The news that Polyperchon was withdrawing his forces and heading north had been no great surprise. He was old and tired and a loser; let him go home with his tail between his legs, and bed down in his kennel.
Eurydike’s despatch, therefore, had been a rude shock to him. The stupid, reckless girl, he thought. Had this been the time to denounce Alexander’s brat? He fully intended, once Philip was out of the way, to govern at first as the boy’s regent. There would be plenty of time before he came of age. Now, instead of biding the hour, as anyone would who had the beginning of statecraft, she had flung the country into a succession war. Did she know no history? One of her family should have remembered better than that.
Kassandros reached a decision. He had made a bad bargain and must get it off his hands, quickly, like an unsound horse. Afterwards, everything would be simpler.
He sat down to write a letter to his brother Nikanor.
With banners and standards streaming, with shrill flutes and the deep-toned aulos giving the time, the royal army of Macedon marched through the high western hills towards Epiros.
Summer had come. The thyme and sage bruised by the tramping feet censed them with aromatics; the uncurled bracken stood waist-high; heather and sorrel purpled the moors. The burnished helmets, the dyed horsehair plumes, the little bright pennants on the tall sarissas, glittered and glowed in long streams of moving color, winding down through the passes. Herd-boys on the crags cried the warning that soldiers were coming, and called their little brothers to help drive in the sheep.
Eurydike in burnished armor rode at the head of the cavalry. The heady air of the hills exalted her; the wide prospects from the heights stretched before her like worlds to conquer. She had always known that this was her nature and her fate, to ride to victory like a king, her land behind her and her horsemen at her side. She had her Companions as a ruler of Macedon should. Before she marched she had made it known that when the war was won the lands of the western traitors would reward her loyal followers. Not far off, led by Nikanor, rode the clan of the Antipatrids, a hearteningly solid force.
Their chief had not appeared, nor sent her word. Clearly, as Nikanor said, some misadventure had overtaken her messenger. It would be better to send again, and she had done so. Then, too, the troops in the Peloponnese were often on the move, and that might have caused delay. At all events, said Nikanor, he himself was doing as he knew Kassandros would wish.
Philip on his big steady horse was riding near by; he, also, panoplied for war. He was still the King, and the troops would expect to see him. Soon, when they came near the enemy, he must be settled in a base-camp out of the way.
He was placid and cheerful, traveling with an army; he could hardly remember when this had not been his life. Konon was with him, riding as usual half a length behind. Philip had wanted him alongside, the better to talk about the sights upon the way; but Konon, as usual, had said it would not be proper before the men. Dimly, after the years, Philip still missed the days of strangeness and changing marvels, when his life had moved with the journeys of Alexander.
Konon had withdrawn into his thoughts. He, too, could have wished for Alexander, and for more urgent reasons. Ever since his young master Arridaios had become King Philip, he had known that the time would come which was coming now, had felt it in his bones. Well, he thought, it was an old proverb, not to look back at the end. He was nearly sixty, and few men lived longer.
A rider showed briefly on the crest of the ridge ahead. A scout, he thought; had the girl seen? He looked at Philip ambling along, a half-smile on his broad face, enjoying some pleasant fantasy. She ought to take more thought for him. Supposing …
Eurydike had seen. She too, long before this, had sent out scouts. They were overdue; she sent off two more. The army moved on, bright, burnished, the flutes giving the time.
Presently, when they reached the next ridge, she herself would ride up and survey the terrain. That, she knew, was the duty of a general. If the enemy was in sight she would study his dispositions, then hold a war council and dispose her troops.
Derdas, her second in command—a new promotion, so many of the higher ranks had marched with Polyperchon—rode up to her, young, lank-limbed, frowning with responsibility. “Eurydike, the scouts ought to be back; they may have been taken. Shouldn’t we make sure of the high ground? We may be needing it.”
“Yes.” It had seemed that the gallant march in the fresh morning would go on till she herself chose to end it. “We will lead with the cavalry, and hold it till the infantry comes up. Form them up, Derdas; you take the left wing, and of course I shall take the right.”
She was issuing further orders, when a harsh, peremptory cough sounded at her elbow. She turned, startled and put out. “Madam,” said Konon. “What about the King?”
She clicked her tongue impatiently; far better to have left him behind at Pella. “Oh, take him back to the wagon train. Have a tent set up there.”
“Will there be a battle?” Philip had come up, looking interested and eager.
“Yes,” she said quietly, mastering her irritation before the onlookers. “Go to the camp now, and wait till we come back.”
“Must I, Eurydike?” A sudden urgency disturbed Philip’s placid face. “I’ve never been in a battle. Alexander never let me. None of them let me. Please let me fight in this one. Look, here’s my sword.”
“No, Philip, not today.” She motioned to Konon; but he did not move. He had been watching his master’s face; now he looked into hers. There was a short silence. He said, “Madam. If the King wishes. Maybe it would be best.”
She stared at him, at his sorrowful and sober eyes. Understanding, she caught her breath. “How dare you? If there were time I would have you flogged for insolence. I will see you later. Now obey your orders.”
Philip hung his head. He saw that he had misbehaved, and everyone was angry. They would not beat him; but the memory of ancient beatings moved in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope you win the battle. Alexander always did. Goodbye.” She did not look after him as he went.
Her favorite horse was led up, snorting and tossing its head, full of high spirits. She patted the strong neck, grasped the tough mane on the withers, and vaulted with her spear onto the scarlet saddle-cloth. The herald stood near, his trumpet at the ready, waiting to sound the advance.
“Wait!” she said. “First I will address the men.”
He gave the brief flourish for attention. One of the officers, who had been watching the ridge ahead, began to speak; but the trumpet drowned it.
“Men of Macedon!” Her clear voice carried as it had on the march from Egypt, at Triparadisos, at the Assembly where they had voted her the regency. Battle was near; let them only be worthy of their fame. “If you were brave fighting against foreign enemies, how much more gloriously you will fight now, defending your land, your wives, your …”
Something was wrong. They were not hostile; they were simply not attending, staring past her, speaking to one another. Suddenly, young Derdas, gravity changed to urgency, grasped her horse’s headstall, wheeled it round to face forward, and shouted, “Look!”
All along the crest of the ridge ahead, a dark dense bristle had sprouted. It was thick with spears.
The armies faced each other across the valley. Down at the bottom was a stream, low now in summer, but with a wide bed of stones and boulders bared by winter scour. The horsemen on both sides looked at it with distaste.
The western rise which the Epirote army commanded was higher than the Macedonian position. If their full strength was on view, however, they were outnumbered three to two on foot, though somewhat stronger in cavalry.