> The Wrath of Alexander the Great

CHAPTER 4

Bousardis and his hundreds made the Asi River valley by sunset and managed to follow Barkane’s trail to the crossing point by morning. Bousardis was irritated that night-trailing was slowing him down but now his scouts informed him their quarry was camped in the steep woods covering the opposite bank a league south and put their number at no more than forty. Bousardis hardly considered that number a threat. If they ran, let them, he thought; at best they would enjoy a short head start before they were run down. It was only a matter of time now and his troops were tired and the day hot so he posted light sentries, had the quartermaster distribute generous rations, and ordered men and horse alike to rest. Bousardis was confident he had the strangers in the bag.
      His first officers Cleon and Zeno carefully monitored the renegades working on their camp throughout the day. The sound of chopping wood and shouts of working men echoed up and down the other side of the river. Whoever they were, Zeno reported they had chosen an easily defensible position in a dense wood and were building large fire piles placed in a classic defensive ring. Zeno and Cleon pushed forward and caught occasional glimpses of their prey moving amongst the trees pounding sharpened stakes into the ground on the steep hill between their camp and the river below.

When they reported this to Bousardis he chuckled to himself. As if I would ever attack uphill!
      Despite this, Zeno and Cleon, aggressive officers both, did urge an attack. Why let the enemy fortify their position? But the experienced Bousardis counseled patience. He wasn't about to waste a single one of his men on an uphill assault. The runaways couldn't possibly construct a defense to stop him had they even a month to prepare, let alone a day. It was all a ploy, concluded Bousardis, to convince him that they weren't about to cut and run when in fact that is exactly what they were going to do. When the renegades made their move he would be more than ready to give chase so while his troops fished the river for food he dispatched his scouts to reconnoiter the river bank for proper crossings and they did so unmolested by the busy builders on the other side. "We wait until they run," he told Zeno and Cleon. As usual, he would be pleased with himself for he would predict not only that they would attempt escape this way but also the moment they would make their break; in the small hours of the morning.
      On the other side of the river, the mood was decidedly less confident among Helios and his men. They could see Bousardis's force arrogantly camping in plain sight with no attempt whatsoever at defense. Their meal fires burned in the open. There were indeed three hundred of them and with each towing an extra horse, they and their beasts overran the other side of the river. Herded by their handlers, the horses alone took up most of the available space at th

water's edge, crowding together and slaking their thirst from the river. Helios and his men had watched from the high trees as Bousardis's Silvers fished from the cool current at will and cooked their catch brazenly on the beach. The salivating smell of roasting fish wafted over the river and up into the Greek's nostrils while they themselves sweated in the heat and swatted away bugs by the cloud-full. Bousardis was toying with them and enjoying every moment.
      Though the Greeks couldn't stop themselves from glancing fearfully across the river all day, Barkane managed to keep their minds off the dread by keeping them busy from first light. All morning long they cleared brush from the thickets that covered the forest floor. This they dragged into position below their encampment on the hill and heaped the brush into dozens of heaping piles, each two stories tall and set at intervals all along their perimeter. Each pile was prepped with kindling to fire at a moment's notice. Next, Sestus and Stefanos led teams that downed hundreds of saplings and cut them into short spikes. They embedded the spikes into the ground at a menacing angle in two defensive rows between each bonfire, and then sharpened the ends. Barkane inspected the men's work with Helios and pronounced it worthy. Finally, they dug a trenc

as best they could with crude picks fashioned from the sturdy tree limbs all around. They hadn’t the time to make it deep and Barkane knew a shallow trench wouldn't be very effective in repelling horsemen, but he also knew that Bousardis would recognize it as classic cavalry defense and that is all that mattered to Barkane; that Bousardis saw them dig it.
      To a field military man, all these preparations were obvious signs that they were planning on staying and fighting it out. Barkane didn't bother to tell the toiling Greeks that he knew Bousardis wouldn't be fooled. That, in fact, Barkane was counting on it for they hadn't a chance at making a defensive stand and Barkane and Bousardis both knew it even if Helios and the others did not. Barkane went through the motions of the cavalry defense in the hopes the hurried defensive preparations would convince Bousardis that he was dealing with rank beginners and grow overconfident. And by assuming the sloppy cavalry defense was merely a ploy to disguise their get-away, Bousardis would drop his guard, assured they were planning to run, and of course they would, except that Barkane's plans went one step further. He prayed his scheme would not fail for if it did, they would all be dead by morning.
      Argon kept his mouth shut while Barkane moved among

the men, ordering them around as if they were his own troops. A group of them, farmers back home, had uncovered a network of snake nests and were amusing themselves by snatching the slippery devils from beneath the rocks. Barkane noticed they were good at it too, but then they would be, he thought. In civilian life, they were used to dealing with all the creatures of the earth. Barkane only barked at them, "Cook them and eat them or leave them alone. We've work to do."
      Barkane ordered small smoldering fires lit throughout the forest to generate voluminous smoke and the smoke and the constant movement of the men kept the relentless summer bugs at bay. Barkane saw to it every man put in his fair share, including Argon, who proceeded to get his hands dirty immediately and work harder than the rest.
      By day's end, all was prepared.
      "Feed the horses a half meal," ordered Barkane. Then he had Helios and Argon select their five most experienced horsemen and Barkane took the men aside for yet another private conversation. Helios watched from a discreet distance as Barkane drew maps in the dirt for over an hour. He heard Barkane mention the Bogtche Pass more than once, which Helios knew was far to the north. The north? thought Helios. What on all the earth did the man have in mind?

Barkane wouldn't say, for if he did they all would have turned tail and ran.
      An hour before midnight, when the last of the day's light had left the sky and only starlight remained, Argon and Helios stood with Barkane and peered through the trees at Bousardis's camp on the other side of the river below. Some fifteen campfires burned, which Barkane figured was about right. The Macedonians stoked a fire for every ten men in the winter, every twenty men in the summer. That put them at three hundred strong and Barkane knew the general had his troops resting.
      Helios adjusted his sword. "They look pretty comfortable down there," he said.
      "They should be. We're no threat and they know it," said Barkane. Not yet, he thought.
      "A whole lot of work today," Argon said. "This had better amount to something."
      Barkane gave the young man a hard look in the darkness. Argon's fine armor was dirty and nicked. The man was unseasoned with an undisciplined tongue, but he threw his back into their labors today with the best of them. What's more, Argon was the only soldier among them who always had his armor on even in the stifling heat and his hand was never far from his sword. Those were things

Barkane could appreciate.
      "Now what?" Argon asked Barkane.
      Barkane smiled. "We join them in a well-earned nap. Give the order to sleep for four hours, packs and weapons prepared and ready to move out. I'll wake everyone when the time is right."
      Argon waved at the multitude of campfires blazing across the river. "What if they decide to attack?"
      Barkane had considered that possibility. But he had watched Bousardis deploy his troops not for attack but for pursuit, splitting his men into a dozen groups of twenty-five men each and spreading their positions along a long stretch of riverbank so that in whatever direction Barkane fled, Bousardis would have at least some troops close by. And Barkane highly doubted the experienced Bousardis would attack uphill in the dark, regardless of his numerical advantage. Why risk it? It was a game of cat and mouse and both cat and mouse knew the mouse would run.
      "They won't attack," Barkane said. "Get some sleep." And he left them to go doze by himself against the trunk of a sycamore. All was as ready as can be, he thought, and then he slept soundly for three hours.
      Two hours before dawn when the night was at its blackest, it wasn't sound that woke Bousardis's sentries

first, but light; the sight of a dozen fat bonfires across the river coming to life! Bousardis was on his feet instantly as the sentries ran through his camp shouting out the alert. The Greek fire-builders had done their jobs well for the bonfires were roaring in just minutes, the leaping flames throwing oscillating shadows through the trees in every direction. Cleon and Zeno put their ears to the ground and listened carefully. Then they heard it; a faint rumbling of the ground on the other side of the river that began as soon as the fires were crackling at their loudest. Bousardis grinned with excitement for he knew all those green boughs piled so high were designed to make those bonfires so snappingly loud they would disguise what Cleon and Zeno listened so carefully for; the rumbling of horses on the run! As thrilled as he was that the moment of the chase had finally begun, he was almost disappointed that this was the extent of his opponent's creativity. Fool me with such a simple trick? thought Bousardis. Not a chance.
      One of his scouts rode up. "They're galloping north, the lot of them, sir!" the man said and Cleon looked at Zeno with the hunt in his eyes.
      "We'll have us some killing by noon," Cleon told him and Zeno nodded his head and seized his reins. Both men were like their general in more ways than one and figured

