> The Wrath of Alexander the Great

Chapter 3

      Barkane had such disdain for Helios’s troops he hadn’t even bothered to 'properly' escape. He simply had his group ford a wide creek and duck into the edge of the thick forest for the night. Barkane made sure their campsite there had a backdoor by which they could escape if need be; a dry stream bed that ran back through a thicket and up into the hills. Barkane rotated the evening watch between the three of them and then slept with one eye open in the unlikely event any of Helios’s men had the pluck to give chase.
      All were pleased to learn Helyar had been busy during his days-long wait for Barkane and Markatt to return from Cyprus with their prisoner. He had netted coveys of game birds and even knocked down a deer so when morning came their breakfast fire was a fat one.
      Barkane ordered everyone to prepare for travel so they spent the morning cleaning themselves up in the nearby stream, oiling tack, repairing their armor, getting their weapons in order, and eating as much as they could stomach. Who knew when they would eat again? Helyar made like the cook and manned the fire and the famished men stuffed themselves for the journey ahead. Markatt ate until he had

"eaten half the forest," according to Helyar. Sajan rubbed his sore head and when Helyar commented that his "fat lip matched Barkane's", Sajan only growled and glared while Markatt laughed between mouthfuls of food.
      Markatt was otherwise uncharacteristically quiet. Referring to Helios and his men, he had asked Barkane the night before, "Are we to leave them?" and Barkane had answered only, "Their fate is none of our business." But Barkane had a feeling that that answer was unsatisfactory for Markatt, a true-blue soldier with a soft spot for other soldiers.
      Now Markatt patiently watched his commander as Barkane washed down a breast of hen with long drags from a leaky water-skin. Barkane knew his men’s moods well and had hoped to avoid more conversation on this matter. Markatt’s sullen silence eventually convinced him the conversation was inevitable. Barkane sighed.
      "What would you have me do?"
      Markatt had no hesitation. "We warn them, sir."
      Barkane scowled. "Your heart is too big for this work, Markatt. Those nitwits had you trussed and ready for the fire."
      Markatt gave his commander a rare sideways look. He didn’t believe that those men would kill him. Barkane could

didn’t believe that those men would kill him. Barkane could only shake his head for neither did he. Those men weren’t the killing type. Maybe the serious one, Argon, thought Barkane.
      But Barkane had been too tired to think much of Helios and his men. A good night’s sleep and a river bath had cleared his mind. Helios’s equipment was poor, except for those Phoenician composite bows. And his men were obscenely wealthy in horses, and where Barkane was heading, a couple of dozen horses could come in handy. Then again, all those horses made an inviting target. Either to Bousardis and the Macedonians or to the Persians. In a pinch, Barkane figured he could always use Helios's men as archers, unorganized as they most likely were. They could hunt, that was for sure, but they didn’t seem much use at anything else; except maybe fermenting field wine, which the jackasses had in abundance. Could he use them? Perhaps, but he would have to be careful. Those amateurs could easily be more trouble than they were worth. But the horses...they were a different matter. At length, Barkane nodded at Markatt. "Very well," he said. Markatt was pleased; unlike Barkane, he saw no risk in it.
      The rest of the morning passed in a blur for Barkane kept everyone busy. Sajan was as surly as ever and spoke

only in monosyllables and Barkane was thankful for the silence. He needed to think. They were now behind by a full day and Bousardis and his hundreds would be roaring down the coast any time. How quickly would the general respond? thought Barkane. He frowned for he already knew the answer and it meant that they hadn't another moment to lose. He ordered the men to break camp. Markatt paused to drain the blood of a brush partridge into the stream as thanks to the gods of the earth for providing fresh water. As usual, Barkane allowed the man his many religious rituals.
      It was mid-afternoon by the time Barkane and his men slipped back up the hills overlooking Helios’s encampment. The recent rain was only a memory now and the summer sun had resumed its relentless fire so that the sweat rolled generously down the men's backs. But they were unworried for Helyar had chosen well. The horses were a desert breed and Barkane had had everyone top off all their water-bags and keep a sharp eye out for water sources for the horses. There were numerous streams running through these hot hills and that would turn out to be a fortunate thing because they would be running the horses harder and sooner than Barkane had planned.
      When they got near Helios’s camp, Barkane had Helyar keep a close eye on Sajan while he and Markatt dismounted

and crept forward to the edge of the ridge so tight to the ground the sweet grazing grass tickled their chins. The two peeked over the edge in unison.
      Barkane had hoped to hail a simple warning to Helios and then quickly be gone but as his eyes crested the rise what he saw in the distance chilled him despite the heat. Far up the coast, a cloud of dust rose above the horizon and Barkane read the cloud immediately. A dust cloud that size could only be kicked up by hundreds of horses on the move.
      Helios's men had seen it, too, for the camp in the trees below was in complete panic once again. The Greeks shouted and dashed back and forth, frantically gathering their things. Equipment was strewn all over the ground and tents were uprooted and flung carelessly over the nearest horse. Tack, pots, fire irons, even their makeshift fermentation casks - all were being hastily loaded on horses. As usual, their weapons seemed but an afterthought. Their paddock, their food-stores, their manicured fire pits; all were being abandoned in a mad flurry.
      Barkane cursed the wind and jumped to his feet. He and Markatt ran back to their horses where Sajan wore a surprised look but not Helyar. He only looked expectantly at his commander. Despite the obvious danger, Barkane

