‘The so-called allies are forming,’ he said.
Antigonus stood still, a slave helping him drink pomegranate juice while two more slaves armed him. He had a heavy horseman’s thorax of solid bronze.
‘I don’t want this thing,’ he said. ‘I’m going on foot with the phalanx. If those bastards don’t see me there, they won’t stand their ground.’
Demetrios motioned to the slaves. ‘Wear scale, then, or leather.’
‘Are you a complete fool?’ Antigonus asked one of the slaves pettishly, and struck the boy so that he fell. He didn’t whimper.
‘I feel like shit,’ Antigonus said. ‘Something in my guts. Have any dreams?’
Demetrios shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘I did — I dreamed about a lot of good lads from Pella who’ve died following me around.’ The old man shrugged, his shoulders free of the heavy armour. ‘Something light — that’s the way,’ he said to the same slave he’d just hit.
They had a thorax of white leather and heavy linen, carefully quilted.
‘That’s what I want,’ said the old man. ‘And greaves.’
‘You aren’t going in the front rank?’ Demetrios asked.
‘I’m the fucking king,’ Antigonus said. ‘What kind of king hides from a fight he started himself? Eh? I taught you better than that. When kings hide from their own fights then the world will have gone to Hades.’
Demetrios hugged his father, quite spontaneously. ‘Let’s win this thing, and rule the world,’ he said.
Antigonus grinned. ‘You are a good boy,’ he said gruffly, his voice thick. ‘By the gods …’ He slapped Demetrios’s back.
Together, they walked to the door of the pavilion. The arming slaves were just getting a pair of sarissas so that the king could have his choice of weapons. The saurauter of the nearest was on the carpet as the slave took it down from the loops on the side of the tent, and it was on the old man’s blind side. The saurauter caught his ankle, and he fell flat in the door of his tent, the wind knocked out of him, his left wrist pressed right back against his body. He shrieked with pain, and every head turned for a stade to see their king lying on his face.
Demetrios hurried to his side, and got him quickly to his feet, and men cheered, but many of them turned aside to mutter to their mates.
‘Superstitious ninnies,’ Antigonus growled. ‘My wrist hurts like-’ He glared at a man who was staring at him. ‘What’s the matter with you? Never seen a man as ugly as me?’
The man stammered and retreated into his friends, and Demetrios laughed.
‘No one can say you aren’t yourself, this morning,’ he said.
Antigonus walked towards the open-sided pavilion where he issued his orders. ‘I’m not myself,’ he said. ‘If Seleucus offered me a three-years truce, I’d take it. I never thought they’d pull together an army that big.’
Demetrios shook his head. ‘It is no bigger than ours. And you are the greatest general of the age.’
Antigonus made a face. ‘My arse,’ he said. ‘The greatest general of the age likes to have a healthy advantage in men and elephants.’ He shook his head. ‘But I have a few tricks, it’s true.’
All the Macedonian officers rose to their feet as Antigonus entered. They saluted. Antigonus nodded curtly.
‘Let’s keep this simple,’ he said. ‘Form as you are camped — just as you are camped. Form the phalanx twenty deep — we’ll still be the same length of line as their line, and that much more solid.’
‘We could overlap their ends …’ said Philip cautiously.
‘When you are the fucking lord of Asia, you can order your phalanx any way you like, Philip,’ Antigonus said.
‘Someone’s touchy this morning,’ Philip said, and the old man smiled.
‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘So don’t make me cross. Lakshaphur, take all the elephants and string them across the centre as we discussed last night. Five horse lengths between every beast should do it. The beasts will crush their barbarians and their psiloi in the centre and then — I hope — scare the crap out of their phalanx. Some of their men can’t be worth a fart … after all, we have all the old veterans.’
Philip raised an eyebrow.
‘Demetrios, you will have the right-flank cavalry. Philip, you will have the left.’ Both men nodded. ‘At my signal, the elephants go forward. Drum beats and bugles, eh?’
Lakshaphur, one of the last of the Indians who had taken service with Alexander twenty-five years before, gave a curt nod.
‘And then,’ Antigonus said with finality, ‘Philip will take all but the levies from the left and ride behind the phalanx to the right. All the cavalry — one big attack into their left. Shatter their cavalry and pour into the weakest part of their phalanx before they can recover.’
‘It leaves our left naked,’ Philip said.
Antigonus smiled. ‘Are you the only one with the balls to argue with me?’ he asked.
‘Balls?’ Philip shrugged. ‘Wives do it all the time,’ he said, and everyone laughed.
Antigonus nodded. ‘I know the danger. So I’m putting the foot companions and the remaining Argyraspids there. And besides,’ he said. ‘We know we’re going right. They won’t expect it — who attacks the enemy’s shielded flank? And they won’t know. I’ll wager a talent of silver to a single turtle that Seleucus has his useless son or Lysimachos there, with orders to hang back.’ He laughed. ‘If they hang back an hour, we have them. Demetrios will blow through their cavalry, turn their flank, and the thing is done.’
‘I will,’ Demetrios said. He was proud — delighted — to be given the position of honour and maximum responsibility. He was playing Alexander while his father played Philip. The difference was, his father loved him. ‘I will cut through them like a hot pin cuts wax.’
Antigonus beamed with pride. ‘See that you do, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s all on you.’
Demetrios was busy for two hours, arranging the right-flank cavalry to his own satisfaction, riding back and forth along the line, watching as the rightmost files of his father’s elite phalanx formed, adjusting and adjusting again. He decided in the end for brute force over surprise. He arranged his best squadrons in wedges all along his front, with the best armoured men at the points of the wedges; eight deep triangles of his finest heavy cavalry, and the rest — the Lydian levies, reliable men but not well drilled, and the Mysians and the Phrygians — in compact rectangles, six deep, angled off to the right to cover his flank, and a long screen of barbarians — the Thracians of Asia minor — as a screen. The Lydians and Phrygians left wide gaps between squadrons — where Philip would insert his lancers.
The enemy was forming, too. Immediately opposite, he saw the blue cloaks form. They were good troops, and they formed so quickly that their grey-beard commander ordered them to dismount, and they stood with their reins in their hands.
Demetrios wished to order the same, but he wasn’t sure it was a practical idea. Any delay in mounting would disorder the whole front.
He watched under his hand as the day grew hotter and the sun climbed. He was facing Antiochus, he was sure — the enemy commander had a grey Nisean, not a Macedonian horse at all. And he was young. Demetrios was glad — glad because he had no doubts of his ability to take Antiochus. But he looked for Satyrus, especially among the blue cloaks — they were his men, but he and his silver helmet were nowhere to be seen.
Demetrios was unconcerned. He would find Satyrus, and overcome him — man to man. At the culmination of the day. That was the way of these things, and this was his day.
He rode to his father’s side when he was sure of his arrangements.
‘Don’t you have some cavalry to command?’ his father said, by way of greeting.
‘All ready,’ Demetrios said. He and his father embraced. ‘I have Antiochus,’ he added.
‘Aye, and Philip has Lysimachos.’ Antigonus was leaning on his spear. ‘I’m eighty years old, and I’m too fucking old to carry a spear all day, so let’s get this over with.’ But he grinned. ‘I think — I think we’ve got them,’ he said carefully, avoiding a claim of outright hubris.