their best chance for promotion was the old-fashioned way; engage and kill the enemy.
      Bousardis turned to his other officers quickly assembling around him. "Ignore their camp," he said and his officers nodded their heads. They all knew the camp would be empty and they had their orders already. Each would proceed to their pre-selected river-crossing points, cross under guard in the unlikely event of an ambush, and then commence with the chase. Crossing under guard would slow them down but Bousardis rightly considered that he would be at his most vulnerable when crossing so he told his officers to take their time in and out of the water. Once the chase itself got under way, he was betting it wouldn’t be a long one. He himself would take the lead group across first, as was his habit. Troops would follow the brave anywhere, he knew, so, like most Macedonian leaders - like Alexander himself - he always made sure he was the first and the boldest among them.
      He had even anticipated the likely direction of their escape. North. East to the open desert would be their fastest way out but the desert was the deadliest of places. North was hilly and wooded with the hope of dispersal and concealment.
      Company horns blasted 'full-pursuit' and Bousardis and

his army were off. With the bonfires still blazing across the river and the enemy camp obviously abandoned, soon Bousardis's own camp was empty, too, save for a skeleton crew of five men to look after their hundreds of extra horses until the main force returned.
      Since the men he was pursuing had no extra horse, Bousardis figured he needed none either. Neither had he a camp to guard. He believed in force, force, force. It was foolish to take chances. He would chase the renegades down with everything he had. They took their time crossing the river but after that was done Bousardis’s cavalry was across the river and trotting as quickly as was prudent through the dark wood. It took them a few costly minutes to get properly organized in the dark and on unfamiliar ground, but when the whole force did get going everyone could see the pursued would not be hard to track for in their hurry the horse-borne renegades had simply plowed in a straight line along the top of the ridge, mowing down every bush and blade of grass in their path. Bousardis and his men picked their way after them. It would be daylight soon enough and then the chase would begin in earnest. Bousardis laughed. Cleon and Zeno will be clawing over each other for the kill. Bousardis tallied the hours in his head and concluded the rebels would be captured and dead by the

end of the afternoon. Enjoy your last few hours of life, Captain Sajan. Despite his better judgment, Bousardis allowed himself to think of Barkane, also. If intelligence is true, this will be my lucky day.
      Bousardis's men smelled blood but Bousardis kept them in check. It was only a matter of time. There was little to worry about for the enemy had worked all day and were tired. His men were not. Bousardis was an aggressive commander but a patient one. Like all good officers, he knew when to strike and when to hold. He imposed a business-like pursuit.
      His rear scouts reported the enemy camp completely abandoned with fires still smoldering. Bousardis scoffed. Easy prey, these ones, he thought. If the great Barkane was indeed with them, the man's reputation was exaggerated.
      Back at his camp, the five soldiers left behind were too excited to go back to sleep even though it was still an hour before dawn, so they gathered in a clearing around a single fire and made jokes about their easy duty today; not having to ride but instead play horse herdsmen and enjoy a hearty breakfast.
      Those thoughts ended moments later.
      Surprising as a summer squall, a storm of arrows blew in from the trees. There was only the hissing of grouse-

feather and hickory-shaft spinning through the night air, dozens of missiles materializing from the dark woods all around them and whistling fast, propelled by those powerful Persian-composite bows. Barkane knew Helios's men would not be comfortable killing Greeks so he kept the orders simple: Arrows in every tree trunk and in the ground at the feet of every one of Bousardis's men. Whack, whack, whack went the arrows as they thunked into every tree in the clearing and thudded in dusty explosions in the soil all around Bousardis's men. Several missiles blasted into their fire, sending sparks flying and burning logs rolling. Bousardis's men never even had a chance to reach for weapons. The unseen archers in the darkness re-strung and re-strung again so that the arrows kept coming and soon, surrounded by hundreds of the still vibrating shafts, Bousardis's men wisely froze in place.
      Then there was no movement at all and no sound except for the muffled nickering and rustling of the three hundred sleeping horses staked up and down Bousardis’s side of the river. At first only a single figure emerged from the woods, still dripping wet from his swim across the Asi.
      Barkane.
      Then from the trees came Argon and Helios and Stefanos

and Sestus and the rest, every Greek a composite bow to his cheek with arrow in place and string drawn to the killing zone.
      Their horses may have fled north, but not the Greeks.
      "Bonds and gags," ordered Barkane and with a minimum of conversation the Macedonians were separated from each other, gagged, and tied immovable and face-first to the nearest tree.
      Barkane moved on to the horses. The first one he came to he seized by its bridle and couldn't believe his eyes. As the others began gathering more horses he saw that his horse was no fluke. Each bridle bore an expensive medallion of Seleucus on each side, clearly marking them as Alexander's Royal Cavalry. Barkane grinned in the darkness at Helios.
      "The most expensive beasts in the realm, Helios. Helyar will be proud of me," he said.
      It took but minutes for them to pad and rein twenty four horses for them to ride and another thirty as spare. Now they, instead of Bousardis, would ride 'on pursuit'. They would have a healthy head-start and Bousardis slowed considerably. Barkane next ordered the rest of the horses scattered.
      Bousardis was far to the north by now and they were

free to make as much noise as they pleased. In another few minutes they had cut hundreds of horses free and were hollering and whacking their hind ends with switches sending them scurrying off every which way into the thick woods.
      It was time to move on but Argon hesitated in the clearing, his sword unleashed from its scabbard. He glared at the helpless men strapped to the trees. Sestus urged him along but Argon shook him off. A dark look clouded his face, a look none of them had ever seen on the man before.
      "We should kill them," Argon said.
      This was exactly what Barkane had wanted to avoid. Helios was horrified.
      "They are Greek, Argon," he said.
      "They will not hesitate to take our lives," said Argon. Barkane could see the fight in Argon and the man had a point, particularly in wartime. He put his hand on Argon's shoulder.
      "It is unnecessary," Barkane said.
      Argon was unconvinced.
      "I'm no murderer. I don't relish it. But they are a threat. We have them. We should finish the job." He looked at the others. "At least I have the stomach for it."
      Barkane sighed. War was war, yet every moment

different. And Argon did have the stomach for it, that Barkane could clearly see. But what else did he have? Barkane understood the man's bloodlust. His fear. Barkane, too, had lived with it most of his life. In most cases Argon's argument would be a prudent one.
      But not this time.
      "Kill only when you absolutely must, Argon," Barkane said. "We'll all live a lot longer that way." Barkane took Argon's hand and slid the man's sword back in its scabbard. Argon only stared at the ground with a loathing he had never felt before. A loathing of what? The blackness of the world swirled around him. Barkane recognized the look in Argon's eyes. It was the look of combat and combat was hard to shake.
      "We have much work to do yet," Barkane told him.
      When Argon finally spoke Barkane found his words to be the words of a soldier at last.
      "Yes, sir," Argon said and he joined the others without another word and they all re-crossed the river once more, this time on horseback and each towing an extra mount.
      Barkane watched Argon ride sullenly along. Where from the outset he had thought the privileged man a coddled bother he had now come to see someone different. He ordered Argon to ride point - with him.

      Barkane smiled to himself. Bousardis would have to waste who-knows-how much time corralling all those royal horses now run off in the hills. He chuckled at the thought, but only briefly, for his thoughts turned to Helios's men he had selected to lead their 'decoy' escape. Helios had picked them for their riding ability and assured Barkane their herding experience was more than sufficient. Worried, Barkane spent a great deal of time giving the men detailed instruction. He ordered them to go north, pushing the herd of rider-less horses ahead of them, and then down to the grassy lowlands as soon as possible where they could make better time. With the darkness aiding their head-start, it would be hours before Bousardis caught up with them and caught on to the trick.
      The previous day, while most of Helios's men prepared the conspicuous bonfires and defensive stakes, Barkane had had a handful of the men string vines and limbs along two parallel lines of trees out of sight of Bousardis’s scouts. This created a chute, of sorts, to gather their horses in. When the moment came to make their break, it was then a simple matter to get all the horses running as one in the same direction, the herders whipping them along.
      Now, as they left Bousardis's camp in disarray behind them, Barkane looked one more time over his shoulder. He

was thinking of the young Greek herdsmen running with their horses and the danger they were in. Helios and the others were in high spirits. The outrageous ruse had worked and worked well. Bousardis was riding like thunder in the other direction oblivious to the fact that his horses left behind had been scattered to the wind while the Greeks slipped away with nary a trace. None of Helios’s men could believe their luck. It had been so easy. Easy, thought Barkane. Maybe for them. For their herdsmen brethren now furiously riding to the north, things could go decidedly rougher. Barkane had told them to abandon the horses when they encountered canyons and head west toward the sea.
      "When you are found out, scatter and run. Run!" he had told them. "Run the horses into the ground if you must for those bastards will kill you when they catch you, do you understand?" They had assured him they did but Barkane knew the only thing they had going for them was the fact that when Bousardis did find out, he would immediately consider the riders unimportant and hopefully turn back at all speed. Should Bousardis catch any of them, in his fury he would not be kind. Barkane couldn’t smile along with the others for he knew he may have sent the herdsmen to an ugly death. He remembered his father telling him once that army officers never smiled much. Barkane knew why.