flashed a confident smile at him and Markatt.
      "Put your hooves in the surf and head south one league, then move inland and go south again. I will be coming your way. If we are separated, meet in three days just north of the fort at Tahtani on the Asi River."
      Markatt and Helyar glanced at each other. Hooves in the surf meant they were to wash their trail by running their horses in the shallows along the beach. That was vintage Barkane. But then go inland? Both men knew the Asi River was on the other side of the Nusay mountain range. And Tahtani was a dusty mining fort in the middle of nowhere. Why not to stick to the coast? Barkane read the looks on their faces but hadn’t time for explanations and chastised them both.
      "Do as I say," he ordered. Then he pointed at Sajan. "If the captain gives you any trouble, kill him." With that, Barkane yanked his reins and galloped away from them - back toward Helios’s camp. Sajan knew why Barkane was concerned. General Bousardis had come. Markatt and Helyar seized his reins and the three of them galloped off to the south.
      Barkane spurred his mount back over the virgin grass toward the camp and blessed his luck that the desert horses were so game. He looked for Helios and spotted him

immediately. He and Argon were on horseback at the seaward edge of camp, Argon’s fine armor reflecting conspicuously in the sun. They were directing the men down a swale that led down to the beach.
      Not that way! thought Barkane, though he knew the flat sand and the speed of flight it afforded would be their first inclination. So much was the bedlam that not a single one of them noticed Barkane galloping their way. Barkane marched right up to Helios and Argon and reined his mount to a stop. Had the circumstances been different, Barkane would have laughed out loud at the look on Helios's face for he looked at Barkane as if he were an apparition. A breathless, "You!?" was all Argon could manage but there was little time for contemplation. There was little time for anything.
      "Get your men from the sea," Barkane said.
      "What? Why...?" both Helios and Argon were too taken aback to think of reaching for weapons, let alone seizing their errant prisoner. Barkane’s voice rumbled with the authority of an officer in command.
      "Off the beach. Inland. Inland! Do you not understand?" Barkane yanked his sword from his scabbard and pointed it at the beach. "They will butcher you down there!"

      Barkane was heartened to see that Helios, recognizing the urgency of their situation, looked like he was willing to ignore the events of the last two days but the proud Argon seemed less inclined but the next words out of Barkane's mouth might have been spoken by the Fates themselves for the effect they had on Argon. "By the gods, be an officer, Argon. Order your troops to their advantage, not the enemy's."
      Barkane looked over the two men's shoulders at the camp’s frantic evacuation. Helios’s lieutenants Sestus and Stefanos were racing about in every direction trying to corral stragglers and herd the rest of the men down the swale. May the gods help them, thought Barkane. Except there are no gods hereabouts today.
      Helios stared at the dust cloud in the distance before turning back to Barkane, a look of dread on his face.
      "How many are they?"
      "My guess is three hundred," answered Barkane.
      "Three hundred!" gasped Argon. "How do you know?" asked Helios.
      "That is the number of troop and horse stationed at the Beilan Pass. Under Bousardis," said Barkane.
      "Bousardis? General Bousardis?"
      "Is there another?"

Barkane knew that the name would make Helios go ashen and it did. Then Barkane told him why Alexander's top general under Seleucus was heading this way, though it wasn’t the whole truth. It rarely was with Barkane. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.
      "As I have told you, Bousardis wants our charming captain’s head," Barkane said. "My guess is he'll be looking for yours, too."
      Helios hesitated. Argon began to fidget like a cornered mouse. He glared at Barkane in sudden realization.
      "You have led them here," he said.
      Barkane sighed. He hadn’t time for debate. Let us see whether or not these men are complete fools, Barkane thought. "It doesn’t matter. Do you understand? It was only a matter of time."
      Helios looked grim and said nothing.
      Again, Barkane pointed with his sword, this time to the northwest, where he knew their home lay. "I know where you come from, Helios. Thrace. You consider yourselves Greek. They consider you rubes."
      "They" were Bousardis's elite Silver Shields. Trained killers, every one. And it was true. They had contempt for every Greek who was not of Macedonian stock.
      Barkane shook his head in the direction of his sword.

"The mighty Alexander has moved on and your route home is now his hind end. His royal thugs Seleucus and Bousardis have it locked up tighter than a king’s daughter." Barkane and Helios both knew the Greeks would never get through there alive. "By the gods, you’re lucky they haven’t found you already," Barkane said. "They aren’t stupid. They will scour this country until they find you and make no mistake, they will not entreat your explanations and excuses. Bousardis is a killer. And he knows the more he kills, the more he basks in Alexander’s favor." Barkane wasn't telling them anything the entire Greek army didn't know already.
      Helios stared off at the distant dust cloud in silence. Argon looked as if he had been slapped across the face. Bousardis was a killer, famous for little else, and every man alive knew well the man's fighting prowess. The ambitious son-of-a-bitch would do anything to curry favor with Alexander and many were dead who could attest to it. Helios knew everything Barkane said was true but he still looked defiantly at him.
      "You think us deserters," he said. "We are not."
      Barkane sighed. Why then were they here, where no troops of any feather should be? Barkane had deduced that Helios and his men had the misfortune of becoming enemies of both Alexander's Greeks and Darius's Persians, a common

