Chapter XXVII: News From the East

The six years that followed were years of quiet, uneventful happiness for Charidemus and his wife. The governorship of Pergamos was not exactly a sinecure, but it was not laborious. The garrison duty was of the slightest. The place was practically safe from attack, even if there had been any enemies to attack it. The governor’s chief duty was the charge of a _depôt_, for which the town had been found a convenient situation. New troops were trained at it; troops who were invalided, or who had passed their time, were sent there to receive their formal discharge. These veterans had much to tell of what the army was doing. Of course plenty of fable was mixed with the fact, the more so as much of the news came at second or third hand and from very remote regions indeed. A more regular and reliable source of information were the letters which Charondas, who had been attached to headquarters, continued to send to his friend. The two had contrived a system of cypher, and so the Theban was able to express himself with a freedom which he would not otherwise have been able to use. Some extracts from these letters I shall give:—

“ ... So Bessus the murderer has met with his deserts. We
crossed the Oxus, the most rapid and difficult river that we
have yet come to. We got over on skins, and lost, I am afraid,
a good many men and horses. I myself was carried down full
half a mile before I could get to land, and thought more than
once that it was all over with me. If Bessus had tried to stop
us there must have been disaster; but we heard afterwards
that he had been deserted by his men. Very soon after we
had crossed the river he was taken. I have no pity for the
villain; but I could wish that the king had not punished him
as he did. He had his nostrils and ears cut off. You remember
how Alexander was moved when he saw those poor mutilated
wretches at Persepolis, what horror he expressed. And now he
does the same things himself! But truly he grows more and more
barbarian in his ways. Listen again to this. We came a few
days since on our march to a little town that seemed somewhat
differently built from the others in this country. The people
came out to greet us. Their dress was partly Greek, partly
foreign; their tongue Greek but mixed with barbarisms, yet not
so much but that we readily understood them. Nothing could be
more liberal than their offers; they were willing to give
us all they had. The king inquired who they were. They were
descended, he found—indeed they told the story themselves
without any hesitation—from the families of the priests of
Apollo at Branchidæ. These priests had told the secret of where
their treasures were kept to King Xerxes after his return from
Greece, and he to reward them, and also we may suppose, to
save them from the vengeance of their countrymen, had planted
them in this remote spot, where they had preserved their
customs and language as well as they could. Now who could have
imagined that the king should do what he did? He must avenge
forsooth the honour of Apollo on these remote descendants of
the men who caused his shrine to be robbed! He drove the poor
creatures back into their town, drew a cordon of soldiers round
it, and then sent in a company with orders to massacre every
man, woman, and child in it. He gave me the command of these
executioners. I refused it. ‘It is against my vows, my lord,’
I said. I thought that he would have struck me down where I
stood. But he held his hand. He is always tender with me, for
reasons that he has; and since he has been as friendly as ever.
But what a monstrous deed! Again I say, the barbarian rather
than the Greek.

* * * * *

“Another awful deed! O my friend, I often wish that I were
with you in your peaceful retirement. In war the king is as
magnificent as ever, but at home he becomes daily less and
less master of himself. Truly he is then as formidable to his
friends, as he is at other times to his enemies. What I write
now I saw and heard with my own eyes. At Maracanda[75] there
was a great banquet—I dread these banquets a hundred-fold more
than I dread a battle—to which I was invited with some hundred
other officers. It was in honour of Cleitus, who had been
appointed that day to the government of Bactria. When the cup
had gone round pretty often, some of those wretched creatures
who make it their business to flatter the king—it pains me to
see how he swallows the flatteries of the very grossest with
greediness—began to magnify his achievements. He was greater
than Dionysus, greater than Hercules; no mortal could have done
such things; it was only to be hoped that the gods would not
take him till his work was done. If I was sickened to hear such
talk, what think you I felt when Alexander himself began to
talk in the same strain. Nothing would satisfy him but that he
must run down his own father Philip. ‘It was I,’ he said, ‘who
really won the victory of Chæronea, though Philip would never
own it. And, after all, what petty things that and all his
victories are compared to what I have done!’ On this I heard
Cleitus whisper to his neighbour some lines from Euripides:

“‘When armies build their trophies o’er the foe,
Not they who bear the burden of the day,
But he who leads them reaps alone the praise.’