      Argon seemed to read Barkane's mind.
      "Those boys are good horsemen," he told him. Barkane only nodded grimly.
      Nonetheless, relief settled over the group. Long gone was any question as to who was in charge. Everyone deferred to Barkane. Where they had been doomed, the man had pulled off an impossible escape. Their distrust of him vanished as surely as Bousardis’s horses to the hills.
      "There is still one problem, Barkane," said Helios, though he wore a smile for the first time in days. "We seem to be heading south again. You do remember our home is to the north."
      The other men laughed and their smiles made Barkane feel better. Perhaps this undisciplined bunch might work out after all. And then Barkane's mind was back to business. Now was the time to make good time, to make maximum use of the extra horses. Barkane spurred his horse forward and spoke without looking back.
      "Our next stop is Tahtani," he said.
      "Tahtani?" said Stefanos. "What is there?"
      "Not 'what'," answered Barkane. "Who."
      And then he said no more for it was doubtful they would follow him farther if he did. If Alexander put a high price on Barkane's head, the price on the man waiting in Tahtani should be nearly as much. The sea was not

Alexander's strong point; his victories were land victories and he had to subdue the seaport Tyre in order to protect his hard-won coastline. But there was something more in Tyre; a secret. The secret to the conquest of the western world itself. The man with the key to that secret had been spirited away to the safety of the mines of Tahtani, or at least, that is what the elders at Carthage had been told. The man himself knew he was in grave danger for he knew something that Barkane and the elders did not: That two other men had also learned of the secret and knew that its value was beyond measure.
      Alexander himself was one.
      General Bousardis was the other.
     
                               *    *    *    *    *
     
      Back at the Asi River, Bousardis had held every advantage when he had Barkane and Helios cornered; every advantage but one. Barkane knew the lay of the land where Bousardis did not. Barkane knew the river crooked around the corner before heading straight south along the Nusay range until it finally turned west for the sea. And there at that turn was Tahtani but Barkane had known he would never get there without the help of Helios's best horsemen. Just before dawn the horses had been herded together and then rushed through the chute and north with as much noise

as possible. Barkane had instructed the riders to follow the ridge all morning so as to get far ahead of Bousardis. Their speed would be greater for their horses were rider-less. "We will switch horses often to keep our mounts fresh," the men had promised Barkane. Barkane instructed them to break off one by one until only one rider was left running the herd.
      That man’s name was Sporades and Helios chose him specifically as the final rider because he was fit and resourceful. "His family is top-notch," Helios assured Barkane.
      "Good," said Barkane. He instructed Sporades to abandon the horses at the Parnasus River in the north or whenever Bousardis caught up with him, "Whichever comes first", Barkane had said. "Do you understand?"
      Sporades nodded enthusiastically that he did, proud of the responsibility the rest of them were placing in him.
      "You are to make your way to the coast and then north to the Pinarus River."
      "Yes, sir," said Sporades.
      Barkane put his finger in the young man’s face and warned him, "They will catch you by nightfall at the latest."
      "But we will be faster," the young man protested.

      "Do not underestimate them. They will catch you."
      Helios had smiled at long last. "If this works, Sporades, you will have saved all our hides."
      Sporades had beamed.
      When their horses first took flight Argon had watched in astonishment as across the river the entire horde of Bousardis mobilized and followed them north. In a matter of minutes both sides of the river were empty and Barkane had them sneaking back through the woods in the opposite direction.
      The Greeks were loath to give up the horses and felt naked without them but Barkane had made it clear they had no choice. He had taken Helios and Argon aside and made yet another audacious promise.
      "I can replace them, every one," he told them with a wink.
      Replace thirty horses? Horses were as expensive as farms themselves. "How, by Apollo’s thunder?" Helios had asked. Barkane had only returned a mysterious smile and put his hand upon Helios’s shoulder. "It will be done," he said and then he said no more.
      At the time, Argon hadn’t believed it but during their stealthy escape through the woods, the sound of hundreds of enemy horses fading in the distance, Argon and everyone

else became believers and Argon suddenly felt foolish for ever cursing Barkane's name.
      Far away to the north, Bousardis pushed his men hard after the renegades and if any of his men looked tired from the strain they were berated for their softness. They were in the field now for just days and already gone weak? This was a soldier’s task. A hard pace on the march was to be expected. For Bousardis, this campaign of Alexander's had gone too easy so far, by the gods! He was as focused as he ever was: He had Captain Sajan and maybe Barkane nearly in his grasp and wasn't about to let a handful of slackards slow him down.
      By noon they came upon the first of the abandoned horses. There were only a few and they had already taken to lower ground below the ridge tops.
      Bousardis’s men inspected them and found they were rein-less yet bore recent tack markings. It was a curious development but to Bousardis it meant they were getting close. He pressed the pace harder. The trail was easy to follow now in daylight and everyone noticed the runaways' path was one of reckless panic.
      By mid-afternoon, the trackers were on the ground on all fours while Bousardis waited. They carefully pushed their fingers into the depressions made by horses’ hooves

feeling for the spongy nature of recent print versus the stiffness of a print gone dry. These were still spongy. And the broken blades of grass the trackers spun between their forefingers still damp. Then came a shout. One of the trackers up the trail lifted a hunk of horse manure into the air. He squeezed it triumphantly for it squished wet between his fingers. Bousardis smiled.
      They were close.
      The pursued were riding fast but Bousardis knew he had them. After another few hours, their trail led from the high ridges abruptly down to the river and as another sunset began to fall the first of his cavalrymen rounded a bend in the river and pulled to a halt.
      There, at the foot of a rocky hillside, were some twenty horses. Most of them milled about munching on grass, still sweating from their daylong run. Some waded in the river shallows, cooling off and drinking at their leisure. Above them soared steep rocks pocked with the nests of a thousand river swallows, and as the sun fell, countless swallows were returning to their nests chirping in an ear splitting racket but the horses ignored them. There was activity everywhere, but none of it human. Bousardis and the rest of the cavalry soon arrived at the spot and Bousardis inspected the horses himself in the

rapidly failing light. Again there was no tack but the horses bore all the markings of it; their coats were worn behind their ears and on top of their noses and their backs worn smooth.
      Zeno shrugged his shoulders. "Why would they abandon their horse, sir?"
      Bousardis did not know. He had not yet caught on to Barkane's sleight of hand.
      "Pull weapons. Search the area," he ordered. Zeno and Cleon echoed the command and hundreds of men fanned out and began scouring the hills when a sinking feeling grew in Bousardis’s belly. Cleon and Zeno both sensed the sudden change in their general’s mood. Moments earlier he had been ready for the catch. Now he seemed on the verge of fury. They tried to placate him, sensing the coming storm.
      "We double our pace, sir, catch the..."
      "Don’t bother," Bousardis swore in disgust. "Damn the man! Beast of Hades, Barkane!"
      "Sir?"
      "Call everyone in. We’re heading back."
      "Back, sir? We nearly have them," said Cleon.
      But they didn’t nearly have them. In his eagerness to get Sajan Bousardis had allowed himself to be hoodwinked. The pursued had abandoned their horses, alright, but far

before this: Way back at the river, Bousardis now realized. By Apollo! He had burned a full day coming this far and faced another full day to get back. And now Zeno and Cleon began to realize it too. If it was Barkane leading the renegades, he had just bought himself a two-day head start.
      Bousardis gave the order to turn back.
      "Should we set camp for the night? Rest the horses?" one officer offered and Zeno was glad it was not he who made the suggestion for Bousardis turned on the man.
      "Are you a jellyfish? We ride all night," Bousardis announced to everyone. "The gods know we know the ground well enough by now!"
      They roped in the extra horses of Helios, took them in tow, and headed back the way they came at all speed.
     