enough predicament these days, thought Barkane. For the moment, the details were unimportant, though Barkane would soon find out more.
      "I think you should come with me," Barkane said.
      He pointed to their men still headed for the shore. "The beaches mean death for you, believe me."
      Helios did believe him. But to go with this stranger when the man had meant nothing but trouble and lots of it? Helios began to wonder if he was losing his wits. Paralyzed by their dire change of fortune and unwillingness to trust a stranger, neither Helios nor Argon said a thing.
      Until Barkane changed everything.
      "I can get you home," he said.
      Argon scoffed.
      "You?! Our home is far to the north."
      "That may be, but the way home is south. By the gods, would you rock-headed Greeks listen to me!"
      Barkane did not regret the insult. He was running out of patience. With Bousardis and his Silvers so close and the Greek's ineptitude so painfully clear, he knew if he didn’t help them directly he may as well sentence them to death. Barkane briefly considered that is was best to rid himself of the Greeks as soon as possible - let them languish out here in the sun on their own and die at the

hands of Bousardis and his professionals. For Barkane, his mission was more important than all of these men. He even entertained the thought that their suffering might be brief. But he knew Bousardis too well. There would be no such luck with the likes of him. Damn the gods and their mischievous ways! Barkane had no choice now but to saddle his mission with these amateurs and he cursed Markatt and the man's good conscience.
      "You’ve only one chance. Follow me and keep your damn heads," Barkane said.
      Still Helios hesitated. Barkane was obviously competent in military matters and it was also obvious the men were no match for the professional cavalry coming their way. Helios watched them hurriedly assembling on the beach below, preparing to ride hard down the coast. Barkane cocked his head impatiently at Helios, for he knew the experienced troops of Bousardis, their pursuit unfettered along the beach, would run them down in a matter of hours. Argon, at least, realized it at last.
      "We must bring them back, Helios," Argon said.
      "Very well," said Helios.
      Argon pulled a brass horn from his saddle pad and put it to his lips. But before a breath of air could escape Barkane reached out and slapped the thing from his mouth.

It tumbled away in the dune-grass.
      "No horns," said Barkane.
      Argon went livid but Helios seized control of the situation for once.
      "Go get them," Helios said to Argon, the tone of his voice urgent. "Quickly!"
      Argon shot a fiery look at Barkane but bit his tongue and spurred off just as another young soldier on a spotted hill pony rode up to Helios, both man and pony wet with the sweat of a hard ride and both still out of breath. The man was Helios’s northern scout.
      "How far are they?" asked Helios.
      "Just less than a league," the scout said.
      "Their pace?" interrupted Barkane.
      "Steady, but unhurried."
      Barkane waved his arm at Helios's camp in disgust and gave him another look of disapproval. "That will change when they trip over this." The amateur camp had come back to bite them. Helios winced.
      "It is too late to disguise it. Too late to even cool the fires," said Barkane. "The only thing to do is flee." He lowered his eyes at Helios. "Which is the worst possible position to put yourself in."
      Helios looked properly repentant but now what? Barkane

inhaled a long breath and gazed off into the hills. If Helios’s rookie scout had spotted Bousardis’s column, certainly Bousardis’s seasoned scouts would soon spot some sign of them. Barkane considered that this would either slow Bousardis down as he considered what type of threat the unknown group presented or accelerate his advance in order to capitalize on surprise. Bousardis had never retreated from anything in his long and dangerous life. Barkane realized the man would advance his troops with all speed and he spat in the dirt at the thought.
      Then Barkane turned to tactical matters: What could he use against this threat? There was virtually no wind today to help and no rain in sight for cover. A counter-attack was out of the question. But there was the relentless heat of the sun and Bousardis would have been riding all morning already. The dust cloud was directly over the shoreline and Barkane knew watering sources along that route were few and far between and that would slow the Silvers down. There it is, then, thought Barkane. I'll make him work his horses hard. The hills just over the ridge from the sea were heavily wooded. The safety of those thick cedars was their only hope.
      Argon had the others finally coming up from the beach. Barkane turned to the scout once more. "Are all the

lookouts in?"
      The look on the young scout's face was unmistakable; there were no other lookouts.
      He gamely replied, "Yes, sir," none-the-less.
      Barkane rolled his eyes. "Very well," he said, and he raised his voice, addressing Helios and the growing crowd around him. "We ride four-abreast with weapons stowed." And to Helios, "Make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut." It was an order and Helios accepted it. He and Argon began barking at their men to fall in line. Barkane pointed at all the gear loading down their few extra horses: tents, cooking utensils, woolen sacks, tarpaulins, and of course, Helios's makeshift winery.
      "Dump the baggage," he said.
      Argon objected. "Those are our belongings, our only..."
      Barkane interrupted him. "If you can kill a man with a cooking tin then bring it along, otherwise leave it to the sand."
      Barkane wheeled his horse around and trotted up the grassy dune, directly away from the sea. The rest quickly fell in behind him four-abreast, though not as orderly as Barkane would have liked. Barkane hoped that a four-abreast formation might confuse Bousardis as to their number, as

