Eurydike noted him, as proof of Ptolemy’s prowess. At home her chief diversion had been the hunt; she took for granted that animals were put into the world for men to use. Questioning the other mahout, who seemed to have his wits about him, she learned that Perdikkas had abandoned the assault at evening, and marched after dark, the man did not know where. Clearly, if she rode on she risked falling among the enemy; so she turned back to the camp.
No one had missed her but old Konon, who recognized her as she came back; but, as she warned him with her eyes, it was not his place to rebuke her. He would not dare give her away. For the rest, Philip’s wedding had been a nine days’ wonder, and just now they had other concerns. It was she herself who began, dimly and gropingly, to see her way ahead.
The army of Perdikkas, what was left of it, came back next day.
Stragglers came first, unofficered, undisciplined, unkempt. Clothes, armor and skin were plastered with dried Nile mud; they were black men, but for their light angry eyes. They went about the camp, seeking water to drink and clean themselves, spreading each his tale of confusion and disaster. The main force followed, a sullen, scowling mass, led by Perdikkas with a face of stone, its tight-lipped officers keeping their thoughts to themselves. Her female dress and seclusion resumed, she sent out Konon to learn the news.
While he was gone, she became aware that round the small circle of the royal quarters a ring of men was gathering. They settled down in groups, not talking much, but with the air of men agreed upon their business. Puzzled and disturbed, she looked for the sentries who should have been somewhere near; but they had joined the silent watchers.
Some instinct dispelled her fear. She went to the entry of the royal tent, and let herself be seen. Arms went up in salute; it was all quiet, it had an air of reassurance, almost of complicity.
“Philip,” she said, “stand in the opening there, and let those men see you. Smile at them and greet them as Perdikkas taught you. Show me; yes, like that. Say nothing, just salute them.”
He came in, pleased, to say, “They waved to me.”
“They said, ‘Long live Philip.’ Remember, when people say that, you must always smile.”
“Yes, Eurydike.” He went to lay out with his shells some beads of red glass she had bought him from a peddler.
A shadow darkened the tent-mouth. Konon paused for leave to enter. When she saw his face, her eyes moved to the corner, where they kept Philip’s ceremonial spear. She said, “Is the enemy coming?”
“Enemy?” He made it sound like an irrelevance. “No, madam … Don’t be in a worry about the lads out there. They’ve taken it on themselves, just in case of trouble. I know them all.”
“Trouble? What trouble?”
She saw his old soldier’s stone-wall face. “I can’t say, madam. They say one thing and another in the camp. They were cut up badly, trying to cross the Nile.”
“I’ve seen the Nile.” Philip looked up. “When Alexander …”
“Be quiet and listen. Yes, Konon. Go on.”
Perdikkas, it seemed, had given his men a few hours’ rest after the assault upon the fort. Then he had ordered them to strike camp and be ready for a night march.
“Konon,” said Philip suddenly, “why are all those men shouting?”
Konon too had heard; his narrative had been flagging. “They’re angry, sir. But not with you or the Queen. Don’t fret about it, they won’t come here.” He took up his tale again.
Perdikkas’ men had fought through the heat of the day and on till evening. They were discouraged and dog-tired; but he had promised them an easy crossing, further south at Memphis, down the east bank of the river.
“Memphis,” said Philip brightening. Long ago, from a window, he had watched the tremendous pageant of Alexander’s enthronement as Pharaoh, Son of Ra. He had seemed to be made all of gold.
Konon was saying, “Alexander, now; He knew how to make a man throw his heart into it.”
Outside, the voices of the encircling soldiers rose a tone or two, as if receiving news. The sound sank again.
In the dark before dawn, Konon went on, they had come to the crossing-place. Here the river was split by a mile-long island, breaking its force, and the forks were shallower. They were to cross in two stages, assembling on the island in between.
“But it was deeper than he’d thought. Half over from this side, they were chest-deep. With the current pulling at their shields, some of them keeled over; the rest had all they could do to keep their feet. So then Perdikkas remembered how Alexander crossed the Tigris.”
He paused, to see if she knew about this famous exploit. But she had encouraged no one to talk about Alexander.
“It’s a fast stream, the Tigris. Before he sent the infantry across, he stood two columns of cavalry in the river, upstream and down of them. Upstream to break the current, downstream to catch any man carried away. He was the first man in on foot, feeling out the shoals with his spear.”
“Yes,” said Eurydike coolly. “But what did Perdikkas do?”
“What he did was to use the elephants.”
“They didn’t get drowned?” said Philip anxiously.
“No, sir. It was the men that drowned … Where’s that idle loafing Sinis? Trust a Karian to go off at a time like this. A moment, madam.” He took a taper to the little clay day-lamp which kept a source of fire, and kindled the cluster on the big branched lamp-stand. Outside, a red glow showed that the soldiers were making a cook-fire. Konon’s shadow, made huge by the light behind him, loomed dark and manifold on the worn linen hangings of the tent.
“He put the elephants upstream, in line across, and the cavalry downstream; then he told the phalanx to advance. They went in, the phalanx leaders each with his men. And when they got to the middle, it was as if the Nile had come up in flood. It was over their heads; the horses downstream had to swim for it. It was the weight of the elephants did it; it stirred up the muddy bottom, which the Tigris didn’t have. But the worst of all, they all say, was to see their mates being taken by crocodiles.”
“I’ve seen a crocodile,” said Philip eagerly.
“Yes, sir, I know … Well, before it deepened too much, a good few men had scrambled up on the island. Perdikkas saw there was no going ahead; so he hailed them, and ordered them to come back.”
“Come back?” said Eurydike. She listened with new ears to the sounds outside; the muttering that rose and fell, a long keening from the bivouacs of the soldiers’ women. “He ordered them back?”
“It was that or leave them there. It meant throwing away their arms, which no Macedonian did as long as Alexander led them, and they don’t forget it. Some of them shouted out they’d as soon take their chance in the west channel, and give themselves up to Ptolemy. No one knows what became of them. The rest went back in the water, which was deeper than ever, full of blood and crocodiles. A few got out. I’ve talked with them. One of them left his hand in a crocodile’s mouth. The rest of his arm’s in ribbons, he’ll never live … They lost two thousand men.”
She thought of the groaning hospital carts, a mere drop now in the ocean of disaster. A sweeping impulse, compounded of anger, pity, contempt, and ambition grasping at opportunity, lifted her out of herself. She turned to Philip.
“Listen to me.” He waited, attentive; recognizing as a dog would do the note of imperative command. “We are going out to see the soldiers. They have been treated badly, but they know we are their friends. This time, you must speak to them. First return their salute; then say—now, listen very carefully—‘Men of Macedon. My brother’s spirit would grieve to see this day.’ Don’t say anything more, even if they answer you. I will talk to them then.”
He repeated it after her; they went out into the falling dark, lit from behind by the lamps inside the tent, and from before by the soldiers’ fire.