The Chronicle of Years, Part 1
290 BC
Alexander IV, King of Asia, was walking to a meeting with his generals. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but softened when a young boy ran up to him in the corridor. Alexander smiled and bent down to catch his young son in an embrace.
“What is it Alexander?”
The younger Alexander lifted his head out of his father’s chest to speak.
“Father, will Demetrios be visiting us?”
The elder Alexander shook his head.
“He will not, I’m afraid. It is a sacred time in Pergamon this next week, and I allowed him to remain there.”
“That’s a shame. I like his stories...”
The younger Alexander released his grip, and scampered off.
“I can’t remember my father embracing me in the halls of Macedon like that,” came the rich voice of Seleukos, “There are many in Macedon who would call that coddling.”
Alexander raised himself.
“Let them call it what they like. A child with a living father deserves attention. Besides, I don’t recall you were a harsh tutor.” said Alexander, smiling gently at Seleukos.
“If I had raised my voice to the King of Asia, a dozen Persians would have demanded my head, along with half the Macedonians between here and Pella! And perhaps I never was a good Macedonian.”
“And after all those lectures on proper Macedonian etiquette when I was a boy!”
Alexander began to walk once more, and Seleukos followed him at his side. Alexander’s expression became more serious once more.
“May I ask you something, Seleukos?”
“My King, that may depend on the question.”
“What are your thoughts on the late Ptolemy? I was in Anatolia when the news of his death arrived, and I have not had the time to consider the matter until now.”
Seleukos considered for a moment.
“Ptolemy was a complicated man. He was a usurper, and I loved him little for that. I also fought him many times on many battlefields. But he was never cruel or vengeful. He was also a very intelligent man. Perhaps the world is a poorer place without him.”
“By all rights, I should have hated him. But I don’t think that I ever truly did, you know. If he had not declared independence he would have served me well, a fine compliment to the other titans that oversaw my regency. Besides, assassination is such a dishonourable act. He deserved better than that.”
“You always did prefer the honourable act, my King.”
“And it was you who taught me to do so.”
The two continued to walk through the palace’s chambers and corridors. Seleukos glanced over at the king; those that knew him well would have detected concern on his face.
But with that sense of honour came all the worries in the world, he thought.
“Something troubles you, Seleukos. I can feel it.” said Alexander.
“I worry sometimes that I took your father’s pothos and replaced it with too much love of honour. That I doomed you to forever worry that the world comes apart at the seams, and to find tears wherever you look.”
“The world is still coming apart at the seams, Seleukos. We have done much to sew it back together, but more stitching remains to be done. I know you would not have me leave the task half done.”
“That is true. I wish, however, that a father had been there to help guide you in your childhood.”
For a time, the only sound audible was footsteps.
“Alexander the Great did not raise me,” began Alexander, “But I had a father nonetheless, and he taught me about honour, integrity, and true wisdom. He was the very best of Macedonians, and the very best of fathers.”
257 BC
Alexander V, King of Asia, was sat writing. His scribes had long ago learned that Alexander insisted on writing particular correspondence himself, and so aside from guards at the door the King was alone in a private chamber arranged for that particular purpose. The room was exquisitely furnished; cedar wood tables and desks sat upon a magnificent carpet from India made of the richest dyes. The windows were covered by wooden shutters, delicately carved with exotic animals and plants. Only distant echoes or noises on the edge of hearing disturbed the quiet of the room.
The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching the chamber door.
“My King?” came a voice at the door.
Alexander sighed, and finished the word that he had started.
“I’m all yours now, I just had to complete a Tar. Cuneiform is such an intricate script.”
“My king, Menelaus the son of Antigonos is here to see you.” said the messenger.
Alexander’s face brightened.
“Excellent! Tell him he can come in.”
The blond-haired, heavily bearded form of Menelaus entered the room, and bowed.
“Menelaus, it is good to see that handsome face of yours again.”
“My gracious king, it is ever my pleasure to be in your company. I have much to say that only you can hear.”
“Your urgent return did seem to herald important news; I only heard of your approach when you arrived in Babylon. Where did you leave in such a hurry?” said Alexander.