only a force much larger than theirs would travel so. The hilly homelands and rocky coasts of Greece afforded no room for four-abreast. Persians, on the other hand, were accustomed to flat country that stretched for league after endless league. And the Persian Immortal Guard traveled four-abreast, a fact that Barkane and Bousardis would know well but Helios and his hapless Greeks would not. The thought that he might be following Persian elites might make Bousardis anxious. It was doubtful, but Barkane said nothing for Helios would only be alarmed if he knew Barkane had them impersonating Persians. The tactic was a long shot, but in military matters, what the enemy did not know could only hurt them.
      They now traveled uphill and the grade was easy enough but still Barkane kept them to a slow trot, saving the horses’ strength. At first, the men couldn't resist looking back over their shoulders every minute or two at the spine-shivering column of dust behind them. But the ground was kind and they made good time, cresting rise after rise as they headed inland up the Nusay foothills - away from the sea. After a time, little was said and the afternoon passed plodding, hot, and dry. Water-bags were passed back and forth non-stop and the men swatted endlessly at summer insects of every variety. Helios’s men stayed in formation,

more or less, and kept their mouths shut, the danger in the air helping them to concentrate on the business at hand. By early evening, they had left the grassy slopes beneath them and were well onto the rocky heights. As the sun set, they finally reached the ridge-line that marked the top-most crest of the Nusay range.
      All the water-bags were empty and the horses as thirsty as parched bone and nearly spent. The men were tired, too, though Barkane cared less about them. It was the horses that meant life or death for them now. Helios had stayed near the front while Argon had taken up the rear. Barkane called the column to a stop and turned to Helios.
      "Your water-man," he said.
      Most regiments had a water man, a scout with experience locating water in all kinds of country. Helios shouted a name and a man broke from the pack and galloped forward to Barkane. Barkane saw that this man, too, was barely old enough for a beard. Another teenager! he thought.
      "What have you seen?" he asked the water man.
      "The ground slopes away to the south," he said. "There should be softwoods that way."
      Barkane agreed. If they adjusted their march a little

south, they should find the softwoods and water soon. There is some good news after all, thought Barkane. Helios stood at the ready.
      "Give me a fresh horse," Barkane said and one was produced immediately.
      Barkane leapt on the spare horse and sped for the highest vantage point he could see: A formation of wind-carved rock that rose from the top of the ridge like a watchtower. There he dismounted and scrambled up boulders studded with bushes. In a few more seconds he stood near the top but couldn't quite reach the pinnacle for the rock there sloped to a vertical wall making progress to the very top impossible.
      Behind him, Argon and Helios had left the pack and trotted up to the foot of the rocks. They waited there quietly enough, though Argon was still miffed that Barkane had assumed authority over their group. He fidgeted impatiently. He could see Barkane was trying to get as high as possible for the best vantage point. He jumped off his horse and scrambled up the rocks next to Barkane. Without a word he kicked off his sandals and put his fingers and toes to the sheer rock-wall. By means of minute fissures in the rock Barkane had not even seen, Argon pulled himself up. Barkane marveled at how the young man moved so easily up

the vertical surface. Argon proffered his hand and helped Barkane to the very top. Argon looked sheepish.
      "My family owns much land and I've had to fetch many an errant sheep. I've climbed my share of rock, sir."
      Indeed, thought Barkane. The man is part mountain goat. Barkane looked back where they had come from. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun with his hand. The ground they had traversed rolled away hill after hill until he could just barely make out the sea shimmering in the distance. The waning sun carried its light only to the high points like the jut they perched on. The rest of the countryside that stretched to the sea had succumbed to shadow. Barkane cupped his hands over his eyes in the shape of a small circle, a trick he had learned from a wise field officer many years before. The technique minimized distractions so that one might scan any landscape in a disciplined fashion. Argon watched Barkane and did as Barkane did. This close to him, he noticed for the first time the Commander was missing the bottom half of one ear. And when Argon had helped the man up the rock wall, he discovered Barkane was missing a pinky finger as well. It seemed there was no end to the man's battle scars.
      He waited while the Commander took his time, slowly scanning the entire western horizon from the farthest point

south to the farthest point north. Barkane's eyes discerned nothing at first, but he kept concentrating and soon saw what he was looking for; an uneven dome of dust, difficult to make out in the low light. It looked to be just more than a league away and meant the pursuing cavalry had followed them up country. A curse escaped his lips. This should have occurred to him before. Bousardis was traveling 'on pursuit' which meant two horses for every man. A cavalry could run their horses at a wicked pace for fourteen hours a day that way.
      "Do you see them?" Barkane said.
      "Yes, sir," said Argon. "They're on to us."
      That they were.
      Barkane glanced down at Helios’s column of men. Every time they stopped they milled about out of position, losing the order he had imposed on the march. Barkane found himself tempted again to order them to disperse, to scatter, but he knew that would only delay the inevitable. Barkane doubted that a single man would escape the wrath of Alexander. They were hopelessly outnumbered and their experience could not match Bousardis’s. Not in a thousand lifetimes. They would be tracked down and slaughtered to a man.
      Barkane further considered that Bousardis was most

