. I prefer half and half, like all trueborn Macedonians. Besides, you ought to drink to my continued health and safety. Isn’t that as valuable to you as to me?

Aristippus took the cup. I drink to you, my lord. May your life in this palace be prosperous and uneventful.

"Very nicely put. I suppose there’s no news of that young puppy Antiochus? I would hear soon enough if he were really coming to visit his father-in-law. The King of Kings was just being polite when he promised it. And yet he might come. I don’t know, and I shan’t ask your opinion. Supposing you did know the secrets of the court you would not be so indiscreet as to tell me. Well, I am very comfortable here. Shall we look at the sea while we have another drink?"

Not for me, my lord, Aristippus answered firmly. May I be so bold as to inquire your plans for the day? I had word from the stables that you had ordered horses and greyhounds. But unless we start soon the sun will be too hot for coursing. When do you propose to mount?

Not today, after all. When I woke up I felt full of energy, but now I would like to rest here and look at the sea. Doesn’t it seem beautiful and peaceful, as we gaze down from this headland? A very fine situation, this. One of its advantages is that there is always shelter for the guardship on one side or other of the cape. From this height she looks very pretty. But I don’t envy the men in her. When I was younger I enjoyed seafaring, but then I was always going somewhere. Just pottering about in sight of this palace must be dull, and dashed uncomfortable when the wind is abeam.

Yes, my lord. For myself, I am always seasick on a quiet passage; but when I see the beak of an enemy ship my stomach settles. The sea can be tedious unless you are fighting on it.

True enough. I never saw anyone seasick during a battle. But only a true Hellene would notice a thing like that, and you speak good Attic. Are you by any chance an Athenian? Athens is the finest city in all Hellas, and once I was very happy there.

Not an Athenian, my lord, though I was born and brought up there. My grandfather came to Piraeus from Thera in the Cyclades. My father before me was born in Athens, but we never sought citizenship. Until I went off soldiering I was a metic, a resident foreigner.

Then you are as much an Athenian as I ever was. I have lived there off and on, but I never attained the citizenship. The most they ever gave me was worship as a god. That seemed queer at first, though you soon grow used to it. Do you think the Athenians are good at picking gods?

That’s not for me to say, my lord. I never cast a vote in the Assembly. As a metic my duty was to obey the law and pay my taxes, and serve in the levy of course. But I never was enrolled in the levy, because as soon as I was big enough to carry a shield I went off to be a mercenary instead.

How old are you? Forty? Then you must have left Athens just about the time I arrived. A pity. We can’t talk over old times together.

I saw your first entry, my lord. A very splendid affair, and you looked very well. Then the wars began again, and I went off to fight for pay because in a citizen levy a metic has no chance of promotion.

My first entry. That’s something we can talk about. Sit with me in this window while we talk about it. But you really must drink more wine.

I’m sorry, my lord. If you are not riding today I must go and inspect the guard. But why don’t you come out for a ride? It will give you an appetite for dinner. Soldiers can’t pass a whole morning in drinking and chatting; and we are both soldiers, you and I.

You forget. I may be a soldier, but I am also a god. A god by solemn decree of the sovereign people of Athens, who very seldom make mistakes in an affair of that kind. As you can see, the Athenians did not give me eternal youth. But perhaps they gave me immortality – at least you can’t yet prove that they didn’t. And they may have given me the vigour of an immortal god, for since they honoured me I have suffered only one illness – though that one illness did me harm enough in all conscience.

Sighing, King Demetrius snapped his fingers at the page, who refilled his cup.

Come, my lord, you must sometimes get out and about. I know which illness you are thinking of. If you follow this way of life you will fall ill again.

Nonsense, my dear fellow. I am quite fit enough to go hunting, it’s just that this morning I don’t feel like it. Tomorrow perhaps. While this light lasts I shall sit and look at the sea. You have set me to thinking of Athens, so I shall be happy. Then this evening there is a new troupe of dancers, Egyptians they call themselves but nowadays all dancers say that. I have asked a few friends in to watch them, and I hope you will join us. If I feel in the mood I may take exercise with the dancers, or with one of them. Your men can peep into the bedroom, to make sure I am still here. But no riding, not today.