“I was in Chalkis before I departed Hellas. There was a gathering of the Hellenic League with some secrecy surrounding it. It is the contents of that meeting that I must share with you at once.”
“Ah, the Hellenes. This is the price I pay for setting them free. I am a little surprised (though not disappointed) that you came in person and did not send a letter. What ill news from Chalkis?”
“They are planning another wave of colonists for Sicily, and this time accompanied by a fleet. I do not refer to barges and trading galleys but Penteres, Hexeres and even an Octores that I believe is the fleet’s flagship. The ships will be transporting marines, and will depart once the Panemos current picks up in a few months’ time.”
“By the gods... May I ask why you were unable to send a letter?”
“I discovered this information covertly, and following this I was hounded by a Euboian spymaster. His agents were... relentless. I was unable to remain in Hellas long enough to have a letter written, and I have been evading pursuit for much of my journey.”
“I understand. But this is concerning news. What strength is this fleet?”
“Perhaps a hundred and twenty ships outfitted by the League, and they expect to hire mercenaries.”
“That’s not a colonial expedition, that’s an army... Carthage will treat it as an invasion of Sicily and that will be war then and there. Were Carthaginian ambassadors also in Chalkis?”
“Yes, I was not the only one to find out about the meeting.”
“Then measures must be taken, immediately. The news will reach Carthage soon and they will prepare for a war.”
Alexander stood up from his desk.
“Bagapata, would you please fetch me a scribe immediately.” said Alexander in unaccented Persian. The somatophylax immediately hurried off, leaving his counterpart to guard the King.
“My king, before I go into further detail on the Greek plans, might I ask a query?”
“Certainly Menelaus.”
“Why are you stopping a war with Carthage? You have no love for them, your armies and navies are strong, and they are ill-liked by the rest of the Mediterranean. Why leave them more time to build ships and hire mercenaries. If I might presume, you have been looking for an opportunity to engage them in open war; why not now?”
Alexander considered for a moment.
“Have you ever read any Judaean scripture?”
“I cannot say that I have, my King. Your ability to penetrate exotic texts has always astounded me.”
“One story is that of David and a Giant named Goliath. The Giant was five cubits tall, and a powerful warrior. He was the champion of the enemy, and given his immense size and strength he clearly expected to crush David with ease. Indeed, David was naked. Naked apart from two items; a sling, and a bag of five bullets. David hit Goliath smack in the forehead with one of the bullets and Goliath fell dead to the ground. The enemies of the Israelites fled, and the day was won, all for a single bullet.”
“I think Goliath should have worn a helmet, my king.”
“Yes, he should have. The point is, Menelaus, that our greater power than Carthage does not matter if we leave ourselves vulnerable. The Kingdom is not fully balanced yet; adjustments and further preparations need to be made. If we make our move before we are fully ready, disaster will strike. It is not only slings we must fear, but hybris. But rest assured that we will strike. I believe that the key lies with the Romans, our allies in Italy.”
“They are an interesting people, my king. I encountered a great many Romans in my travels in the west. The word that leaps to mind is; prickly.”
“But then again, Menelaus, are we not prickly ourselves at times? If you poke us, do we not roar?”
“We do, my king.Though I have always thought of myself as rather charming. But I could be Aphrodite herself and their gazes would still be cold. It was rather discouraging.”
“Perhaps they are rather prickly. But at this stage, their gruff nature is rather advantageous. They are also a pragmatic people, and it has always been my judgement that pragmatism can take you a long way.”
238 BC
Phillip IV, King of Asia, stared at the two men before him.
“So both of you believe that the satrap of Babylon is misusing labour gangs, siphoning funds, and neglecting his duties regarding repair work. Not only that, you think he is colluding with traitors. Do I understand this correctly?”
“Yes, my king.” said both men simultaneously.
Phillip ran his left hand through his hair.
“These accusations are serious, and I can’t see any other option but to remove him from his post. Such a shame. The man was rather pleasant at first. But I had noted a certain arrogance of late. Perhaps it is for the best. Now, the appointment of satraps is my perogative but do you have any suggested candidates gentlemen?”