likely not fooled by the four-abreast tactic, not that it wasn’t worth a try. In any event, Barkane knew his bag of tricks would be limited with these Greeks. For the moment, he had no answer on how to escape Bousardis’s cavalry; a cavalry who surely had them outnumbered ten to one and had spare horse. Worse, the Silvers would be heavily armed and battle-tested. Not like this bunch, Barkane thought. Helios and his farmers could take down a deer or two but deer didn't fight back.
      Barkane thought it best not to elaborate on all this to Helios and Argon just now. Best to keep moving. Buy time, thought Barkane. We’re not dead yet.
      He and Argon scrambled down from their lookout perch to where Helios waited. Stefanos and Sestus had joined them and Stefanos was checking buckles and adjusting his tack. Barkane noticed the grey gelding he had just ridden had stayed in place right where Barkane had dropped the reins. The horse stood there at ease, nonchalantly regarding his brethren loitering en masse nearby. A reliable horse, thought Barkane. And then a thought struck him.
      "How long have these horses run together?" he asked Stefanos.
      Stefanos was puzzled by the question but he answered, "Months."

      Barkane rubbed his chin. "Hmmm," was all he said. Where just moments ago he had begun to give up hope, now Barkane looked at the horse, then to the far-off sea, then back to the horse again.
      "The horses must be rested," he announced. "We dismount and lead them at a walk for the rest of the night."
      "But," Argon started to say...
      "No 'buts'," said Barkane. "It is downhill from here all the way to the Asi River. We march broad on the flank to spread out our trail." Barkane winked at Argon, the first sign of friendliness any of the Greeks had seen from the man. "It might confuse them a little," Barkane said.
      Broad-on-the-flank was the opposite of a single file march and slow going. It meant they would all move forward together in a horizontal line stretched out for hundreds of paces. But it would definitely confuse Bousardis, particularly in the dark and particularly coming after the four-abreast. Bousardis would have to slow down and look closely for their trail. Barkane needed something, anything...and that well-behaved horse had just given him the spark of an idea.
      Barkane mounted and spurred back down the hill for the group, Helios and the others right behind. When they

reached the head of the column Barkane could see all the men looking his way. He was accustomed to that.
      "Give the orders," he said to Helios but before Helios could open his mouth, Argon objected once again.
      "The men are tired."
      "Not as tired as they will be in the morning. We march all night," said Barkane.
      "On foot all night for the horses’ sake?" said Argon. "The men are more important than these horses!"
      Barkane had had enough of the youngster's complaints. He slid from his horse to the ground and glared at Argon, the anger rising up his throat at this lily-gilded soldier. He tried to ignore the elaborate cuirass on Argon’s chest, the matching engraved greaves and expensive helmet hanging from his horse's tack. It would be a lifetime before Argon lived up to that fancy equipment.
      "You will soon learn that they are not," Barkane said. "Fail to learn this lesson and every man on this mountain is dead."
      Embarrassed and unsure, for the first time Argon regretted questioning Barkane. He steamed quietly while Helios issued the orders. There was much grumbling among the men, which only served to try Barkane’s patience all the more. Nevertheless, within minutes Helios had the whole

group walking in an organized wide line over the ridge and heading down the grassy slope on the other side.
      The night walk down the long gentle grade allowed Barkane to contemplate the country they were in. He liked the texture of the earth here; dry in summer but rich when the seasonal rains came. The land was dusty and rocky, then lush and green and then all dust and rock again. And beyond, a great desert. Just like the southern coast of the Mediterranean. Just like home. He felt the familiar land beneath his feet lifting his spirits. As the night wore on, he found Sestus and Stefanos next to him at the extreme left of their long line.
      "Helios has the far right?" Barkane asked.
      "Yes, sir," said Sestus. It wasn't easy but, like Argon, Sestus had swallowed his pride and was following orders.
      Barkane harrumphed. "Let us hope he does not totter off his feet and break his neck."
      Stefanos hung his head but Sestus stuck up for the man. "He imbibes too much but he is a valiant man, Commander. He saved our necks."
      "Did he, now?" said Barkane.
      The looks on the two men's faces went as dark as the night itself. Stefanos looked as if he wanted to say

something more but he held his tongue. Sestus, as usual, was the more forward of the two.
      "He should know what happened, Stefanos," Sestus said.
      As the horses walked easily downhill beneath a ceiling of ever blinking stars Stefanos stared into the darkness at nothing while Sestus pressed him with an imploring look. At length Stefanos nodded his head.
      "We were betrayed," Stefanos said.
      Barkane kept his eyes straight ahead and quietly led his horse while the two men spilled their story.
      "We are not soldiers but farmers, Barkane, most of us, and far from home," Sestus began. "What did we know? The army knew us country-types were skilled with the bow already so we were assigned a commanding officer and given horses and the new Persian composite bows and told to learn them well. They drilled us for days. We didn't ask questions. We did as we were told."
      Stefanos nodded in agreement as Sestus told Barkane the rest and what Barkane heard was damning indeed. No wonder these men have been hiding out for so long.
      Though they were far from the only Greeks taken from their homes and pressed into service for Alexander's cause, their fate would be different for at the last minute their commanding officer switched sides. In the confusion of