           *    *    *    *    *
     
      For the Greeks with Barkane, it was a difficult march. Not because of the terrain, for they stayed along the river flats so that they would have easy access to water for both horse and man under the throbbingly hot summer sun, and not because their loads were heavy, because Barkane had made them abandon all unnecessary baggage during the escape from Bousardis. The march was difficult because as usual Barkane beat a wicked pace and by the time they reached the outskirts of Tahtani it had been days since anyone in the

group had eaten more than a handful of nuts and sour berries, and it showed.
      They alternated horses often to make excellent time and Barkane made sure the horses were fed as much as possible. Thankfully, the river banks were rich with succulent grasses. The grinding of the horses' teeth on the grainy grass only annoyed the hungry men all the more. Soldiers from time immortal were accustomed to one or two days without food. But when on the move, troops quickly run out of energy and Barkane could see the men were dragging. Their equipment grew heavier with every passing moment without a meal. Their eyes wore the hollow look of hunger and the Greeks grew irritable. The relief they felt having escaped Bousardis had all but dissipated without a bite to eat. They grumbled at nothing and sporadic bickering erupted throughout the line. They paused at an orange grove and wolfed down what they could before Barkane moved them on fearing sickness from too much of the same fruit. The Greeks stuffed oranges in their tunics for later.
      Although there was no road to speak of, the beaten paths along the river banks were well traveled and they began to encounter people as they approached the fort at Tahtani.
      They passed the odd farmer in his field at first, and

then market men enroute to and from the fort. A family herded a group of hogs along the water's edge, patiently nudging them toward town and the men salivated at the sight of the portly beasts.
      Shepherds in thread-bare tunics herded flocks of sheep down the green hillsides to the water’s edge. They quickly ushered their charges away at the approach of the soldiers. No one wanted trouble and no one wanted to lose their sheep to hungry men on the march either. The world was changing around these people for Persia still hung in an undecided balance. Yes, Alexander was on the march and Darius on the run, but many people, both high-born and low, thought the fate of the continent was as yet undecided. It was best to stay out of the way.
      There along the route they finally rendezvoused with Markatt and Helyar and their less-than-cooperative prisoner, Sajan. Markatt wore the same implacable look he always wore but Helyar seemed surprised to see them when Barkane and the Greeks came into view. Sajan's hopes were dashed. He had been certain that with Bousardis on their scent no one would ever see any of the Greeks alive again. Barkane saw that Sajan had yet another fat lip and when he raised an eyebrow at this Markatt only shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

      Barkane lowered his voice. "I need the man in one piece," he reminded Markatt.
      "I will do my best, sir," said Markatt.
      Helyar pointed at Tahtani. "There are troops at the old fort, Commander," he said.
      The Greeks were unnerved but Barkane only raised another eyebrow. "How many?"
      "A platoon, maybe. No more."
      "Hmm…" Barkane said and just before they came into sight of Tahtani's northern gate Barkane ordered the group to duck into a thick wood in order to gather themselves for the next stage of the operation, which would prove to be dicey indeed. Barkane told Helios to have his men dismount and stretch their limbs. "Tend to the animals. I will have orders for you shortly," he told him.
      Then to Helios's surprise Barkane cut Sajan’s bonds and led him away, leaving everyone wondering what he was up to now. Markatt and Helyar only shook their heads. Their commander was always up to something and they had long ago learned to expect the unexpected.
      Barkane took Sajan into the trees until he was sure their conversation would not be seen nor heard. He took a seat on the ground and bade Sajan do the same.
      "What now, you?" the impatient Sajan said. He gave

Barkane his usual glare and as usual, Barkane ignored it. The two men regarded each other in silence. A yellow and purple bruise stretched over Barkane's forehead from eyebrow to temple - the blow from the guards back on Cyprus. His nose was swollen and one eye black as a result of Sajan's oar smacking his face, and the other side of his face still glowed red from the kick from some Greek's foot the night of their shore-coming. As for Sajan, his cheek was bruised and one ear cut from the fight with Barkane and his lip swollen to twice its usual size thanks to Markatt.
      As if he was unmarked himself, Barkane said, "You’ve looked better, Captain."
      "And you," said Sajan, as churlish as ever.
      Sajan waited. Obviously Barkane had brought him here to tell him something important. So let the son-of-a-bitch speak, thought Sajan. But Barkane only stared at Sajan until it was Sajan who grew unnerved.
      "What is it?" he finally demanded.
      Barkane smiled like a naughty child with a secret and held out a closed fist palm-side up - and then opened it.
      The breath escaped Sajan’s throat. In Barkane’s upturned palm was a Persian ruby the size of an olive and as red as rich wine. It sparkled in the dappled sunlight of the forest.

      "Take it," Barkane said.
      Sajan couldn’t take his eyes off the stone. Take it? What was this?
      The captain had spent many years at Tyre, the epicenter of trade in all manner of fine things; silk, spices, silver, gold, and precious gems. And as a sea-farer and seasoned smuggler he had a particular fondness for gemstones over heavy gold and silver; more value for the weight. A smuggler's dream.
      He reached out and plucked the thing from Barkane’s hand and held it up to the light and twirled it, looking for imperfections. He found none. It was truly a fine specimen.
      "Keep it," Barkane said.
      Sajan couldn't help himself. His fist closed on the ruby.
      Barkane’s face slipped into a conspiratorial smile. "Let the dull-witted Greeks think this is a military mission," he said. "Let you and I not be adversaries. It is true I need you but I would rather you were less prisoner and more partner."
      Partner with Barkane? thought Sajan.
      "Need me for what?" Sajan said. He was suspicious but not stupid. Barkane broke him from custody for a reason.

Well, here it was at last.
      Barkane nodded at the stone clenched in Sajan’s hand.
      "Listen to me, Captain, there are many more where this came from and I intend to have them, every one."
      Sajan knew competent captains were easy enough to come by but that he alone had an additional pedigree: He not only had been harbormaster at Tyre but had trained at Sidon for years. That gave him intimate knowledge of both port cities' secret defenses. Barkane was of Carthage, daughter city to Tyre. Barkane had plans for him alright, and the captain had thought they must involve Tyre. But what Barkane said next took him by surprise.
      "Sidon," he said. "Alexander has gems stored by the bushel there."
      Of course! thought Sajan. The mint at Sidon. Alexander was using captured Persian treasure to fund his entire campaign.
      "I know nothing of that port," Sajan lied.
      Barkane laughed. "Is that so, son of Aljan of Sidon?"
      Sajan flinched at the mention of his father, former harbor-master at Tyre, like his son, and elder of Sidon. The man raised his son to follow him; raised him on the docks of Sidon and in the harbor tower at Tyre.
      Barkane smiled at Sajan, a smile so confident that

Sajan was won over at last, visions of those bushels of treasure overpowering him.
      "The mint is well-protected," Sajan said, stowing the ruby in his belt. It was an understatement, to say the least.
      Barkane leaned forward.
      "I’ll get us in, you sail us out. With the goods."
      Sajan considered the boldness of the plan and the boldness of the man in front of him.
      Barkane smiled. "What have you got to lose, Captain? You're already a wanted man."
      And then Barkane got up and left without another word. Sajan sat by himself on the forest floor thinking and waving summer bugs from his face, the ruby sticking a hole in his waist.
      Then he got up, too, and followed the Commander.
      Barkane was back at camp and gathered the men around him. "Everyone stop grumbling. We will be eating well by day’s end. Helios, Argon, get the men ready to enter the fort."
      Helios looked in disbelief at Barkane. "They are not going to let us just walk in there," he said. Argon nodded his head in agreement. Sestus and Stefanos looked skeptical too.

Barkane said only, "They don't know who we are."
      Argon did not like the sounds of this.
      "Or who we are not," Barkane said.
      "By the sun!" said Helios.
      Barkane reached out and fingered the elegant, tasseled edge of the fine tunic Argon wore. "With expensive garments such as this, who is to know we're not some of Alexander's elites?"
      Argon's jaw dropped. Markatt grinned.
      Barkane thumped his finger on Argon's elaborately engraved chest plate. "It is high time this fine armor of yours was put to good use."
      Barkane took Argon’s helmet from his hands and continued, his grin growing wider. "You and I look like the perfect fit, as well. By the gods, if I were to wear fine gear such as this, I might be General Bousardis himself!" Argon stepped back. Now everyone understood. With their Greek armor and weaponry, out here in the middle of nowhere, they could be anyone. For the first time in days, Helios felt his spirits lift. This Barkane is a clever fellow, though, Helios hoped, not too clever. Only Argon protested.
      "Bousardis himself will be here soon to dispel the lie!"

