Alexander and his officers rode along the line to the west where the allied cavalry and Thessalians fanned out from the centre like the wings of an eagle.
At last Alexander spoke, guiding Bucephalus alongside Parmenion's mount. 'Well, my general, the day is finally here.' He grinned and reached out to clasp Parmenion's hand in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist. 'We will meet again in victory — or in the Elysian Fields.'
'Victory would be preferable,' answered Parmenion, with a wry smile.
'Then let it be so!' agreed the King, tugging on the reins and galloping to the far right, his Companion cavalry and Lancers streaming behind him.
Parmenion rode back to the column of lightly-armoured archers, marching behind the phalanxes. The men were Agrianians from Western Thrace, tall and wolf-like, mountain men carrying short, curved hunting bows of bonded wood. The archers were fine fighters — calm, unflappable and deadly in battle. Calling their officer to him, Parmenion ordered the bowmen to angle their march to the right into the mist-clad foothills.
'Darius will almost certainly send cavalry to outflank us. Harry them. Turn them back if you can. If you cannot, then make sure they suffer great losses.'
'Yes, sir,' answered the man. 'We'll send them running.' He gave a gap-toothed grin and loped off towards the east, his men filing out behind him.
The Spartan rode back to the cavalry on the left, his eyes scanning the long line of flat beach to the west. He swung to Berin, the hawk-faced Thessalian prince who had fought beside him at the Crocus Field so many years before.
Berin was grey-bearded now, but still lean and strong, his face tanned to the colour of old leather. The Thessalian smiled. 'They may try to attack on the flat by the sea,' he said. 'You want us to ride out there?'
'No. Take your men behind the infantry and dismount. I do not want you seen until the enemy are committed to a flank attack.'
Berin gave a casual salute and led his men back along the line. Dust was rising now behind the marching men and the Thessalians dismounted and hung back, protecting the delicate nostrils of their mounts. Some even spilled precious water on to dry cloths, wiping dust from the mouths of their horses.
The army moved on. In the distance the Persian defences came into sight, across a narrow ribbon of a river where earthworks had been hastily thrown up, pitted with stakes.
Brightly-garbed Persian cavalry could be seen moving through the foothills on the right, but Parmenion forced himself to ignore them, trusting to the skills of the Agrianian archers to contain them. Slowly the advance continued, Parmenion angling the 2,000 allied cavalry further to the left and ordering the men to spread out.
As he had hoped, a large force of Persian horsemen forded the river, heading west towards the beach. His trained eye watched them streaming out from the enemy right, three thousand, four, five, six. .
Ptolemy moved alongside Parmenion. 'Can we hold them?' asked the young man nervously. The Spartan nodded.
'Order Berin and his Thessalians to mount.'
Parmenion swung his gaze back to the centre, where the Macedonian infantry were almost at the river. Now was the testing time, for there was no way the men could cross the water and maintain formation. And they faced a solid mass of well-armed and armoured Persian Guards and at least 5,000 renegade Greek mercenaries, many from Boeotia and Thebes, men with deep hatred for the Macedonian conquerors.
Parmenion was confident that his wild Thessalians could turn the Persian cavalry on the beach, protecting the left, and had great faith in the skills of the Agrianian archers guarding the foothills on the right. But everything now depended on the Macedonian cavalry breaching the enemy centre. For, if the Persians were allowed to sweep forward, sheer weight of numbers would cleave like a spear through the eight deep ranks of the infantry.
The Spartan cleared his throat, but could not raise enough saliva to spit. All rested now on the courage and strength of Alexander.
Alexander tightened the straps on the iron buckler at his left forearm, then knotted Bucephalus' reins. From here on he would control the war-horse only with his knees. Philotas called out and Alexander turned to see Persian cavalry on the right moving into the foothills. Glancing back, he saw the bowmen moving out to intercept. He hawked and spat, clearing the dust from his mouth; then drawing his sword he raised it high above his head and kicked Bucephalus into a run for the river. The Companion cavalry, led by Philotas, Cleitus and Hephaistion, raced after him. Arrows and stones flashed by the King's head as he charged, but none of the missiles touched him as Bucephalus splashed into the water, sending up great arches of spray.
Thousands of Persian horsemen rode to meet the Macedonian attack, and Alexander was the first to come into contact. With a wild cut he hammered his blade into the shoulder of a silk-clad rider and the man fell screaming into the mud-churned water.
The Persians wore little armour save brocaded breastplates, and the Macedonians surged through them to the far bank.
'Kill! Kill! Kill!' roared Alexander, his voice carrying above the ringing clash of battle. As the King pushed on a lance clanged from his breastplate, tearing loose a gold-embossed shoulder-guard. Alexander ducked under a slashing sabre and disembowelled the attacker.
At the top of the slope the King reined in his mount and cast a swift glance to his left. Darius' renegade Greek mercenaries had countercharged against the Macedonian infantry and the two forces were battling at the centre of the shallow river, all formations lost. Behind the Greeks stood the Persian Royal Guards, poised to follow the mercenaries into the attack. Instantly Alexander realized that were they to enter the fray now the Macedonian centre would be sundered.
Swinging Bucephalus, Alexander charged at the Guards, the Companion cavalry desperately trying to support him. It was a move of dazzling courage and the Macedonians struggling in the water saw their King, single-handedly it seemed, cleaving his way towards the Persian centre.
A great cry went up and the phalanxes surged forward.
Alexander, wounded on both arms, continued his advance, for he had caught sight of his enemy, Darius, standing in a golden chariot drawn by four white horses. The Persian King was tall and fair, his golden beard long and tightly curled. Upon his head was a conical crown of gold set upon a silver helmet. A white silk scarf was bound about his face and neck, flowing down over a cloak of silver thread.
'I see you, Usurper!' bellowed Alexander. Hephaistion and the Companion cavalry came alongside the King, protecting his flanks, but once more Alexander urged Bucephalus forward. The Persian Guards fell back before the ferocity of the charge, a great heaving mass of men jostling before the chariot of their King.
On the far side of the field, Berin and his Thessalians had broken through the Persian ranks and were sweeping to the right in a bid to reach Alexander.
Dismayed by the onslaught, the Persians struggled to forma fighting square around Darius. Alexander saw the Persian monarch snatch up a spear and try to turn his chariot to face the invader, but the white horses — alarmed by the noise and the smell of blood and death — panicked and bolted, drawing the golden chariot clear of the field. Darius fought to control the maddened beasts, but it was beyond his powers and the chariot sped towards the north.
Seeing their King apparently fleeing the battle, many of the Persians fled with him, opening huge gaps in the ranks.
Thessalian riders burst through them to link with Alexander.
Within moments the battle became a rout, Persian foot-soldiers running for the hills, throwing away swords and shields as they went. Whole regiments which had not yet come into the battle retreated back towards the relative safety of the town of Issus.