The two men looked on one another.
“Actually, my king, we disagree on this particular matter.” said the taller of the two. He was Eanna-liblut, an Urukian of soul searching eyes and extremely pronounced cheekbones.
“Regrettably this is indeed the case, King of Kings.” said the other. He was Mithradata, a Persian with a handsome face unfortunately marred by several scars and a broken nose.
“That is not the answer I was looking for.” said Phillip, scowling.
“I will be honest, King of Kings. There are many suitable candidates, as you have gathered so many talented men together in your court. I do not blame Eanna-liblut for having made a different choice.”
“My esteemed colleague speaks sense. Both candidates are excellent men, it is simply the fine details that we differ on.”
“Very well, state your case.” said Phillip, pointing to Mithradata.
Mithradata bowed.
“Great King, as you say Babylon is indeed the heart of the Empire. Given the previous satrap’s many ill deeds, it seems to me that the position needs an upright, honest and direct man to do the job. My recommendation is therefore Artafarnah of Argeaopolis. He will banish the Lie from Babylon and establish Truth, for the glory of you our Great King and servant of the Truth.”
“A sound choice my King,” began Eanna-liblit, “But if I may I would recommend experience. Ibbi-Adad is currently governor of the Marshlands and served your father for decades across many fronts. He is wise, calm, and made of iron. He knows Babylonia intimately, and he will serve you well as a satrap.”
“Ah, Ibbi-Adad! I know him well, he has served me on campaign several times. He would be a rather excellent choice. Thank you for your counsel Mithradata, but I have now made my decision. Thank you both for bringing the issue to my attention, and for your advice. Now you must leave, for I am going to be making further preparations.”
Both men bowed, and left the room.
As the door shut, the two men walked down a lengthy corridor. At the end was another door, and as they opened it led into an enormous courtyard within the palace’s walls. This was the Garden of Alexander, constructed by Alexander V and filled with statues of the honoured dead. The two men stopped by the statue of Seleukos.
“So it was indeed your candidate who proved superior Eanna-liblit, my congratulations. I had not been aware that Ibbi-Adad had served the king on campaign.”
“That, my friend, was something I kept to myself. But it is not your fault; the campaigns in question are relatively obscure and occurred in the lifetime of the last king. I would not expect you to have dragged up such esoteric knowledge.”
“Then you certainly did your research, and further congratulations are clearly in order. I wonder, though, how the King would have reacted had he known the bribe you gave the satrap’s deputies to spy on him.”
“That is certainly a question, though it would be equally interesting if the King found out that Artafarnah was once good friends with the rebel Aryandas.”
“It is good, then, that we are loyal subjects of the king and also close friends!”
“Might I ask, Mithradata my friend, what will become of you since your... circle’s chosen candidate was not the Kings preference?”
“My associates and I are in tune with one another. They will understand.”
“I am glad, I would hate for your other friends to be easily swayed by perception.”
“It would seem that our mutual problem is neither your friends nor mine, but the party of Antipater.”
“Ah yes, the Macedonian. It is a strange thing; in theory, our great king and many of his subjects and advisors are Macedonians, but never refer to themselves as that or do so only formally. They are now even harder to tell apart from the Hellenes. But Antipater, and his friends, not only call themselves Macedonians they also spend their entire times reminding the rest of us how Macedonian they are.”
“I don’t really care whether a man calls himself a Macedonian or a Hellene personally, I care more that Antipater is a cold-blooded killer and extremely aggressive.”
“But perhaps some badly-educated men call us cold-blooded killers?”
“That is a fair point my friend. Perhaps he is a warm-blooded killer then; he actively seems to delight in slaughter, like an ancient hero.”
“You are of course right. I was merely remarking on curiosities. But I think we are both in agreement that he must not be allowed to gain influence. Though it seems our great king is avoiding him of his own accord.”
“Perhaps one might theoretically say that the King has never excelled in matters of politics.The Great King is, of course, above reproach. Even if that were said, one would do well to remember that the King is a great man and has his own powerful mind. It has just always been focused on military matters.”