      Barkane only winked. "Then we had better not stay too long."
      Barkane abruptly delivered a series of orders: All were to clean themselves up, as if they were a 'proper' army, Barkane told them. The men were excited for soft beds and real food, and maybe even, may the gods be praised, women, for the first time in a long time. Particular attention was to be paid to Argon's equipment so that Barkane would look every part the commanding general. Helios himself polished Argon's expensive kit to a brilliant shine. Argon reluctantly handed over his family's heirloom sword to Barkane, reminding him that this was a temporary consignment only. Argon seemed to be the only one not enthusiastic about the prospect of impersonating Alexander's troops to gain entry into an occupied fort. But perhaps only because it was his equipment, and not him, that carried such an important role. Barkane employed a time-honored officer tactic to get someone hostile to his cause to work with him. He gave Argon a critical job to do, putting him in charge of camouflaging all those Persian-composite bows. They would have to be bundled in cloth and carefully stowed from view. "Persian weapons might raise eyebrows, don't you think?" he said to Argon. And for the first time Argon smiled back and went to work with his

characteristic energy.
      Barkane had chosen this place as a temporary campsite not just because it was well hidden in the trees but because a fast-moving stream ran through it and Barkane needed that water.
      "Bathe and shave," Barkane said. The men stiffened as if slapped, and though it took a moment for the order to sink in, every man quickly understood the importance of the command for, like Alexander himself, it was Macedonian custom to be clean-shaven.
      Daggers were sharpened and everyone drenched their heads in the cool summer waters until every chin was shaved clean of beard and though they suffered a multitude of nicks the overall effect was convincing. Only one man kept his beard though not by choice: Sajan. Barkane was more than happy to remind everyone of the captain's status within the group.
      Of all their chins, Barkane’s fared the worse for lack of beard for the shave only revealed more scars on his face. Weathered nicks and cuts from a hundred skirmishes and one glaring scar: A thin line of hardened scar tissue that ran the length of a knife's blade just below his chin. It was the legacy of a nearly fatal episode. A nasty wound - nasty enough that the others averted their eyes. Helios

looked at it and winced. That is as close to death as a man can come and survive, he thought. Barkane shaved the beard from the spot without a thought. The man cares for little, thought Helios.
      Sestus paused to admire his reflection in his shield, rubbing his bare cheeks for the first time in many months when the lanky Stefanos put his hand on his shoulder. "Damn, you Macedonians are an ugly lot," he said to great laughter.
      When all was prepared, Barkane once again took the four officers aside; Helios, Argon, Sestus, and Stefanos. Barkane told them they were to train the men for a special drill. Markatt would show them. It wouldn’t take long, Barkane promised.
      "What will you be doing?" Argon asked him.
      "Me?" said Barkane. "I already know the drill, so I will rest." And he did. He tossed a tunic over his face to ward off the summer flies and napped comfortably beneath a gnarly jasmine tree while Markatt took the men to a clearing in the woods where he drilled them for two hours.
      "Keep it simple, Markatt," Barkane had told him.
      When the men returned, Barkane roused himself and found Sajan. He ordered Stefanos and Sestus to bind and gag the man. "Although I trust you completely, Captain,"

Barkane told him, "I think it's best to be on the safe side, don't you?" Sajan answered with his usual string of curses before the gag muffled him to silence.
      Barkane had Helios order the men to formation and they left the safety of the wood, fell into line, and began marching along a goat path toward the gates of Tahtani. Their extra horses were roped together single file behind the main party. Barkane knew the added horses would make an even more impressive show.
      From the safety of Tahtani's walls, Alexander's security detail stationed at the northern gate watched the small column of cavalry approach. The gate-sergeant counted nearly thirty horsemen and warily rubbed his chin - then dispatched a runner to notify his superior officer.
      As far as the gate-sergeant knew, there were no reinforcements scheduled to arrive. There were just enough soldiers at the fort to carry out a straight-forward assignment; that of keeping a single hostage 'safe and comfortable', Alexander's euphemism for under lock and key.
      Tahtani was more fortified outpost than fort, an old mining settlement with its back literally dug into the last mountain of the Nusay Range. The old mines saw little duty any more. They were high up the hillside above a cluster of stone buildings that cascaded down to the very foot of a

thick ring-wall that enclosed the dusty old town in a tight embrace. The northern gate was one of two gates into the fort; the other gate opened west to the plain that stretched west to the Mediterranean shore a few days' mule ride away. The mines had mostly dried up but traffic along the Asi River kept Tahtani a modest trading center, though its size would forever be limited by its distance from the coast.
      As far as Alexander was concerned, the site was easily accessible yet remote enough for him to secret his special hostage here; a hostage whom Alexander's armed couriers were enroute to retrieve at this very moment, though they were yet days away. The troops temporarily stationed at Tahtani were told little; only that the hostage was important to Alexander, and nothing more. Alexander knew that with the Persian King Darius on the run the entire eastern kingdom of Persia was as good as his already. What he was not guaranteed was the west – Carthage and the incalculable riches there. But Alexander wanted it all. Only he knew that without the hostage his dreams of conquest to the west would be dead in the water; forever fallen short on Tyre's defiant shores.
      The presence of a hostage itself was classified information though the Tahtani townsfolk were no fools. The

sudden presence here of an Alexander platoon when all the action of the war was down at Tyre was cause for a thousand and one rumors. As for Barkane, he had secured Sajan but he needed one more man: Alexander's hostage. But like all soldiers, Barkane would soon be reminded that accurate information was hard to come by in wartime.
      Barkane had given the group special instructions and Helios had assured Barkane that his men had the drill down and would follow orders precisely. Though Barkane wasn't entirely convinced, the truth was the group was proving to be a pretty sturdy bunch. Before Barkane gave the order to march on the fort, he and Argon swapped battle-gear and soon Barkane was swathed head to toe in shining armament while Argon wore only Barkane's simple link-mail shirt, iron studded-leather waist skirt, and weather-beaten chest-piece. Helios enjoyed Argon's discomfort at his sudden change in fortune, if not rank.
      "Soon, you'll be smelling like a regular, too," he told him. Sestus and Stefanos laughed and Barkane noticed that Argon went along with the plan without complaint. There is hope for him after all, he thought.
      Barkane instructed that he himself would ride behind the first row of helmeted horsemen, flanked by Helios and Argon, while the rest of the men followed in formation,

Sajan discreetly stowed in the middle of the pack. Their extra horses brought up the rear. Barkane whispered to Helyar, "Keep your eyes on the slippery captain."
      They approached the fort along the river bank and the walls rose up to meet them with another setting sun casting long shadows upon them. The golden glow of the late hour reflected warmly off their bronze armor. There were a few townspeople at the gate with a small number of livestock, but they all ducked inside at their approach. Barkane’s eyes narrowed as the gate closed in front of them while Helios wondered aloud whether they had, "any wine tucked away in this dustbin."
      As Barkane had ordered, they marched in silence, four abreast and seven deep, to the very shadow of the wall before Helios threw up an arm and barked, "Halt!" and the whole column stopped as one.
      The fort's heavy wooden gate was twice as tall as a man and it rolled into place on creaky wooden wheels as big as barrels. Six helmeted heads popped up along the walls, all staring at the column of horses and not a friendly eyeball among them. Then came a muffled command from the interior and six spears appeared as well. Two soldiers scrambled over the wall down knotted leather lines, landed on the dusty ground with a thud, and then approached. Argon

noticed that behind them the climbing lines were quickly pulled back up while another dozen helmeted heads appeared, their spears also at the ready. Barkane reckoned twenty four soldiers here in all – regulation Greek platoon.
      Helios's inexperienced men were intimidated by having the gate so rudely shut in their faces topped off with the show of force along the wall but Barkane only shrugged. He knew it was standard operating procedure and that he and his Greeks were a questionable looking bunch.
      Barkane had previously decided that that would have to change and change now. He had positioned himself as the officer in charge in routine Macedonian fashion: Cavalry lined up behind him, javelins on the right, shields on the left, and two mounted lieutenants, in this case, Helios and Argon, on either side. Fitted in Argon's rich armor, Barkane certainly looked the part of high officer. Helyar had not liked the ragged condition of the horse-hair plume on the top of Argon's helmet and so had replaced it with a fresh one he fashioned himself. He made it tall and thick in the Macedonian style and dyed the end with brown ochre from clay he dug up in the woods. It was an effective fix. Barkane looked as if he might command ten thousand men.
      Markatt looked about him - Helios's Greeks were nervous, not knowing what to expect. But Markatt did, for

he had seen his commander in action time and again.
      All eyes were on the two wall sentries as they stepped before the column; all eyes but Barkane's. He utterly ignored the guards, choosing to swing in his saddle pad and survey the Greeks behind him instead. They all stood at perfect attention.
      The two wall sentries were staring at what every man on the wall was staring at; Barkane’s battered face. The black eye, the bruises, the broken nose. The left eyebrow that still bore a red and angry wound. This officer had been in the thick of it, that much was for sure. The gate-sergeant cleared his throat. "State your business and your regiment," the man said, looking them thoroughly up and down. Again, Barkane ignored him, choosing to simply nod at Helios, who took the cue as previously instructed and raised his voice.
      "We are Cavalry Twenty One from Bogtche Pass. Our orders are to rout all Persian rebels from Mallus in the north to Tyre in the south and to inspect and rectify, where necessary, those fortifications not up to the standards of the Silver Shields," Helios announced.
      The gate-sergeant stepped back. The Silver Shields. The mere mention of the Silvers would make any common soldier in Alexander’s sprawling forces nervous. The man