battle he led them to the left flank to attack the Persians there and they were able to let fly a volley or two before he abruptly turned them around and ordered volleys fired to the rear and they let several volleys go before they realized they were firing on their own Greeks behind them! They halted immediately though their officer went into a rage and berated them, screaming above the din of battle that they would be paid handsomely. He ordered them again and again to fire.
      "We refused," said Sestus. "This in the thick of battle, Barkane! We didn’t know what to do. Damn the gods and their games!"
      Stefanos told Barkane how the entire regiment froze in horror when they suddenly found themselves guilty of firing on both Persians and Greeks.
      Bribes to officers were common and their commanding officer had indeed been paid handsomely; by Persia. In desperation the turncoat officer turned on one of Helios's men in the front and ordered him to fire. When the soldier refused the direct order the officer drew his sword and raised the weapon to strike the man dead when a javelin flew from the regiment's midst and took the officer down.

"Right in the throat, Barkane," said Stefanos, putting his hand to his own without thinking. "The evil man dropped and died at the hooves of his horse."
      From one sin to another, thought Barkane. Helios and his men were traitors to the Greeks, enemies to Persia, and a disgrace beyond disgrace for assassinating their own commanding officer. The Fates were wicked indeed.
      Stefanos hung his head in despair. "We are lost men now," he said and Barkane had to agree.
      Sestus pointed off in the distance to where Helios would be at the opposite end of their long line.
      "The flank fell apart all around us and it was Helios who got us organized and off the battlefield in one piece," Sestus said. "He may be married to the wine but he has kept us alive so far."
      So far, Barkane thought. He met both men's eyes and nodded that he understood. Then he stopped in his tracks. The others nearby stopped, too, but Barkane barked at them. "Keep moving," he said. Then he turned to Stefanos and Sestus.
      "Who?" Barkane asked.
      Sestus looked at Stefanos in alarm. Neither said a word. But Barkane was insistent.

      "I must know what soldier among you would murder their commanding officer."
      Stefanos swallowed hard. "That officer was a criminal, Commander," he stammered. "A traitor."
      "Who did it?" said Barkane.
      Sestus and Stefanos shuffled their feet and stared at the ground. Barkane waited.
      Then a horse nickered behind him and he turned to see that while all the others had continued on, one man had stayed behind.
      It was Argon. He stood silently in the moonlight on a rise nearby, a bundle of javelins on the back of his horse. He stared at the three of them but no one said a thing.
      "Hmmm…," said Barkane and he said nothing more. He moved on, pulling his horse behind him. The others soon followed.
      Barkane considered the world a dangerous place, whether one deserved it or not. But Northern Thrace was far away from the Battle of Issus, and the foggy events of war often wafted away on the winds and were forgotten. That was the Greeks' only hope; that no detailed news of the mutiny reached their distant homeland hills and Barkane thought it likely the news never would. But what chance did they have of getting home? Little.

After a time Sestus made his way back over to Barkane and cleared his throat. "Commander, sir?"
      Barkane looked at the thick-bearded soldier.
      "Uhh…I must apologize, sir," Sestus said. "For my rough treatment of you when we first met. I don't know what I was thinking."
      Barkane smiled. "Perhaps it was the wine that made you lose your head, Sestus."
      "Perhaps. But I won't lose it again, sir."
      Barkane knew he wouldn't. He watched the men trudge along in the darkness in front of their respective horses. So Argon was more than he seemed, he thought. What else don't I know?
      Barkane hadn't heard a complaint from the men all night but Argon was right. They would all be exhausted by the time Barkane was through with them. They would also be alive - though for how long was an open question. And while it was obvious now that the pursuing Bousardis had them firmly by the tail, a bold plan of escape was coalescing in Barkane’s mind; could it possibly work? They would need three things: the River Asi, the game horses, and some luck.

____________

      General Bousardis stared at the ground his trackers were scrutinizing. The pale moonlight was not much help tonight and Bousardis swore out loud to no one in particular. He didn’t like slowing down. Not now. He had both Sajan and who-knew-who-else in his sights and he meant to get them by any means necessary.
      "Three hundred cavalry?" His superior, Governor Seleucus, had asked back at headquarters, dumbfounded. But Bousardis had reminded him that Alexander’s newly won Persian territories along the sea were still of questionable loyalty and a show of force down the coast wouldn’t do any harm. Besides, Bousardis insisted the Silvers garrisoned at Beilan and Issus were growing fat and lazy. Bousardis would whip them back into fighting condition. And if Alexander wished, the whole force would then be in a convenient position to lend a hand down at the siege of Tyre. That arrogant island had become a mountain-sized thorn in the great Alexander’s side - he would be happy for any help to bring the city to its knees, and Seleucus had had to agree.
      Now Bousardis sucked in a satisfied breath and smiled a grim smile. This was his element: On the march. Superiority in numbers. Pressing an attack. He reveled in soldiering and this excursion felt like sport to him and