227 BC
Amyntas, King of Asia, glared at the now ex-satrap of Media in front of him.
“My king... your word is law and your word is your command. Of course I shall abide by your decision.”
“Good. You will be escorted to a private estate tomorrow at dawn. Your family and your belongings will join you as soon as able. The estate has a lovely orchard, and I believe a particularly fine cook. There you will remain, in comfort and quiet.”
“Of course, my king.”
“Ithobal, my somatophylax, will escort you to a chamber where you will stay the night.”
The burly Chaldean directed the ex-satrap to the door, and followed him out.
“Well, that was relatively painless.” said Pothos, who had been sitting quietly.
“Gulippos was never going to be much trouble. He’s spent far too much time cultivating his grapes to have much heart left in him.”
“And too much time taking bribes.”
Amyntas smirked.
“And that.”
Amyntas stood up and walked out of the window. Outside he could see the Garden of Alexander, and the to and fro of multitudes. The fact that all of them served him still sat strangely; he had never been expecting to become King. After considering for a moment, he turned back around.
“Pothos, will you fetch the rest of my Hetairoi? There is much to discuss.”
The large chamber was now filled with two dozen individuals. This was the King’s inner Hetairoi, the highest circle of his advisors. In Alexander the Great’s time it would have been almost solely Macedonians, but in these modern times not only Macedonians and Greeks but Persians, Babylonians, Armenians and one Arab by the name of Hazael were all part of the King’s inner circle.
“I’ve gathered you all here, friends, for the next stage of the Empire’s recovery. I have removed all of the corrupt satraps and officials that could be found, and many of you have been by my side when I did so. Much work has been done. But here and now, we must solidify this into a concrete direction. We must forge a path if the health of the Empire is to endure.”
“May I speak?” said Phanodorus, who was a Greek by birth but wore his hair in the Persian style.
“Certainly.”
“My recommendation is to take advantage of the situation in Scythia Haumavarga. Their recent defeats have left them extremely weakened, and the opportunity has risen for us to secure the Sogdian frontier once and for all.”
“Are you suggesting that the king tries to annex the Scythians? That land was not intended for settled man to control; there are no cities to occupy, and if the Scythians wish to they can simply pack up and leave at any time.” said Hakob of Colchis.
“I am not. I am suggesting that many of the Scythian tribes that would once have shied away from alliance or settlement are likely to be more amenable. We will draw the powerful men out of Scythia like poison, and so render the sting harmless.”
“But is the King’s time not better spent here in Babylon, strengthening the realm?” asked Archias, the white bearded satrap of Media.
“The king has many willing and able generals able to conduct a campaign in Scythia, he need not depart unless he wishes.” said Phanodorus.
“Though that is a possibility, I have an alternative suggestion,” began Hazael, “There is the matter of the cults dedicated to the memory of Alexander the Great. Ptolemy in Egypt has officialized the Cult, and the deification of Alexander. It is also popular in my homeland. If we allow Egypt to monopolise the cult, not only will they hold sway over the memory of Alexander but they will also have influence over many of the King’s subjects. Taking control of this will strengthen the Empire.”
“What do you suggest I do, Hazael? Become the high priest of my own ancestor’s memory? The gods look poorly upon hybris, and having to look after the institution would be a dead weight around my son’s neck and his own sons.” said Amyntas.
“You are right, my King. I do not propose anything so grandiose. But perhaps instead a cultic centre might be created, a large temple that dwarfs the Ptolemaic Alexandreion in scale and beauty and with attendant priests. Not only would this permit a measure of influence over the Empire’s Alexander cults, it would also draw revenue into whatever province the temple was built in.”
A moment of thought passed.
“Well my friends, it isn’t every day you get a choice between invading the ends of the earth or deifying your own ancestor! The times we live in... Both of these suggestions have merit, and I will consider both projects. Remember though, no matter which option is taken or even if an entirely new one is decided upon, between us we will forge the Empire anew. With all of our talents, we will succeed. The Moirai are on our side.”