noticed for the first time the Royal Cavalry badges on the horses' breast plates. Barkane surveyed the men along the wall and glared boldly at each and every one. By the god Ahura Mazda, he thought, I will enter these walls.
      The gate-sergeant regained his wits.
      "Then you will have sealed orders," the man said, and he held his hand out with as much authority as he could muster. Alexander's military communications relied primarily on orders scrawled into leathern sheets or parchment rolls and then stamped in hot wax with Alexander's seal, of which only a handful existed.
      The Greeks behind Barkane were silent. Now what? Staring into the searing rays of the setting sun, thoughts of easy meals vanished from their heads. Of course they had no sealed orders. How was Barkane to get them out of this one?
      Barkane said nothing. From the back of his horse he stared down at the gate-sergeant, then casually turned his head so that only Helios could see the right side of his face. On my wink, Barkane had told him.
      And now Barkane winked.
      Helios said a silent prayer that the ploy would work true – they had only practiced the drill a few times. He gritted his teeth and yanked his sword from his scabbard

with a ring so shrill that every man along the wall flinched.
      As his sword exited his scabbard every Greek in the column behind him moved as one. All of them urged their horses a single step to the left and shouted "Hai!" so loudly their weapons shook. Then each stepped back to the right again with another loud "Hai!". Finally, each put their hands to their sword hilts and held them there at the ready and from every throat hurtled forth a loud "Kai-Ya!" that echoed off the fort wall and the surrounding hills.
      Argon and Helios each spun his horse around to face the troops behind them.
      "Ho!" shouted Helios and the column of Greeks pranced their horses two steps wide so that the whole formation widened. They waited for their next command.
      "Hai!" Helios shouted and this time each man pulled his sword and they sung from their scabbards as one in a chorus of ringing metal fit for Mount Olympus itself. Everyone thrust their swords straight to the sky and shouted "Hai!" in response and the loud chorus reverberated along the walls, the soldiers there transfixed.
      Helios and Argon mirrored their men’s movements.
      Next, Helios uttered a low growl that grew in volume and violence.

      "Hoooooooo-Yaa!" The column mimicked him with a loud and long "Hoooooooo-Yaa!" and lowered their swords from the sky until they all pointed directly at the wall in front of them and none of the men on the wall liked the idea of those weapons pointed so boldly their way.
      Then came the next shout from Helios.
      "Ho-Lo-Kailo!"
      And this time each man thrust his sword back to the sky, this time with one hand on the handle and the other on the tip.
      They opened their mouths and a chorus of "Ho-Lo-Kailo!’s" filled the air.
      It was a vintage show of arms and it was having the right impression. The men on the walls had lowered their spears and were whispering back and forth.
      Finally, Helios shouted "Kailo-Yaaa!" and the men lowered their arms, sank their swords back into their scabbards, and pranced their horses back into formation again and stood as before in silence.
      Only Helios and Argon still held their backs to the wall, their faces to their troops, the two of them still holding their swords above their heads.
      Until now, Barkane had not moved, had not even spared

a glance at all the action around him. He had carefully watched the men on the walls instead, though none had been watching him. There was no movement from anyone now. Not from the Greeks nor the men on the wall nor the guards on the ground.
      Barkane turned his head imperceptibly and in a low voice just loud enough for the men on the walls to hear, he said, "Kai."
      Helios and Argon sheathed their swords at last and shouted in unison, "Kailo-Ya!" to their troops.
      "KAILO-YA! KAILO-YA! KAILO-YA!" came the thundering reply.
      Finally, Argon and Helios turned their mounts and returned to position on either side of Barkane and then all was silent once again.
      It was an old Macedonian war-cry from the days of Alexander’s father Phillip, and not by accident, a simple one. It had the effect Barkane had hoped for as the gate-sergeant backed away in alarm and the heads up and down the wall looked back and forth at each other, clearly unsteadied. Barkane was buoyed inside for Helios and his rag-tags had performed magnificently. Barkane urged his horse forward.
      Helios worriedly called after him, "Sir...sir!" and

then shook his head as if the effort were hopeless. He turned and faced his men again and shouted, "Hai!"
      This time there was no return shout from the men. Only action. Every man pulled his sword nearly from his scabbard, but not completely. The tip stayed just inside and the anxious men on the wall recognized the maneuver for what it was - a warning.
      Barkane followed the warning by spurring his horse rudely into the gate-sergeant's shoulder, knocking the man out of the way and every soldier stationed up on the wall stiffened. But the sergeant only stumbled away speechless as Barkane continued on to the wall alone. The thirty Greeks waited in stillness behind him; thirty swords held at the tip of thirty scabbards.
      Barkane glared up at the guards posted all along the wall above his head. He walked his horse along the wall, inspecting it with a sneer. As he did so, more heads popped into view.
      Barkane said nothing. He simply spun and walked along the wall the other way, glaring all the while at the heads looking down at him. Finally, he returned to the waiting sergeant and glowered down at the man for a long moment. Then he snorted and spat and his spit hit the dusty earth and bounced along the ground, gathering dust and balling

into a tiny sphere of mud until it rolled to a stop at the sergeant's feet.
      Barkane lowered his eyes at the man.
      "It would be obvious to a blind man that we have recently been in battle. We have lost many brave men fighting for Alexander’s empire, may the Olympians protect his highness." Barkane paused, looking back over his troops. Then he turned back to the nervous sergeant again.
      "My staff sergeant is dead, my flankers, my signal-men, too. All of them burned to their ancestors." Everyone knew the Macedonians were particular about their dead. It was their sacred tradition to burn their slain soldiers immediately on the field where they died. Barkane stared at the sergeant as if the man himself had murdered his men. The sergeant was taken aback for he knew the signal-men would have carried all orders. If those men were gone...
      But Barkane wasn't finished. He curled his lips at the sergeant and instinctively put one hand on the handle of his weapon.
      "My men have been fighting Persians up and down the Asi," he hissed, "while you women have been holed-up in this flea-infested fort, suckling wine-skins day and night and rubbing each other's idle spears."
      Barkane said it loud enough for every man on the wall

to hear and to a man they flinched at his words. So did Helios's Greeks as it had by now become obvious that Barkane was willing to pick a fight with anyone.
      The gate-sergeant's mind churned: He did not know who the ill-tempered officer on horseback was, only that he was one ornery son-of-a-bitch. Who was the testy bastard? His chest plate was expensive and his helmet, too. Was that dried blood on his tunic?
      Helios called out to Barkane again, "Sir!", but Barkane ignored him with the practiced arrogance of nobility and rank.
      The gate-sergeant made one last attempt to clear his orders. "I beg your pardon, sir," the sergeant insisted, "The fortifications are restricted to...", but he was interrupted by Helios once more shouting to Barkane.
      "General Bousardis, sir!"
      At the mention of Bousardis's name the sergeant went speechless and every man along the wall looked at one another in alarm as if the enemy itself had arrived. General Bousardis! Here!? By Hera! For the gate-sergeant, all thoughts of passes and protocol vanished.
      Helios continued to address Barkane. "There is a standard platoon on the walls, General."
      The flustered gate-sergeant blessed his good fortune

for it appeared the notorious General's first officer was defending their watch! The sergeant eagerly nodded at Helios in agreement and swept his arm at the wall and the men lining it.
      "Standard defense platoon, sir. Absolutely."
      But Barkane pretended to be unmollified, grumbling under his breath, "More substandard, from what I can see."
      The sergeant added, "And there are women here, sir."
      "Well that certainly comes as a relief," snorted Barkane, still unsatisfied.
      Helios nudged his horse forward and played peace-maker, nodding his approval to the gate-sergeant. "The position is secure here, sir. They need only provision our regiment and their duty will be complete."
      The gate-sergeant again nodded in agreement.
      Finally, Helios nodded his head back toward Sajan.
      "And what of the prisoner, sir?"
      Barkane managed one last glare at the men on the walls who turned their gaze to the bound and gagged Sajan. Barkane raised his voice. "The less these men know of him the better. Their duty is to the realm and not to their soft rear ends."
      The gate-sergeant put a finger to his lips indicating he could keep his mouth shut and he and his new found

friend Helios nodded to each other in agreement.
      "Very well, sir," Helios said in a manner which indicated that all was settled.
      Barkane turned on the gate-sergeant a final time.
      "Who is the commanding officer here?"
      "Knossos, sir, of Latak."
      "Tell him he is to be my guest for dinner. I will inspect the garrison guard at ten bells tonight."
      The man gulped. "Sir, the garrison will be retired at that hour..."
      "Not tonight, they won't," growled Barkane and as he urged his horse forward, Helios turned and shouted to the men, "Stand down!" As one, all thirty Greeks slid their swords safely back inside their scabbards. Then, at the gate-sergeant's furious urging, the gate rolled open before them and they marched into Tahtani at last, the bundled composites at the back of their saddle-pads unnoticed.