The captain shrugged. He had looked forward to a pleasant ride in the hunting-paradise, but it would be useless to continue his persuasion. If the prisoner wished to wreck his health that was a freedom still permitted to him. Aristippus bowed respectfully and went off to inspect his soldiers.

Left alone, King Demetrius gazed out to sea, his empty wine-cup still dangling from his fingers. It had been pleasant to hear good Attic spoken once again. His mind travelled back to the great days of his youth, when he had been handsome and brave and successful, on the brink of becoming a king and a god. Athens had done that for him. He would try to remember it all, from the very beginning.

1. Bringing Freedom To Hellas

Even in high summer a fresh breeze swept the open sea. On the flagship they had spread an awning over the poop, to keep off the sun and let in the cool air. Under it the admiral sat on a folding stool. He could see the horizon all round him, and the orderly lines of the fleet which followed, 250 warships and transports. The sun was high, so that to starboard the mountains of Attica were half-hidden by mist; but the waves danced in the dazzling light. The fleet was moving at less than half speed. On the fivers, the ships of the line, two rowers pulled at each oar while the other three rested; on the flagship, a tall sevener, three rowers to each oar gave a reserve of mobility, while their four comrades crowded the central gangway to stare at the land.

The admiral, Demetrius son of Antigonus, was the best-looking man in the whole armament. He was tall, though not so tall as his mighty father; he had the muscles of a warrior, the brow of a thinker, and the expressive thin mouth of a wit. He was still in his twenties, as he reminded himself whenever he thought of the future; he did not remind himself nearly so often that his next birthday would be his thirtieth.

He glanced astern, admiring the good order of his ships. They kept station very well. So they should. This was undoubtedly the second-best fleet in the civilised world. Experts said that Ptolemy’s was the best – perhaps they were right, but the question would soon be decided.

Then he recalled that this was his first sight of Attica, the mother of beauty and knowledge; and instead of drinking it in he was thinking of future war. He very seldom thought seriously of anything but war, or heard any other topic discussed at his father’s table.

---

That was natural enough. For thirty years, all his life, war had been the main interest, the main occupation, of civilised men all over the world. Demetrius had been born a subject of old King Philip, but he was still in his cradle when Alexander ascended the throne of Macedonia and set the armies marching. His home was in conquered Asia by the time he was learning to walk. The earliest words he could understand had been tales of conquest, tales more wonderful than even a quick-witted child could invent for his own enjoyment.

In the great household of the new Macedonian satrap of Phrygia soldiers were always calling on their way home. Mostly they were elderly veterans, tired of long marches and hard knocks and hunger and cold, glad to be going back wealthy to the ancestral farm. But some were warriors in the prime of life, lamed or lacking an eye or a hand. These unlucky young heroes were still on fire with the wonder and glory of conquest. They were not burdened with the leather bags which weighed down the prudent veterans; their plunder had been squandered on wine or gambled away. They envied their comrades, still trailing long pikes over the empty plains of Scythia or beside the close-set muddy rivers of India. They felt like men turned out of the theatre while the play was at its height. Over there in the east, farther away than it was possible for the small mind of a child to conceive, history was being made; Alexander continued on his conquering way, and these wrecks of battle still longed to be marching with him.

They had seen such wonders that they could not cease recounting them: the huge ramparts of Babylon, so wide that chariots might pass on the battlements: the myriads of little houses packed within the walls: towering temples where strange gods were worshipped. Here was the biggest and most populous city in the world – and all built of mud, without marble or stone.

Persepolis on the other hand was all precious marble, or limestone for the meanest buildings; and the treasure taken in it was past counting – earthenware jars as tall as a man, each filled with a solid mass of once-molten gold, so that you had to break the jar to get at the wealth within. In Persepolis there was more bullion, lumps of gold and silver too heavy for a mule to bear away, than any Hellene or Macedonian had imagined to exist in the whole world.

Other soldiers, on the whole more interesting to a small boy whose mind was just awakening, told of strange lands which were more than half magical. They had skirted the borders of the Amazons, and seen women among the warriors though they had never encountered a wholly female army; rumour ran that Alexander himself had parleyed with, and indeed seduced, the Amazon queen. In pursuit of the fleeing Darius, the Great King whose ancestors had so nearly conquered Hellas, they had hastened over the endless plains of Scythia, plains bounded only by the horizon so that men called them the Sea of Grass, plains so level and empty that nowhere did they pass a hill or a tree taller than the pikes of their invincible phalanx.