the cavalry his familiar weapon. The hunt out here in the field gave him such energy he was rarely hungry and never bored for the smell of his prey filled his nostrils on nights like this and he couldn’t sleep if he wanted to.
      He and his chief lieutenants Zeno and Cleon were stopped at the head of the column as the tracking unit fanned out in front of them. Cleon delivered the bad news.
      "The trail gets unsure here. We’ll have to pick our way slowly until the dawn gives us more light."
      "Let’s have the job done right, then, Lieutenant. But not too slowly," Bousardis said. He could see the indecision in his officer’s eyes and thought it best to let the man do his job. A capable and confident general, Bousardis punished incompetence but not bad news and his officers knew the man knew the difference. So he was one general who not only engendered loyalty but always had reliable intelligence and lots of it. Besides, he had made a career out of conquering obstacles and each and every one surmounted was a source of pride to him. If he ever worried, none of his men would ever see it.
      He had set out after Captain Sajan. And perhaps the famous Barkane. But only perhaps. Intelligence could only report Barkane 'was likely' in the area. No one could say for certain. If he was here, there could be only one reason

why, and that reason was the most closely guarded of secrets. And now Bousardis had unexpectedly bumped into this mystery contingent of horsemen and when they had fled so frantically at his approach, he was compelled to investigate. Who were these renegades? Were they Persian? Bousardis doubted it. If so, they were bold, indeed, to be so deep in Alexander’s newly won territory. If they were Greek, they could only be mutineers from the Battle of Issus in which case they would be fricasseed alive each and every one.
      Bousardis’s eyes narrowed. Their adoption of the four-abreast and then the transition to broad-on-the-flank were clever maneuvers. Those were the marks of a sophisticated field tactician. Someone like Barkane of Carthage. And if Barkane and Sajan were both with these rebels then Bousardis was now in a position to kill not two birds with one stone, but three: The rebels, Sajan, and the grand prize, Barkane. Now there was a kill-shot if ever there was one!
      Bousardis clapped his hands together in glee. If it was Barkane then the man had made a mistake. The deceptive marching maneuvers were meant to disguise their number, which could mean one of two things. Their force was either much smaller than Bousardis’s and trying to exaggerate

their number in order to intimidate him, or, they were much larger and hoping to draw him into an ambush. Bousardis knew area intelligence well: There was no way there was another force in the area larger than his, Persian or otherwise. Bousardis laughed out loud in the moonlight. Lieutenant Cleon asked him, "What is it, Sir?" but Bousardis only shook his head, waving Cleon off. It was only a matter of time, thought Bousardis. The blood will flow and it will be Barkane’s.

The knowledge that Bousardis’s army was close in pursuit was enough for Helios’s troops to hot-foot it all through the night. The summer bugs were less bother and they rode sparingly so as to keep the horses fresh. When they did stop to catch their breath, Argon asked Barkane what his plan was but Barkane only winked at him. "Wait and see," he said. The horses were the key.
      When the long night gave way to dawn at last, they were still moving downhill, but not for long. Below them lay the winding River Asi, black and snake-like in the pre-dawn light and Barkane was relieved to see it. The only activity on the slow moving water consisted of occasional families of teals and black-headed ducks feeding, their spring young now grown but still in tow. A flock of grey

geese lined the river bank, dipping and bobbing their heads for an early breakfast. Barkane made eye contact with the young water-man and smiled his approval. The water-man beamed.
      Barkane halted at a line of trees above the river and carefully scanned the other bank for a suitable crossing point but none was immediately apparent. Though the ground on this side of the river sloped gently down to the water, the bank on the other side rose steeply away and was heavily wooded without a gap in sight. That bank would be impossible to climb in a hurry and at first Barkane cursed his luck until it dawned on him that the inhospitable bank would slow down an enemy advance as well, especially at night, and for the first time he thought maybe his scheme might not be such a long shot after all.
      Around him, Helios’s men were on edge. Where they had once been exhausted now they were too anxious to rest. Tired as they were, they certainly didn’t want to stop with Bousardis so close. They kept looking back over their shoulders and as far as Barkane was concerned the more afraid they were the better. Men paid more attention that way.
      The men had assumed they would only water the horses here and then quickly move on but now they watched in

dismay as Barkane studied the opposite bank. Argon had held his tongue so far, but this was too much. The Persians may be on the run but Persia's sovereignty still extended to the Asi River.
      "Surely, you don’t mean to cross the Asi?" Argon said.
      Barkane gave him and the others a look that made it clear that is exactly what he meant to do.
      "That is occupied Persia," gasped Helios.
      The Persian king had recently staked out this area with over a half a million men. But that was before the battle at Issus saw Alexander rout and scatter the Persian forces. Still, the thought that these hills were where an unfathomable number of Persian soldiers had assembled just months before rattled the men’s nerves.
      Barkane only snorted. "Occupied by whom? By King Darius? He has fled far to the east, probably cowering in some hole in Bactria. And Alexander is spread so thin he has no one in front of us."
      "How can you be so sure?" demanded Argon.
      Barkane's patience was short when it came to Argon and he turned on him. "This would be obvious to all except those who have been lolly-gagging in the woods waiting for a god on a winged horse to come and fly them home. If you have a suggestion as to how to escape Bousardis and his

