And a lot of our phylarchs were dead.
Meleager was at the rear of the mess, out on the open ground north of the woods, hitting men with the flat of his sword, herding them back into the woods.
I rode to him. ‘Alexander says get them back into the field,’ I said.
Meleager looked at me. ‘Fuck you,’ he said. ‘They’re not going, and neither am I. Why don’t you go and face the elephants, and see how you like it?’
‘I already have,’ I said. ‘I can’t pretend I like it. But I’ll do it. And so will you.’
Meleager spat. ‘Fuck off,’ he shouted.
I left him to his despair and rode to Attalus.
Attalus had the nucleus of his taxeis formed behind the woods, and more men were joining the ranks, and the surviving phylarchs were appointing new file leaders. The awful truth of a rout like that is that the best men die. They’re the ones who stand. The lesser men run, and survive.
‘Alexander orders you back on to the field,’ I shouted.
As soon as men heard me shout, they started walking to the rear.
‘Are you insane?’ Attalus screamed at me. ‘It’s all I can do to hold them here!’
I rode on.
Just beyond the wreck of the phalanx, behind the centre of the woods – open oak woods, here – stood an island of order. Briso, with the Psiloi – the archers, the Agrianians. Right where I had left them.
‘Trouble?’ Briso asked.
Three hundred archers and six hundred Agrianians. And sixty of Diades’ own specialists, the bowmen carrying gastraphetes and oxybeles, the two-man crossbow, under Helios.
I motioned to Attalus – the Agrianian Attalus, not the Macedonian one. I slid from my horse’s back, and my muscles screamed in protest. There’s nothing worse – to me, because I am just a mortal man – than leaving combat, and then having to return to it. I had been in a mortal fight, survived, triumphed, faced the monsters and survived again. And now I had to steel myself to go back. Again. I had to lead other men.
I took several breaths while I dismounted. Then, to goad myself, I took my helmet off – my beautiful Athenian helmet – and threw it away. I needed a clear head and good vision.
Ochrid had followed me all morning, and now he appeared at my side and I took my two best javelins from him. Their blue and gold magnificence steadied me. It sounds childish, but their octagonal ash shafts were friendly to my hands.
I nodded to my officers.
‘We’re losing,’ I said.
They all looked as if I’d punched them.
‘Don’t fool yourselves,’ I said. ‘If we don’t do it, the army is done. So we’re going to go right up the field into the teeth of the fucking monsters and we’re going to kill them – close up. With everything we’ve got. If we can get in close, maybe the gastraphetes can shoot the monsters. Helios, that’s your job – to get the machines as close as can be managed. Attalus, cover the archers and press forward – right into them. We’ll go in among their legs and try for the crews. The mahouts – the drivers – are vulnerable. Get them. But mostly, don’t let the beasts into the archers.’
I looked at them. They were scared. That was fair enough – no one had ever faced anything like this before. And I was about to lead a thousand men to do what twelve thousand had failed to do.
‘We can do this,’ I said. ‘The one thing I’ve learned today is that the beasts are slow, and tire easily. If we have to retreat – then we’ll run.’ I moved my eyes from face to face. ‘And go back. Until the king has his counter-punch ready.’
Briso nodded, and Attalus took a deep breath, and Helios looked thoughtful.
‘We’re all he has left,’ I said.
That stiffened their spines.
Attalus formed the Agrianians in a long skirmish line behind the woods, and the Toxitoi formed behind them – one long, long rank, three hundred men long, with a horse length between men, so that our whole front covered six stades – almost the frontage of the phalanx. The crossbowmen stood in knots, or as individuals, where Diades assigned them, well behind the skirmish line.
We moved through the woods – and the wreck of the phalanx – to the sound of the hunting horns.
My last act before we went forward was to send Ochrid to the baggage with orders to fetch more bolts, arrows and javelins. Then I remounted, so that I could see to give orders, and followed.
The phalangites in the woods were angry, and they jeered at the Agrianians and the Toxitoi, taunting them that they were going to their deaths.
At the forward edge of the woods, the better men crouched and watched the enemy. Most of these men still had their sarissas, and so had never entered the trees.
And there was Amyntas, son of Philip. He had a nasty face wound – the skin on his scalp was ripped and his helmet was gone. But he had his aspis and he had his spear.
I raised my javelins to him.
‘Dress the line,’ Attalus roared. The hunting horns gave their low, mournful call.
The Agrianian line trotted out of the edge of the woods. The Toxitoi emerged behind them.
Amyntas trotted to my foot. ‘You are going forward?’ he croaked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If you can form any kind of a line, follow us.’
He nodded. He never really looked at me. His eyes were on the enemy.
‘Alexander says we are not beaten yet!’ I turned to the men hesitating at the edge of the woods. ‘Follow us. Form the phalanx. Let the Psiloi hurt the elephants. Come and protect us from the Indians. Come and be men!’
Men looked at me, and looked at Amyntas.
And stood where they were.
My curse on all of you, I thought.
And I went forward with a thousand men, to face the elephants.
It is very lonely, as a Psiloi.
There’s no comfort from your file mate, because he’s a horse length behind you. No comfort from your rank partners, your zuegotes, the men you are yoked to in the battle line. They’re too far away to touch, to look in the eye, to wink at or to moan at.
I had never realised how very brave the Psiloi were, until that day, against the elephants.
The Agrianians went forward fast, at a trot. The Indians made the same mistake we’d made. They thought that the battle was over. And they were probably contemptuous of the thin screen trotting down the field towards them.
I was huffing by the time we came within a long javelin throw of their line. The Agrianians, obedient to the shouts of Attalus, began to gather in loose clumps facing the pairs of elephants. They ignored the Indian foot soldiers and ran straight to the elephants.
The Indians began to loose arrows, but their aim was poor. Skirmishers are a difficult target for massed archery – especially skirmishers making a concerted dash forward.
The men they hit died, however. Their arrows were enormous.
Archers on the backs of the elephants shot, too.
The Agrianians went forward into the arrow storm, heads up, legs pumping them forward. Right into the monsters.
Off to my right, the hypaspitoi watched us come up, pass their front and move on. They cheered us, but they didn’t follow.
Farther to the right, I could see the king – far, far off, gleaming on his white horse. He had formed the Hetaeroi into four wedges, and that’s all I had time to see.
‘The king is coming!’ I called.
And then the Agrianians went in among the elephants, and the madness began.
The Indian infantry stopped being stunned by our reckless approach – really, a charge – and started forward, eager to crush our Psiloi.