“‘What did he say?’ said the king, who guessed that this
certainly was no flattery. No one answered. Then Cleitus spoke
out. He, too, had drunk deeply. (What a curse this wine is! Do
you remember that we heard of people among the Jews who never
will taste it. Really I sometimes think that they are in the
right.) He magnified Philip. ‘Whoever may have won the day
at Chæronea,’ he said, ‘anyhow it was a finer thing than the
burning of Thebes.’ I saw the king wince at this as if some one
had struck him. Then turning directly to Alexander, Cleitus
said, ‘Sir, we are all ready to die for you; but it is hard
that when you are distributing the prizes of victory, you keep
the best for those who pass the worst insults on the memory
of your father.’ Then he went on to declare that Parmenio and
Philotas were innocent—in fact, I do not know what he said. He
was fairly beyond himself. The king certainly bore it very well
for a long time. At last, when Cleitus scoffed at the oracle
of Ammon—‘I tell you the truth better than your father Ammon
did,’ were his words—the king’s patience came to an end. He
jumped from his couch, caught hold of a spear, and would have
run Cleitus through on the spot had not Ptolemy and Perdiccas
caught him round the waist and held him back, while Lysimachus
took away the lance from him. This made him more furious than
ever. ‘Help, men,’ he cried to the soldiers on guard. ‘They are
treating me as they treated Darius.’ At that they let go their
hold. It would have been dangerous to touch him. He ran out
into the porch and caught a spear from a sentinel. Just then
Cleitus came out. ‘Who goes there?’ he said. Cleitus gave his
name. ‘Go to your dear Philip and your dear Parmenio!’ shouted
the king, and drove the spear into his heart.

* * * * *

“The king is better again, but he has suffered frightfully.
Again and again he offered to kill himself. For three days
and nights he lay upon the ground, and would neither eat nor
drink. At last his bodyguard fairly forced him to do so. One
curious reason for the king’s madness I heard. The fatal feast
was held in honour of the Twin Brethren, and it was one of the
sacred days of Bacchus! Hence the wrath of the neglected god.
It is certainly strange how this wrath, be it fact or fancy,
continues to haunt him.

* * * * *

“Thank the gods we are in the field, and Alexander is himself
again. Nay, he is more than himself. Sometimes I scarcely
wonder at the flatterers who say that he is more than man.
There never was such energy, such skill, so much courage joined
to so much prudence. His men will follow him anywhere; when he
heads them they think nothing impossible. Since I last wrote
he has done what no man has ever done before; he has tamed the
Scythians. The great Cyrus, you know, met his end at their
hands; Darius narrowly escaped with his life. And now this
marvellous man first conquers them and then makes friends of
them. A week ago he took in a couple of days a place which
every one pronounced to be impregnable: the ‘Sogdian Rock,’
they called it. Never before had man entered it except with
the good will of those who held it. It was a rock some two
hundred cubits high, rising almost sheer on every side, though,
of course, when one looked closely at it, there were ledges
and jutting points on which an expert climber could put his
foot. The king summoned the barbarians to surrender. If they
would, he said, they should go away unharmed, and carry all
their property with them. They laughed at him. ‘If you have
any soldiers with wings, you should send them,’ they said, ‘we
are not afraid of any others.’ The same day the king called an
assembly of the soldiers. ‘You see that rock,’ he said, ‘we
must have it. The man who first climbs to the top shall have
twelve talents, the second eleven, the third ten, and so on. I
give twelve prizes; twelve will be enough.’ That night three
hundred men started for this strange race. They took their iron
tent-pegs with them, to drive into the ice or the ground, as
it might be, and ropes to haul themselves up by. Thirty fell
and were killed. The rest reached the top, the barbarians not
having the least idea that the attempt was being made. At dawn
Alexander sent the herald again. ‘Alexander,’ he said, ‘has
sent his soldiers with wings, and bids you surrender.’ They
looked round, and the men were standing on the top. They did
not so much as strike a single blow for themselves. It is true
that others did this for the king. But this is the marvel of
him. Not only does he achieve the impossible himself, but he
makes others achieve it for him.

