'How many will come against us?' asked Hephaistion.
The Spartan's mouth was dry and he found himself longing to lift the pitcher, to feel the strength of the wine flowing in his limbs. He shook his head. 'Who can say?' He reached for the wine.
'But you can guess?' Alexander insisted.
'Perhaps a quarter of a million,' Parmenion answered. Swiftly he filled a goblet and lifted it to his lips, intending only to sip at the wine, but the taste was almost overpowering and when he replaced the goblet on the table it was empty.
Alexander refilled it for him. 'A quarter of a million? Surely not!' argued the King.
The Spartan forced himself to ignore the wine and moved to a couch at the centre of the room. Rubbing his tired eyes he sat down, leaning back against the silk-covered cushions. 'Those who have never been in Asia,' he began, 'find it difficult to visualize the sheer size of the Empire. If a young man wanted to ride slowly around its outer borders he would arrive back at his starting point middle-aged. Years and years of travel, through deserts and mountains, lush valleys, immense plains, jungles and areas of wilderness that stretch on a hundred times further than the eye can see, even from the tallest mountain.' He gazed around the room. 'Look at the wine pitcher,' he told them. 'If that is Greece, then this palace is the Persian Empire. It is so vast that you could not count the Great King's subjects: a hundred million. . two hundred million? Even he does not know.'
'How then do we conquer such an Empire?' Craterus asked.
'By first choosing the battleground,' answered Parmenion, 'but more importantly by winning the support of its people.
The Empire is too vast to defeat as an invader. We must become a part of it. Darius took the throne by poisoning his rivals. He has already faced his own civil wars and won them. But there are many who distrust him. Macedonia was once considered a part of the Empire and we must build on that. Alexander is here not only to liberate the Greek cities, he is here to liberate the Empire from the usurper.'
Hephaistion laughed. 'You jest, Parmenion! How many Persians will accept that an invading Greek is a liberator?'
'More than you would believe,' said Alexander suddenly. 'Think of it, my friend. In Greece we have many city states, but we are all Greeks. Here there are hundreds of different nations. What do the Cappadocians care if it is not a Persian sitting on the throne? Or the Phrygians, or the Syrians, or the Egyptians? All they know is that the Great King rules in Susa.' He turned to Parmenion. 'You are correct, strategos, as always. But this time you have surpassed yourself.' The King brought Parmenion a fresh goblet of wine, which the Spartan accepted gratefully.
There is still the question of the Persian army,' pointed out Craterus. 'Who will lead it?'
'That is a problem,' Parmenion admitted. 'Memnon is a skilled general. We defeated him at the Granicus because he was not aware of the scale of reinforcements which had arrived with Alexander. He was marginally outnumbered.
But wherever this battle is fought, we will face a ten-to-one disadvantage.'
'Do not concern yourself with Memnon,' said Alexander, his voice curiously flat and emotionless. 'He died two nights ago.'
'I had not heard that,' said Parmenion.
'Nor should you,' said the King. 'I saw it in a vision: his heart burst like an over-ripe melon.'
Alexander walked to the window and stood staring out over the sea.
Hephaistion moved to his side, speaking so softly that Parmenion could not make out the words. But Alexander nodded.
'The King wishes now to be alone,' Hephaistion stated.
Parmenion rose and gathered his helm, but Alexander remained at the window. Baffled, the Spartan followed Craterus from the room.
'Is the King well?' he asked the younger man as they walked out into the sunlight.
Craterus paused before replying. 'Last night he told me he was about to become a god. He was not joking, Parmenion. But then later, when I asked him about it, he denied ever saying it. He has been so… fey of late. Visions, talks with the gods. You have great experience, sir, of men and battles and long campaigns. Do you understand what is happening to him?'
'Have you spoken of this to anyone?'
'No, sir. Of course not.'
'That is wise, my boy. Say nothing — not to Hephaistion, nor any of your friends. Even if others discuss it in your presence, stay silent.'
Craterus' eyes widened. 'You think he is going insane?'
'No!' replied Parmenion, more forcefully than he intended. 'He has genuine powers. He had them as a child: the ability to see events a great distance away, and other. . Talents. Now they have returned. But they create in him terrible pressures.'
'What do you advise?'
'I have no more advice to offer. He is marked for greatness. All we can do is support him and follow him. He is strong-willed and I hope this. . malaise. . will pass.'
'But you do not think it will?'
Parmenion did not reply. Patting the young man's shoulder the Spartan walked away, his thoughts sombre. For too long he had pushed away the doubts, turned his eyes from the truth. Mothac had been right, he had blinded himself to the obvious.
The strategos had allowed emotion to mask intellect, had even dulled his reason with wine. How many times had he warned his junior officers of just such stupidity? But now he was forced to face, head on, the fear he had lived with for so long.
The Chaos Spirit had returned.
Battle at the Issus, 333 BC
The morning was chill as Parmenion, in full battle armour, rode the grey, Paxus, towards the north, and steam billowed from the stallion's nostrils. The sky was the colour of iron and a sea-mist had crept in from the west, seeping across the camp-site, dulling the sounds as the Macedonian infantry moved into formation. Parmenion tied the chinstraps on his helm and swung to watch the gathering men.
For five days the Macedonians had marched south, apparently fleeing before Darius' vast army, but now — as the dawn light bathed the Mediterranean — the Greeks swung back to the north, marching through a narrow rock-strewn pass.
With the Persian camp less than four miles distant, Parmenion rode warily at the head of the Macedonian infantry with Alexander alongside him. Throughout the night the Spartan had listened to reports from the scouts concerning the Persian positions. Believing Alexander to be fleeing from him, Darius — as Parmenion had hoped — had become careless. His vast forces numbering more than 200,000 were camped by a river south of the town of Issus, and it was here that Parmenion intended to force the battle; for the flatlands south of the town extended for only a mile and a half, and it would be difficult for the Persians to use their numerical advantage to envelop the Macedonian flanks.
Alexander was unnaturally quiet as they rode, and none of the officers felt inclined to break the silence.
This was the moment of truth and every man, marching or riding, peasant or noble, knew it. It was not even the question of victory or defeat- save in the minds of the generals and captains. Today would see each man face the prospect of death or mutilation. News had spread of the size of the force opposing them and Alexander had toured the camp — talking to the men, exhorting them, lifting them. But even such charismatic encouragement seemed thin and as wispy as the mist on this cold morning.
The land ahead widened, the hills to the east flattening and the mountains receding behind them, and Alexander ordered the infantry to fan out on to the plain. Led by the silver-bearded Theoparlis, the Shield Bearers — elite foot-soldiers trained by Parmenion — moved out to the right, leaving the Macedonian infantry under Perdiccas in the centre. Allied soldiers and mercenaries remained on the left and the advance continued on a wide front, the men marching now in ranks eight deep.