splash of colour, ‘I will personally bite that pretty little nose of yours off your head. Understand?’
‘Perfectly, my beloved,’ nodded Pancaspe as she gradually retreated from his menacing gaze.
And she really did mean it at that precise moment, but discretion was certainly not the greatest of her virtues and within a day or two all the Ephesines came to know just how the great Apelles had painted the wonderful detail of the bloody foam around Bucephalas’s mouth.
13
T HE COMMANDER OF THE garrison at Miletus, a Greek by the name of Eghesikratos, sent a message to Alexander in which he declared he was ready to hand the city over. Although the King had the army advance with the intention of taking possession, as a precautionary measure he sent a squadron of cavalry on ahead as scouts, across the river Meander, under the command of Craterus and Perdiccas.
They forded the river and climbed up the slopes of Mount Latmus, but just as they went over the crest they stopped, dumbstruck at the incredible spectacle there before them – a fleet of warships was rounding the Miletus promontory, each of the vessels taking up position to close off the gulf.
Behind the first group came others and then yet more, until the entire gulf was teeming with hundreds of ships and the sea boiled with the foam of thousands of oars cutting through it. Muffled by the distance, yet still distinct, came the booming of the drums that beat the rhythm for the rowers.
‘Oh, by the gods,’ murmured Perdiccas. ‘The Persian fleet!’
‘How many ships do you think there are?’ asked Craterus.
‘Hundreds . . . at least two, perhaps three hundred. And our fleet is on its way here – if they end up being taken by surprise in the gulf, they’ll be annihilated. We must get back as soon as possible and signal to Nearchus to stop. They outnumber us by at least two to one!’
They turned their horses and went down the slope at a gallop, spurring them on towards the army on its march southwards.
They reached their companions on the left-hand bank of the Meander and immediately went to the King, who together with Ptolemy and Hephaestion was supervising the passage of the cavalry across the bridge of boats that had been constructed by his engineers near the estuary.
‘Alexander!’ cried Craterus. ‘There are three hundred warships in the Gulf of Miletus. We have to stop Nearchus or they’ll sink our fleet!’
‘When did you see them?’ asked the King with a frown.
‘A short while ago . . . we had just reached the top of Mount Latmus when the first ones appeared and then others came, and yet more . . . there was no end to them. Enormous ships with four or five rows of oars.’
‘I even saw some of the eight-row reinforced types,’ added Perdiccas.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am! And they’re equipped with bronze battering-rams at least one thousand pounds in weight.’
‘You have to stop our fleet, Alexander! Nearchus knows nothing of this and he is still on the other side of the Mycale promontory . . . he’ll end up sailing straight into the Persians if we don’t warn him.’
‘Keep calm,’ said the King, ‘there is still time.’ Then he turned to Callisthenes, who was sitting not far away on a small stool. ‘Give me a slate and a stylus.’
Callisthenes provided the writing equipment and Alexander quickly wrote a few words and gestured to a horseman of his guard. ‘Take it immediately to the signalman on the Mycale promontory and tell him to send the message to our fleet straight away. Let’s hope it reaches them in time.’
‘I think it will,’ said Hephaestion, ‘the southerly wind that’s blowing helps the Persians coming up from the south, but it’s against our ships coming from the north.’
The horseman set off at a gallop across the bridge of boats in the opposite direction to the flow of soldiers, crying out for everyone to clear the way, then he gave the horse free rein and spurred it on
‘Perfectly, my beloved,’ nodded Pancaspe as she gradually retreated from his menacing gaze.
And she really did mean it at that precise moment, but discretion was certainly not the greatest of her virtues and within a day or two all the Ephesines came to know just how the great Apelles had painted the wonderful detail of the bloody foam around Bucephalas’s mouth.
13
T HE COMMANDER OF THE garrison at Miletus, a Greek by the name of Eghesikratos, sent a message to Alexander in which he declared he was ready to hand the city over. Although the King had the army advance with the intention of taking possession, as a precautionary measure he sent a squadron of cavalry on ahead as scouts, across the river Meander, under the command of Craterus and Perdiccas.
They forded the river and climbed up the slopes of Mount Latmus, but just as they went over the crest they stopped, dumbstruck at the incredible spectacle there before them – a fleet of warships was rounding the Miletus promontory, each of the vessels taking up position to close off the gulf.
Behind the first group came others and then yet more, until the entire gulf was teeming with hundreds of ships and the sea boiled with the foam of thousands of oars cutting through it. Muffled by the distance, yet still distinct, came the booming of the drums that beat the rhythm for the rowers.
‘Oh, by the gods,’ murmured Perdiccas. ‘The Persian fleet!’
‘How many ships do you think there are?’ asked Craterus.
‘Hundreds . . . at least two, perhaps three hundred. And our fleet is on its way here – if they end up being taken by surprise in the gulf, they’ll be annihilated. We must get back as soon as possible and signal to Nearchus to stop. They outnumber us by at least two to one!’
They turned their horses and went down the slope at a gallop, spurring them on towards the army on its march southwards.
They reached their companions on the left-hand bank of the Meander and immediately went to the King, who together with Ptolemy and Hephaestion was supervising the passage of the cavalry across the bridge of boats that had been constructed by his engineers near the estuary.
‘Alexander!’ cried Craterus. ‘There are three hundred warships in the Gulf of Miletus. We have to stop Nearchus or they’ll sink our fleet!’
‘When did you see them?’ asked the King with a frown.
‘A short while ago . . . we had just reached the top of Mount Latmus when the first ones appeared and then others came, and yet more . . . there was no end to them. Enormous ships with four or five rows of oars.’
‘I even saw some of the eight-row reinforced types,’ added Perdiccas.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am! And they’re equipped with bronze battering-rams at least one thousand pounds in weight.’
‘You have to stop our fleet, Alexander! Nearchus knows nothing of this and he is still on the other side of the Mycale promontory . . . he’ll end up sailing straight into the Persians if we don’t warn him.’
‘Keep calm,’ said the King, ‘there is still time.’ Then he turned to Callisthenes, who was sitting not far away on a small stool. ‘Give me a slate and a stylus.’
Callisthenes provided the writing equipment and Alexander quickly wrote a few words and gestured to a horseman of his guard. ‘Take it immediately to the signalman on the Mycale promontory and tell him to send the message to our fleet straight away. Let’s hope it reaches them in time.’
‘I think it will,’ said Hephaestion, ‘the southerly wind that’s blowing helps the Persians coming up from the south, but it’s against our ships coming from the north.’
The horseman set off at a gallop across the bridge of boats in the opposite direction to the flow of soldiers, crying out for everyone to clear the way, then he gave the horse free rein and spurred it on
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