* * * * *

“We have fought and won a great battle, greater by far than
Granīcus, or Issus, or Arbela. We had crossed the Indus—I
talk, you see, familiarly of rivers of which a year or two
ago scarcely any one had ever heard the name—and had come to
the Hydaspes. There a certain Porus, king of the region that
lies to the eastward of that river,[76] was encamped on the
opposite bank. Our Indian allies—happily the tribes here have
the fiercest feuds among themselves—said that he was by far the
most powerful prince in the whole country. And indeed when
we came to deal with his army we found it a most formidable
force, not a few good troops with an enormous multitude of
helpless creatures who did nothing but block up the way, but
really well-armed, well-disciplined soldiers. The first thing
was to get across the river. It was quite clear that Porus was
not going to let us get over at our own time and in our own
way, as Darius let us get across the Euphrates and the Tigris.
You would have admired the magnificent strategy by which
Alexander managed it. First, he put the enemy off their guard
by a number of false alarms. Day after day he made feints of
attempting the passage, till Porus did not think it worth while
to take any notice of them. Then he gave out that he should
not really attempt it till the river became fordable, that is,
quite late in the summer. Meanwhile he was making preparations
secretly. The place that he pitched upon was about seventeen
miles above Porus’s camp. The river divides there, flowing
round a thickly-wooded island. To get to this island—a thing
which could be done without any trouble—was to get, you see,
half across the river. We had had a number of large boats for
the crossing of the Indus. These were taken to pieces, carried
across the country, and then put together again. Besides these
there was a vast quantity of bladders. Craterus was left with
about a third of the army opposite to Porus’s camp. He was to
make a feint of crossing, and convert it into a real attempt if
he saw a chance of making good his landing. You see the real
difficulty was in the enemy’s elephants. Horses will not face
elephants. If Porus moved his elephants away, then Craterus
was to make the attempt in earnest. Some other troops were
posted half way between the camp and the island. These were
to make another feint. The king himself was going to force a
passage at all hazards. Then came in his good luck, which is
really almost as astonishing as his skill. There was a violent
thunderstorm in the night. In the midst of this, while there
was so much noise from the thunder and the torrents of rain
that nothing could be heard on the opposite bank, the king’s
force got across to the island. Then, by a another stroke of
good fortune, the rain ceased, and the rest of the crossing was
finished without having to strike a blow.

“Meanwhile Porus had heard that something was going on higher
up the river, and sent a detachment of cavalry under one of
his sons to defend the bank. It was too late. If they had come
while we were crossing, they might have made the work very
difficult. As it was, they were simply crushed by our cavalry.

“Then we marched on—I had crossed, I should have told you, with
the king—and about half way to Porus’s camp, found him with
his army drawn up. Very formidable it looked, I assure you.
In front of the centre were the elephants. We had never met
elephants before. Some of our men had never even seen them. I
think now, after trial of them, that they look a great deal
worse than they are; but at the time they alarmed me very much.
How our lines could stand firm against such monsters I could
not think. On the wings were the chariots, with four horses all
of them. Each chariot had six men in it, two heavily-armed, two
archers, and two drivers. The cavalry were posted behind the
chariots, and the infantry behind the elephants.

“Alexander began by sending the mounted archers into action,
by way of clearing the way for himself and his cavalry. The
archers sent a shower of arrows on the chariots in front of
the left wing. These were closely packed together, and made
an excellent mark. Some of the arrows, I observed, fell among
the cavalry behind them. Meanwhile Alexander, with the _élite_
of the cavalry, had gained one of their flanks, while Cœnus
threatened the other. They tried to form a double front.
While they were making the change, the king fell upon them
like a thunderbolt. They held their own for a short time; but
our cavalry was too heavy for them. They fell back upon the
elephants.

“Here there was a check. At one time I thought there was going
to be more than a check. Our horses could not be brought to
face the great brutes; the horses of the Indians were used to
them, and moved in and out among them freely. Nor could the
phalanx stand against them. The long spears were simply brushed
aside like so many straws when an elephant moved up against the
line. If their drivers could have kept them under control, it
must have gone hard with us. But they could not. There are thin
places in the animal’s skin where it can be easily wounded; and
when it is wounded it is at least as dangerous to friends as
to enemies. Only a few of the creatures were killed, but many
became quite unmanageable. At last, as if by common consent—and
this was one of the most curious things I had ever seen—such as
were still serviceable, turned and left the field. They seemed
to know that they were beaten. Indeed, I have since been told
that their sagacity is wonderful.

