I put my bare head down and rode for the hypaspitoi. But Seleucus waved me off, and I saw him march off his half-files to the left, doubling his front, and then the whole of the hypaspitoi started forward at the Indian infantry. They, naturally enough, flinched, and responded to the charge of the hypaspitoi.
Triton had decided that he could survive facing elephants. He shied, but he went where I pointed him, and now I pointed him at the largest struggle – fifty of my Psiloi and twenty archers against five or six elephants right in the centre of the field.
There were Paeonians there, too, because the Prodromoi and the Paeonians had filtered all the way along the Indian line by this time – the battle was breaking down into a desperate, every-man-for-himself engagement of a kind I had never seen. The Indians were surrounded, but so far their monsters were untouchable.
Even as I watched, an Agrianian punched his heavy javelin into the side of one of the towering beasts, and then threw himself at the shaft, stabbing deeper and deeper. The great animal bellowed, and its trunk licked out and caught him and ripped him free, throwing him over its head – but another man had a shaft in, and a bold pair of Toxitoi stood almost at its feet and shot – shot quickly and accurately, despite the bestial death that towered over them, and they cleared the crew off the beast’s back, and an engineer leaned in, almost touching the animal, and his bolt vanished into the behemoth’s guts and the animal screamed in agony.
The archers shot into its face, and their shafts bounced off its thick skull, and then a lucky shaft, Athena-guided, or moved by Apollo’s hand, went into an eye, and the creature stumbled, bowed its mighty head and slumped to its knees.
The other animals nudged it – it was somehow more horrible than anything to see their concern for their fellow monster.
And then they shuffled their great, flat feet and moved back, away from the pinpricks of the Psiloi.
I rode back down the field to the pezhetaeroi. ‘Come on, you bastards!’ I shouted.
And they came.
Meleager had a handful, when he first started back up the field. Antigenes and Gorgias had even fewer.
But Philip son of Amyntas, senior phylarch, had a lot of good men – men of all six taxeis. He ignored the officers. His full-throated roar was as loud as an elephant’s scream of pain, and carried across the field.
‘Get in the ranks! Get in the ranks! Pick up any spear you see and get in the fucking ranks! Are you cowards? Are the fucking barbarians better men? Are the archers better men? Get up!’ he screamed. Spittle shot from his mouth as I rode up to him, and he ignored me. ‘Get in the ranks! Fill in! Now. The king needs us!’
And they came.
They came in tens, and then they came in hundreds, and then it was like an avalanche of pikemen. They came with swords, with daggers, with broken spears, with stolen javelins, with bare hands.
I had never seen anything like it.
Gorgias and Meleager ran to the front to take command, but I cantered past them to Amyntas son of Philip.
‘Into the Indians!’ I shouted. ‘Stop their gods-forsaken archers from coming to grips with the Psiloi!’
He put a hand to his ear – an ear covered by the flaps of his helmet.
‘Forward!’ I shouted.
He grinned. It was a hard grin – an evil grin. ‘Here we come,’ he growled.
I galloped back to the elephant fight. Dozens – in some cases hundreds – of Indian archers were clearing our Psiloi off the beasts, pushing our men back, and back.
Until the hypaspitoi and the phalanx struck them, and crushed them. In three hundred paces, the battle was transformed and the Indian archers broke, running for the safety of their elephant line, which had retreated several hundred paces, the great beasts lumbering away and putting heart into our phalangites.
The Psiloi ran down the gaps between the taxeis, and reformed in the rear, drinking from canteens, and slumping to the ground in blank-eyed exhaustion. They had faced the monsters for about as long as a man and a woman make love. No longer. And they were spent.
Nonetheless, Ochrid arrived with a train of slaves bearing arrows, javelins, bolts and darts.
Briso was missing. Attalus was badly cut by a sword, and Helios was commanding all the Psiloi. I waved a javelin at him in thanks. ‘I think you’re finished,’ I said.
His look of relief said everything.
I turned Triton and rode for the front.
There was almost no fighting. The Indian infantry was lightly armoured and when they ran, our men couldn’t keep up, even if they broke ranks. All along the front, our men reclaimed fallen spears, some picking up shields. To be honest, men were still coming up from the woods, convinced by the victory that it was safe to emerge from their cowardice.
They were wrong.
Porus wasn’t beaten. Porus was regrouping.
The king had begun to throw his wedges into Porus’s flanks, but Porus, with real brilliance, countered them with elephants, sending companies of elephants into the point of the wedges, shredding their formation.
He had saved a squadron of giant chariots, and now he released them against the king’s flank, but that, at least, we were prepared for, and Alexander sent his tame Saka, Massagetae who had taken service and Sogdian nomads, to shoot the chariot horses. They destroyed the whole force – a thousand chariots – before the infantry had time to panic.
But, Porus rallied the bulk of his elephants, and placed himself in the centre. Any infantry that could be rallied – and they were brave men, those sword-armed archers – came forward on the flanks of a veritable phalanx of elephants, with the giant of giants leading the way.
It was a slow attack – scarcely a charge, but a shuffling, lumbering advance, slower than the march of a closed-up phalanx.
But our men were not going to stand it. They began to shuffle back.
And then the king was there.
He appeared out of the woods, and he rode unerringly to Amyntas’s side even as I reached him.
‘The infantry!’ he said. He smiled. ‘Just hold their infantry. Oblique right and left from the centre – avoid the elephants.’ Men heard him. The words ‘Avoid the elephants’ were wildly popular.
And his presence was like a bolt of energy.
The retreat stopped.
I remember the king looking at Meleager, who was not in the front rank, not in his proper station, and clearly not in command. His glance only lasted a heartbeat. He didn’t show anger, or pity.
Just a complete lack of understanding, like a man facing the sudden appearance of an alien god.
Then he turned his horse.
I didn’t wait for him. I knew what he needed. I just waved.
And rode for Helios.
‘One more time!’ I called.
Even the Agrianians – the bravest of the brave – shuffled their feet.
There are times when you yell at troops, and times when you coax them.
And sometimes, when brave men have already done all that you can ask – all you can do is lead them.
I rode to the front of them, and I raised my javelins, as yet unthrown, over my head.
‘I’m going,’ I said. ‘Do as you wish.’
And I pointed Triton’s head at the elephants and walked forward.
I didn’t look back. I had time to think of the hill fort, and the taxeis that left me to die. The Agrianians were men I’d served with for years – but they weren’t mine. I was best with troops who knew me. I didn’t have the magic Alexander had. I was the plain farm boy, and it took men time to love me.
So I let Triton walk forward, and the elephants were close – fifty of them, formed in a mass.