Women stood at the edges of fields and watched us pass. Let me tell you what that means. Women are usually locked away when armies come. It’s a good idea. If country people get a rumour of an army, their grain is buried, their animals are driven up the hills and their women vanish.
We marched through a Boeotia full of late-summer grain, donkeys and beautiful women watching us march. They had no idea we were coming, and the Prodromoi moved so fast and so professionally that any man among them who thought to saddle his mare and ride for the city was quietly, ruthlessly removed and brought before the king. No one was killed, but by the time the sun was well down in the sky, we had thirty of these honest citizens trailing the king.
And we could see the Cadmea in the distance. Fabled Thebes.
Bastards. Really, an example of bad behaviour to ring through the ages. Only worthy thing Thebes ever did was to beat Sparta, and even there, really the Spartans beat themselves. Otherwise, Thebes was like a weathercock to tell worthy men what not to do, eh?
It is very fashionable these days in Greece to decry the fate of Thebes. Fuck them. They got what they deserved. How’s that for insensitive?
Anyway, we kept marching. We were on a superb road by then, rounded at the crest, paved with stones, and we sped up.
We marched right up to the gates. We posted a double line of sentries, paid the farmers of the near Cadmea to provide chicken, lamb and barley, and made a rich dinner. The hordes of Thebes didn’t frighten me any, and I slept well.
We were up in the dark, but however early the hypaspitoi rose that day, the men of Thebes were up earlier. By the time I found Alexander, Thebes had already surrendered and agreed to accept a new garrison, and accepted Alexander as the hegemon of the League.
I went back to bed.
I awoke late, to a new world. A world where Alexander, my boyhood friend, was actually going to be the hegemon of the League of Corinth – the master of the Amphictyonic League, the keeper of Delphi. The King of Macedon, Lord of Thessaly and undisputed master of his father’s empire.
It was thirty-nine days since we’d marched out of Pella, with Antipater claiming we should sit and negotiate and lay out some bribes.
The first sign of the new world was Amyntas son of Philotas, one of Parmenio’s household officers. I knew him well – he’d brought me my first toy sword.
He was waiting with Polystratus when I awoke. We embraced, and he shook his head.
‘When I was a young man, I never slept this late,’ he said with mock severity.
‘When you were a young man, Agamemnon was still king and the siege of Troy was in its second year,’ I said. ‘And I doubt you ever marched two hundred stades in a day.’
He grinned. ‘With Philip? I’ve made some marches, boy. Watch what you claim.’ Then he gave Polystratus a long look. ‘Can I trust your man?’
‘With anything,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Parmenio was always a good friend to your father,’ he said quietly.
‘Absolutely. Parmenio has my complete respect and admiration. Where’s this going?’ I asked.
Amyntas shrugged. ‘Alexander made my lord an offer.’ He looked around again.
I nodded. ‘I know all about it.’
He looked startled. ‘You do?’
‘Command in Asia, under the king. First satrapy, all the high offices for his sons and his favourites. Like you, Uncle Amyntas.’ I shrugged. ‘You should ask for the hypaspists. Best outfit in the army.’
He twirled his moustache. ‘So you know. So – is it genuine?’
‘Polystratus, get my Uncle Amyntas a cup of wine.’ I gestured, but Polystratus was already gone. A damned good man, Polystratus. Then I turned to Amyntas. He wasn’t actually an uncle at all – he was Parmenio’s political manager, and he’d been close to my pater.
‘You know, Uncle Amyntas – the truth is, it doesn’t matter whether the deal is genuine or not.’ I grinned. I liked him, but I needed, right then, for him to understand what we’d all just spent thirty-nine days learning. I went on, ‘I assume it is genuine – I’m one of the king’s friends, and he’s never spoken of Parmenio with anything but respect.’ I shrugged. ‘But truth to tell, Uncle, if Parmenio doesn’t ditch Attalus and switch sides, we’ll come to Asia and beat the shit out of him. The king is the king. And look around, Uncle. We hold Greece in the palms of our hands. Thebes fell today. This is Philip’s son, and the gods love him.’ I smiled. ‘Don’t be mad at me. Just take it on board. He’s the king. Parmenio needs to bend the knee. Or . . . else.’
‘Alexander needs my lord,’ Amyntas said. He was in shock. ‘You can’t honestly believe that the gold-haired boy can defeat Parmenio?’
‘In fact, Uncle, you believe it too, or you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in Asia, readying your army to come and fight us for Macedon with Attalus. Eh?’ I grinned. ‘Have some wine. We’re not as young as we used to be.’
He rubbed his chin. Ochrid brought a stool and he sat on it, took wine from Polystratus and shook his head. ‘I’m to negotiate for Attalus.’
I nodded. ‘Spare yourself. Attalus is a dead man.’
Amyntas rubbed his chin as if looking for a louse. Maybe he was. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘Listen – you weren’t there. Neither was Parmenio. But Attalus did things – none of us will ever forgive him. If Alexander let him live?’ I shrugged. ‘One of us would do him anyway. And Alexander would let it be.’ I met his eyes. ‘You know how it is, right? When a man has gone outside the laws other men accept? Attalus did that. And he put himself against the king. He’s a dead man.’
Amyntas seemed to deflate. ‘Is this the stupid business about the boy Pausanias?’
I nodded. ‘That’s part of it.’
He nodded. ‘When Attalus came to Asia, he told us that story. He told it with pleasure. And Lord Parmenio left the dinner in disgust.’ He shrugged. ‘Attalus carries the seeds of his own death.’
I nodded. ‘Let him go, then. Attalus is done.’
Amyntas nodded. ‘I hadn’t expected to find Alexander in possession of the League,’ he said. ‘I think I should sail back to Asia and ask my lord to think again.’
‘Finish your wine first,’ I suggested.
After breakfast I reported the whole conversation to Alexander. If I was to be the new faction leader of the lowland nobles – a job I thought that I wanted – I had to play both ends. I’d given Amyntas sound advice, but the king had to know I gave it from loyalty, not self-interest. All very complicated, as being a courtier – even a martial, active courtier – always is.
Alexander nodded. He made a face – rare for him, because he prized his immobile good looks – and spat. ‘I wonder what his terms were,’ he said bitterly. ‘From the great Parmenio to a poor misguided boy.’
‘Better not to know,’ I said. ‘I told him that Attalus was not negotiable.’
Alexander shrugged. ‘Oh, him. He’s in his late sixties – hardly a major power—’
I stopped the king with a raised hand – which shocked him – but I was instantly outraged. ‘I told him that Attalus was not negotiable,’ I said again, quite harshly. ‘Now I’ll tell you. Or rather, lord, I’ll remind you. Your loyal men died or were injured, humiliated, raped – by Attalus. None of the pages will ever accept him. If you forgive him, I’ll kill him myself.’
Alexander looked at me, and again, his eyes narrowed.
I was challenging him.
‘You are above yourself, Ptolemy,’ Alexander said. ‘It is not your place to tell the king what he may and may not do.’
Something – something that had been hanging over me since I stormed Mount Ossa – broke.
‘You’re wrong, Alexander,’ I said, and my use of his name was deliberate. ‘It is my place. I am your friend and your trusted man, one of your great nobles, the leader of your best troops. If you leave Attalus alive, you tell us, your pages, that our sacrifices meant nothing to you. And that makes you an ungrateful bastard, not a king. Everything is not a trade of this for that, a compromise towards better rulership. Sometimes, you just have to accept that you are a leader not by the will of the gods but by the consent of the men of worth. If you leave Attalus alive, you betray us.’