killers I suggest you air it now for time is running short." And tempers, too.
      At that very moment a horse and rider appeared on the crest behind them and galloped excitedly down the slope. It was the same young man on the spotted hill pony, their sole rear scout. He breathlessly delivered the news.
      "Bousardis is less than a league away and coming fast."
      Argon swore. The opposite bank of the Asi was looking more appealing by the minute.
      "There's more," the scout said. "They're towing hundreds of extra horses."
      Everyone but Barkane was puzzled at this. On pursuit, as he had predicted. He muttered something inaudible beneath his breath and calmly turned his attention back to the river and the swirling eddies where the ducks played. Beyond those eddies the river widened substantially and the current grew jumpy and white-watered from bank to bank. Treacherous footing, but shallow.
      "Into the water," he said.
      There was no more discussion. Everyone followed him down to the river but instead of crossing here he ordered them all to walk a few paces in and then take a sharp right and keep their horses' feet in the water to obscure their

trail as they marched. All thirty men complied wordlessly as stomach after stomach began to growl and the day's first wave of flying insects made their appearance. But it would be many hours of tedious work and no breakfast as they followed the river twisting its way through the valley floor. Man and horse slipped and stumbled endlessly. It was late afternoon when they finally came to a suitable crossing point where Barkane led them all out a sandbar, across some shallow white-water single-file, and finally across one deep patch where the horses had to swim, but only for a short way and soon they were all on the other side at the foot of the steep banks, soaking wet and dripping on the Persian side of the Asi.
      Standing on Persian soil, the men were more anxious than ever. Helios tried to reassure them. "We were all due for a good bath, anyway," he said to nervous laughter.
      They gathered uphill in the shade of the thick wood that sprawled unbroken down to the very edge of the river. Perfect cover, thought Barkane.
      Barkane's regular troops, like Markatt and Helyar, were used to his ways, used to waiting while he was concentrating on a course of action. Helios's men, on the other hand, were overcome with worry, most of them now certain they would be slaughtered in a matter of hours. The

talk grew among the men. "What in the name of the gods are we doing ambling along the river bank?" Most thought that at this point more decisive action was required to avoid certain death.
      "We should be running away, not walking!" they said.
      Argon prevailed upon Helios and the men approached Barkane, accompanied by Sestus and Stefanos.
      "We could split up and run for it...perhaps if we made it to the desert," Helios said.
      "I could lead a contingent…" offered Sestus.
      "And I another," said Stefanos.
      It would have been a worthy suggestion under different circumstances but the vast desert was another two day's ride beyond the Asi and Barkane knew that Bousardis would catch them before they could escape into its void. Barkane looked about at the worried faces around him. "We haven't that kind of time," he said.
      Helios continued, "Then we scatter to the hills..."
      "Scatter and none of you would survive the next sunset," Barkane said.
      Barkane ordered the horses rested and the water bags filled. He told the men to scour the hillsides for nuts, fruits, and berries and to eat what they could. Then he bade Helios come with him and, against Argon's objections,

the two stepped away from the others and sat in the shade of a big oak where they spoke for a time, long enough for Argon and the others to get even more nervous; shadows climbed up the tree trunks on their side of the Asi as the sun again sunk rapidly in the west.
      Argon suspiciously watched the two of them in the distance. He heard Barkane raise his voice more than once. The longer they spoke beneath that tree, the more convinced of disaster Argon became. "What madness is he hatching?" Argon said. Stefanos shrugged his shoulders but Sestus never minded speaking his piece to Argon. The two had become unlikely allies over the last few months. Sestus was of rough stock and despite his background as a simple herdsman, had never been afraid of a fight. Argon's family status did not intimidate him.
      "The Carthaginian is no one's dullard, Argon," he said.
      "We shall see," said Argon.
      When they finally came back, Helios looked grim and Argon could not restrain his impatience.
      "What now?" he said.
      "Into the wood," Helios said.
      "The trees? That is our plan?"
      And for the first time Barkane saw Helios's

frustration with Argon as Helios barked back at him, "Our plan is to stay alive long enough to return home."
      But Argon wasn't satisfied. "What do we do?"
      "We do something you gentlemen are good at," interrupted Barkane. "We build a fat, happy camp; one that Bousardis can see from a league away. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day."
      The comfortable smile on Barkane’s face took them all by surprise.

_______________

      Tyre was two cities: A lavish island fortress and then, opposite it, the bustling city on the mainland that was older than anyone could remember. Alexander's horde had the run of the mainland city and the loyal residents of the Tyrian coast had all been slain or pressed into service. There was no one to stop the Macedonians as they dismantled the old city stone by stone, building by building, and carted the hallowed debris to the sea where it was cast into the water. The enslaved, burgeoned by legions of their ilk from defeated cities up and down the coast, toiled day and night until Alexander's intentions became painfully clear: He was constructing a land-bridge into the sea.

      The fledgling causeway started out as a pimple on the shore, but unmolested, Alexander's work force, now one hundred thousand strong, rested in the scorching hours of the highest sun only to work late after sunset and rise early again the next morning. Day after day, foot after foot, Alexander's narrow causeway grew with every splash of rock and stone into the sea.
      In dread, the citizens of Tyre watched the thing coming and began to defend themselves. Their navy sallied forth from their protected harbor and sailed boldly up to the workers on the causeway and attacked them with ship-launched javelins and arrows until Macedonian soldiers arrived and drove them off.
      Then the Tyrians changed their tactics and raided at all hours of the night. The Macedonians deliberated and would soon deploy new tactics of their own.