Then they had reached the mountains; peaks higher than Olympus, passes narrower than the cleft of Delphi. But the mountaineers valued their freedom so highly that they would not survive it. In hundreds they leapt over great precipices as Alexander’s invincible light infantry stormed their defences high above the clouds.

Beyond the mountains the army had come down into the well-watered plains of India; thick forests of unknown trees, broad rivers flowing south beyond the rim of the known world. There they had encountered armies of elephants, beasts so strange and huge that you could not describe or even imagine them. But the pikemen of Macedonia, these men boasting to the staring boy, had broken the line of huge trumpeting beasts. Alexander spared the conquered King of India, though he took tribute from his myriads of savage subjects.

But the world went on and on, even beyond India. At last veterans and invalids brought news that the invincible army had turned for home. Surely the phalanx would return to Pella so that the soldiers might enjoy their wealth? If young Demetrius stayed here in outlandish Phrygia he would see the mighty Alexander ride by on his way to Hellas and Macedonia and the true centre of civilisation.

It was very hard for a boy to practise steadily with his javelins, to drill earnestly at the command of the flute, to wheel and run in line as a preparation for the battles of his manhood, when his elders had aready conquered more than the known world.

Father had been entrusted by the mighty Alexander with the government of several Persian provinces. Of course Father was very famous, a faithful and skilled commander; but he looked as though the great wars had been rather too much for him. Not only had he lost an eye, but at the age of sixty all his hair was white, even to the bush on his broad chest. He was stiff in the legs too, and needed help to mount his horse. But when he was bathed and anointed, wearing his magnificent bronze cuirass, he still looked the famous Antigonus, the tallest and strongest warrior in the best army the world had ever seen. Also he happened to get on well with his ten-year-old son; the fifty years of difference in their ages made him seem more like a grandfather than a father, and no boy quarrels with his grandfather.

Young Demetrius never saw the conqueror of the world ride by in all his glory. When he was just thirteen news came that the great Alexander had died in the prime of his youth, of a fever caught among the stinks of mud-built Babylon. At once Father put on his armour and rode off with all the troops he could muster, to discuss with the other commanders the government of the Empire.

---

It was the end of an epoch. Henceforth men were divided into two classes (that is, the only kind of men who interested young Demetrius – soldiers); either they had served under Alexander, in which case they all said they had seen India even if they had been posted in garrison on the Hellespont; or they had joined the army after the death of the great king, and must keep silent while their betters boasted. Inevitably, the young recruits felt that all their lives they would have to take second place.

In theory the great Empire which stretched from the Adriatic to the Indian Ocean was ruled by the two joint-kings whom the Macedonian army in Babylon had nominated to succeed Alexander. These were the late king’s bastard half-brother Philip III, a lunatic who must always be controlled by a keeper; and Alexander’s posthumous son by the Persian princess Roxana, Alexander IV, who would have to reign for at least sixteen years before he could govern by his own authority. Meanwhile the commanders of the great army fought among themselves for the Regency.

Antigonus, Satrap of Lycia and Pamphylia, was important but not quite in the front rank, not quite great enough to strike out for himself. Obediently he followed his military superior, Perdiccas who had been second-in-command under Alexander.

In duty bound, Perdiccas made war on Ptolemy the separatist, who was trying to dismember the Empire he had helped to conquer by detaching Egypt to be his independent realm. The war dragged on, with two skilful and well-led armies fencing at the crossings of the Nile; it seemed that Perdiccas could neither win nor lose. So the Macedonian soldiers, who wanted peace just as much as they wanted an undivided Empire, ended the fighting by killing the less successful of the two commanders. At the moment this was Perdiccas, who was duly murdered in his tent by his own men.

Antipater was chosen by what was left of the army to succeed Perdiccas as regent of the undivided Empire. As other commanders dropped out the importance of Antigonus increased. Antipater gave him the chief command in the war against Eumenes, the only senior officer who was not of Macedonian descent.