“Porus was mounted on the largest elephant, and, I suppose,
the bravest, for it was the last to turn. The king had been
wounded in several places, and was faint with loss of blood.
The driver of his elephant was afraid that he would fall, and
made his beast kneel. Just then Alexander came up; and thinking
that the king was dead ordered his body to be stripped of the
arms, which were of very fine workmanship, I may tell you.
The elephant, when it saw this, caught up its master with its
trunk, and lifted him to its back, and then began to lay about
it furiously. It was soon killed, but not till it had done a
great deal of mischief. King Porus was carried to our camp by
Alexander’s orders, and attended to by the physicians with the
greatest care. When he was recovered of his wounds, and this it
did not take him long to do, for these Indians are amazingly
healthy people, he was brought before the king. I was there,
and a more splendidly handsome man, I never saw. ‘How would you
have me treat you?’ asked Alexander. ‘As a king should treat a
king,’ was the answer. And so, I hear, it is to be. Porus is to
be restored to his throne, and a large tract of country is to
be added to his dominions.

* * * * *

“We have had a great festival of Bacchus. The god himself was
represented riding on a tiger, which, by the way, was very
well made up. After the procession there was a competition in
drinking wine. What marvellous amounts these Indians drank! One
swallowed twenty-three pints and got the prize. He lived only
four days afterwards.

* * * * *

“At last we have turned back. We came to a river called the
Hyphasis, beyond which, our guide told us, there lived Indians
bigger and stronger than any that we had hitherto seen. All
this, as you may suppose, fired the king’s fancy, and made
him more anxious than ever to go on. But the soldiers began
to murmur. ‘They had gone far enough,’ they said. ‘Was there
ever to be an end? Were they ever to see their country again?’
Then Alexander called the men together, and expounded his great
scheme. I cannot pretend to give you his geography, for I did
not understand it. But I remember he told us that if we went
on far enough we should come out somewhere by the Pillars of
Hercules. His promises were magnificent; and indeed if we were
to conquer the world, they could not be too big. His speech
ended, he asked our opinion. Any one that differed from him
was to express his views freely. This is just what we have
been learning not to do. In fact, he is less and less able to
bear free speech. There was a long silence. ‘Speak out,’ the
king said again and again; but no one rose. At last Cœnus, the
oldest, you know of the generals, came forward. The substance
of what he said was this: ‘The more you have done, the more
bound you are to consider whether you have not done enough. How
few remain of those who set out with you, you know. Let those
few enjoy the fruits of their toils and dangers. Splendid those
fruits are; we were poor, and we are wealthy; we were obscure,
and we are famous throughout the world. Let us enjoy our wealth
and our honours at home. And you, sire, are wanted elsewhere,
in your own kingdom which you left ten years ago, and in Greece
which your absence has made unquiet. If you wish henceforth to
lead a new army, to conquer Carthage and the lands that border
on the Ocean, you will find volunteers in abundance to follow
you, all the more easily when they shall see us return to enjoy
in peace all that you have given us.’ The king was greatly
troubled—that was evident in his face—but he said nothing, and
dismissed us. The next day he called us together again, and
briefly said that he should carry out his purpose; we might do
as we pleased. Then he shut himself up in his tent two days.
He hoped, I fancy, that the men would yield. As there was no
sign of any change in their feelings, he gave way, but in his
own fashion. He ordered sacrifice to be offered as usual. The
soothsayer reported that the signs were adverse. Then we were
called together a third time. “The will of the gods,” he said,
“seems to favour you, not me. Let it be so. We will turn back.”
You should have heard the shout that the men sent up! Having
yielded the king did everything with the best grace, behaving
as if he were as glad to go back as the rest of us.”

Along with this letter Charidemus received a despatch from the king requiring his presence at Babylon in a year and a half’s time from the date of writing.[77]