    *    *    *    *    *

Barkane and his men were bivouacked in a compound of merchant's residences inside the fort. The fort was as much as could be expected in these parts, consisting only of a single stone tower overlooking a main square. Palm-shaded courtyards dotted the area and a marketplace was sandwiched between the outer and inner walls. The shabby stables here

housed no horses; only a pair of dust-caked camels who lingered at a leaking water trough.
      Knossos of Latak, the town's temporary commanding officer, came to call on 'General Bousardis' more than once but Barkane sent him away each time. "The general is busy," Knossos was told. When Knossos came calling a fifth time, Barkane bade him wait and Knossos cooled his heels with his guards for hours while Barkane napped yet again. He needed the sleep. The next few days were going to be trying.
      Night had fallen by the time the spindly Stefanos led Knossos and his guards to the open veranda of the merchant house Barkane had commandeered. Oil wall-lamps flickered but there was little need for their wane light beneath the full moon.
      The open-air veranda was sparsely decorated but long and wide, its coves protecting two rows of miniature lemon trees. Barkane sat on an undecorated stone bench flanked by Helios and Argon. Sestus and Stefanos made Knossos and his guards remove their weapons. Only after they had complied without complaint to the customary precaution was Knossos allowed to approach the 'General' and Barkane motioned for Knossos to sit. A servant from the town, a gnarled man with bulging eyes and a sickly-thin beard, served the men water from an exquisite blown-glass pitcher. Barkane couldn’t

help but notice the pitcher featured etched Persian images surrounded by a Greek border.
      Knossos sipped the water dutifully. Tahtani was the officer's first deployment and he wanted to make no mistakes. But the General only sat there silently studying his cup with a sour look on his face. After a few more minutes of this Knossos couldn’t take it any longer and so attempted to make polite conversation.
      "Have you chosen the only house in Tahtani with no wine?" he said. He smiled at the General and began to speak again, "So who do we..."
      "I’ll inspect your troops now," interrupted Barkane as he abruptly stood up with never so much as a glance Knossos's way and marched off followed by Helios and Argon. Stefanos motioned to Knossos to follow and the shocked Knossos jumped up, his men hustling after him.
      So began the most unpleasant evening of Knossos's short career. Here was a famous general come to visit his remote outpost. A new officer like Knossos should be thrilled and at first, he was. He wouldn’t put two and two together until much later.
      But 'General Bousardis' had been in a foul mood from the moment he arrived at the fort's gates. He had bullied his way into the city and then no sooner was he in than he

chastised the sentry command for letting his men in so easily. "The next band of soldiers better have to fight their way in, by Herakles, I don’t care who they say they are!" he had barked. Then he proceeded to sequester himself and his men all day in a most unfriendly manner and demanded cart after cart of fresh fruits, meat, eggs, flatbreads, and wine. A capable administrator, Knossos had complied though his men hackled under the arrogant orders of the angry visitor.
      "Would that he had graced someone else with his glorious presence," one man had muttered. Knossos told them only to watch their mouths, that Bousardis was directly under Alexander’s favorite general Seleucus, and therefore, very near royalty.
      "More like a royal pain in the hind end," was the muffled response. Here was the highest ranking officer they were ever likely to encounter and the man and his men treated them no better than incompetent slaves. Indeed, holed up in their compound, the newcomers steered clear of Knossos's men save for a few, like Stefanos, who the general sent out of his compound with his orders.
      "The nerve of the bastard," said one.
      "We should have expected nothing less. Damn Macedonians own the world now," said another.

      Now Knossos bit his lip as he lead the unfriendly General along the town’s walls. He hadn’t heard a compliment yet. So far the General had criticized the size of each watch, their composition, (too many spearmen, for example, which Barkane honestly regarded as an amateur mistake), the placement of missile weapons which consisted mostly of javelins with too little accommodations made for sling weapons, the order of troop dispersion along the key defense points, and even the stock of missiles and arrows at every machicolation.
      "Too few," the General muttered. "Couldn’t withstand a rabid dog attack."
      Still, Knossos was relieved that for the most part, each squad stood fast beneath the General’s withering glare. Knossos now understood the age-old soldier’s lament; headquarters are bastards, he thought.
      The General was such an overall demon no one took much notice of the others. 'Bousardis' stalked the walls eyeballing everything with a scowl and rarely even acknowledged Knossos's presence. When he spoke to his lieutenants, he spoke as if Knossos wasn’t even there. "Have them double the shifts on this wall," he would say, or, "Weapon stock here is insufficient, have them address this at once," and "By the gods, who would construct an

arrow as half-hearted as this poor thing?!" The General snapped the arrow over his knee in disgust.
      For their part, the General's lieutenants took diligent notes and nodded seriously at Knossos, though at one point Helios gave Knossos a reassuring wink. It was a universal wink of soldierly camaraderie. Another wink and a shrug convinced Knossos all would be well...as long as he weathered the passing storm. He breathed a sigh of relief at the thought.
      Knossos could not know he was only being played. Barkane had instructed Argon and Helios, "You play nice with this man, let him think you a friend. Let me be the son-of-a-bitch." This prompted some rare humor from Helios, "That should come easily enough for you!" and Barkane laughed.
      Finally, they climbed the long dirt ramp that led to the fort’s watchtower, a simple affair consisting of a broad foundation and first story of stone topped with another story of aging lumber. Knossos looked on in surprise as the General himself climbed the scaffolding and then pulled himself up the rope ladders dangling from the superstructure above.
      From up there Barkane surveyed the surrounding landscape, glad to be away from everyone if only for a

moment. It was nearly midnight and the Asi River valley lay spread out before him in the moonlight. A patchwork of small farms blanketed the lands around the fort, delineated by thin lines of irrigation ditches. Shacks dotted the path that ran away west with the river to the sea. Barkane gazed downriver until the river turned and disappeared behind the steep mountain at his back. I must get to the sea, thought Barkane.
      Knossos and the others waited patiently for the General to descend only to be coolly dismissed as soon as Barkane’s feet hit the ground.
      "I’ve seen enough," he told Knossos. "Report back to me at first light." With that Barkane and his men returned to their compound high in the city for more sleep.
      And sleep they did, on straw beds and beneath rooftops for the first time in memory. After gorging themselves once again, the men sprawled all over the courtyards and first floors of the merchant houses while Barkane stayed in the head merchant's villa nearby. This royal treatment irked Argon but he wisely let it pass. Barkane ordered Knossos to post guards around their compound and when all was in place, he too, went to sleep.
      Barkane didn't reappear until noon the next day. The truth was he awoke every few hours, checked that all was

secure, and then dozed off again. He saw to it that the Greeks were behaving themselves, eating heartily, getting rest, and keeping away from Knossos's men. "No talking," he told them again. "And keep Captain Sajan from everyone." Helios had volunteered to guard Sajan, and Helyar and Markatt appreciated the break. Helios kept the man isolated in a back storeroom surrounded by hundreds of clay vessels and, conveniently for Helios, near a wine press.
      At sunset Barkane summoned Knossos again. Knossos arrived breathlessly and Barkane peppered him with order after order for more provisions. "Butcher two pigs for the owners of these houses. A dozen barrels of wine for my men. Four bushels of bread. A gross of eggs, two dozen chickens..." The list went on. Knossos dutifully recorded the request and sent his lieutenants off to secure it all.
      But there was more. Barkane launched into a series of fortification instructions designed to keep every soldier in the fort busy for weeks. Barkane ordered additional gates constructed, additional wells, movement of missile batteries from one end of the fort to the other, higher archery steps along the ramparts, and anything else he could think of that was labor-intensive and time-consuming. He was only half-pretending. The soldier in him wanted the fort brought up to decent standards out of sheer

professionalism.
      Knossos’s only objection was a half-hearted one.
      "Sir, this work will take weeks, maybe more. With limited personnel..."
      As usual, Barkane interrupted him, "This is not a holiday, Knossos."
      "Yes sir. Of course, sir." When Barkane seemed finished, Knossos asked him, "Will that be all, sir?"
      "No," was the answer, "that will not be all." And then Barkane draped his arm over Knossos’s shoulder and took him alone to the far end of the courtyard where they had complete privacy in the growing darkness. Argon eyed them from the opposite end. What is the Carthaginian up to now?
      The courtyard was planted with mature orange trees in full bloom here in the heart of summer and the few feeble lamps in the yard cast flickering shadows on their leaves and across Barkane's face. Standing in the shadows there Barkane simply stared at Knossos without saying a word. Knossos himself said nothing but each moment became more and more uncomfortable and he felt a lump grow in his throat. He tried to force it down but no matter how hard he swallowed the blasted thing refused to budge.
      Thankfully Barkane spoke at last.
      "I’ll interview our guest now," he said.

Knossos's heart skipped a beat. No one was supposed to know. Not the townspeople, not the Macedonian-appointed regional governor, not even Alexander’s high command. No one. Knossos held his face as blank as could be.
      "I beg your pardon, sir?"
      But it was no use. He watched Barkane break into a tight smile. Blasted gods be damned, thought Knossos. He had been assured no one would learn of the hostage's presence here.
      "Nice effort, Knossos," Barkane said. "You are to be commended." And he smiled a smile from one officer to another and Knossos took the compliment and ate it. "I will commend you to our leader Alexander myself," Barkane continued.
      Knossos shuffled his feet nervously.
      "Don’t be a fool, Knossos. Do you think I am here by accident?" Barkane’s voice was full of the usual authority and it worked. Of course! thought Knossos. Why else would a General be here?
      "I can appreciate your keeping confidence so well, but I have my orders," said Barkane.
      Knossos swore beneath his breath. Someone had spilled the secret, that much was painfully obvious. So what harm was there in aiding the General now? It wasn’t I who broke

the silence. The General already knows!
      The General was staring at him again until finally a breath of air escaped Knossos’s chest. He motioned toward Barkane’s men at the other end of the courtyard.
      "Do they know?" he asked, to which Barkane delivered one of his non-answers, "They know what they need to know."
      Barkane continued. "It is imperative I interrog..." Barkane caught himself, "..interview our hostage at once." Barkane watched the eyebrows rise on Knossos’s face at the urgency in his voice.
      "Circumstances have changed," Barkane said in low whisper, as if taking Knossos into his confidence and Knossos's mind began to spin. What has changed? Is the great Tyre suddenly fallen? Is the hostage needed immediately? ...or no longer at all! That must be it, Knossos hastily decided, in which case the hostage’s fate was already sealed.
      "Is this to be an execution?" asked Knossos.
      Barkane allowed his eyes to twinkle a little, as if Knossos had guessed correctly.
      "Let’s just say the sooner I commence my interview the sooner this whole episode will be past." At that point, Barkane stood up and Knossos with him. And then as assuredly as if he had swung a war club at Barkane's head,

Knossos’s next words nearly knocked Barkane off his feet.
      "I’ll take you to her at once," he said.
      Barkane’s mouth went dry.
      Her?
      "She is in the keep of the mine, sir," Knossos said. "Please pardon my reticence. I am only fulfilling my duties as best I can. I did not mean to be uncooperative, not at all, sir."
      Barkane finally found his voice.
      "Of course," he said. "Nothing more will be said of it." The visible relief on Knossos’s face ran utterly contrary to the sudden turmoil in Barkane’s head.
      Barkane ordered Sestus to keep an eye on things and accompanied by Helyar, Markatt, and Argon, he followed Knossos and his guards out of the merchants' compound and up the dirt ramps that led to the mines above. The cliffs that surrounded them were perforated with abandoned caves and storage vaults – so numerous they resembled cliff swallow nests drilled into the mountain. They followed the switch-backs of the old mining ramps and as they cut back and forth, Barkane could see the merchant’s compound below him and both gates of the fort. But his mind was on other things.
      The hostage was supposed to be a man. The very man who

created what Barkane was after and what Alexander desired; what lay hidden in the city of Tyre. That man was supposed to be secreted here by Alexander’s men as insurance. In the unlikely event he could not break Tyre, Alexander knew he could at least squeeze what he could out of the secret’s creator as a last resort. At least that is what Barkane had been told. But what had a woman to do with all this? And then if the man were not here, then where was he?
      The mine still operated but its heyday was long passed and the switch-back was lined with mining shacks so filthy and neglected half of them had collapsed. They reached the top where the working area of the mine was protected by a ten-foot wall with an elevated defensive walkway running along the inside for shooting arrows at would-be attackers. They passed through an archway just wide enough for ox-carts to pass to see at last the hulking stone warehouse where rich ore was separated from junk and impurities burned off before smelting. The big stone thing was capped with a flat tile roof, grimy with years of mine dust. The roof ran the length of the building and formed a long overhang for relief from the hot sun, though the sorry overhang was sagging with age.
      Built into the hillside, the rear wall of the warehouse was the mountain itself. A semi-circle of stone

fire-houses ringed the warehouse; open-walled affairs thick with soot from decades of hot-ore fires. Broken mine carts and piles of abandoned building materials littered the area between the buildings. An oxen pen still operated and the big stinking brutes stood sleeping near their water tank under the moonlight. Everywhere deep ruts from years of mining carts and their heavy loads criss-crossed the ancient ground.
      The inner wall and stone fire-houses were separated from the barn by a wide square with a single clay-bricked well in the center. Neglected wooden buckets and clay water jars lay overturned on the ground. Barkane noted that as far as defense, the place wasn't perfect but it was passable in a pinch.
      Two guards were stationed at the entrance to the warehouse and they bolted to attention the moment Knossos came into view. No wonder the townspeople knew something was afoot - all these extra soldiers - for what? To guard a long exhausted ore depot? Barkane squinted at the filthy building so black with the belching of the mine it seemed darker than the night itself.
      "Lovely accommodations for a noble guest," Barkane said.
      Knossos was defensive. "This building is burrowed into

the side of the mountain itself. There is no more secure location in the area, sir."
      "Fair enough", Barkane said. But the impenetrable place would turn out to be more porous than anyone knew. Barkane turned to Argon. "You wait here," he told him. Barkane wanted one of his own soldiers outside the building, just in case.
      Argon stayed behind while they entered the building through a wide opening and were immediately plunged into a smoky darkness lit only by the orange glow from the embers of a half a dozen still smoldering fires from the day's work. The fires illuminated their way down an aisle surrounded on both sides by pile after pile of discarded rock and ore.
      The acrid smell turned Barkane's nostrils. The place stunk of close and hellish rock and Barkane preferred open spaces. He noticed Markatt wrinkling his nose as well.
      At first he thought there were no guards here inside but one materialized out of the darkness as they approached the stone wall at the very back of the building. Here they came to a rusty door as tall as two men and, again, as wide as an ox-cart. Barkane could tell by its construction it was as thick as an oak as well.
      Knossos helpfully explained, "There were hopes of gold

and silver in these mountains, not just iron. This was to be the deep keep."
      Every precious metals mine had a deep keep; a thickly fortified and defensible vault. As impregnable as possible. But the ambitious project had been premature. Such security was overkill for mere iron, but perfect, as it turned out, for detaining valuable prisoners.
      Markatt and Helyar helped Knossos lift a pair of heavy planks from their stays and swung the rusty door aside. A short corridor opened before them that led to a wide stairwell that descended to an unguarded man-sized door. The corridor was lit by a single torch, its dirty fumes blackening the stone above its perch and the smoke wafting away to who knows where through a thousand holes bored into the ceiling. Barkane knew that no mine was workable without generous ventilation.
      "They won’t be expecting you at this hour, sir."
      They? thought Barkane.
      "No one is ever expecting me," Barkane said.
      Knossos pulled a dagger from his waist and rapped the hilt of the weapon loudly against the door. The sound exploded in this quiet place and echoed around them, stinging their ears. When the echoes died away the men shifted their feet in the quiet and eyed the door. Everyone

but Barkane. His restless eyes surveyed his surroundings. Gone were the wooden walls and rafters. All had given way to stone.
      Knossos rapped some more and again there was a long wait and more silence. Finally, Knossos turned to Barkane.
      "We can enter at any time, sir. They are under our authority."
      Barkane said nothing. He was looking at the curiously small size of the door and at the stone floor beneath his feet. He could see ancient ruts here, too, formed by decades of oxen pulling heavy carts from the mine.
      Just then there was a noise on the other side of the door and the thing swung slowly open until it revealed a single figure standing alone in the flickering orange of their smoky torches. Barkane’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils filled with the smell of fine perfume. Coriander.
      The woman wore a layered robe of colored linens; royal, Persian-style and expensive. Her dark hair rolled away down her shoulders in impossibly long ringlets. Her eyes looked alert, aware, and all business. She was young, but no teenager. She briefly surveyed the soldiers before quickly settling on Barkane.
      "What is it, gentlemen?" she asked.
      Her manner was cool and collected, as if she were

accustomed to conducting business in the middle of a mountain in the middle of the night with a squad of soldiers breathing in her face. Perhaps it because she was a woman that Knossos suddenly decided to play the tough, which didn't suit him.
      "The General will have a word with you."
      "What general?" She spat the words out at their feet and Knossos was taken aback. He indicated Barkane.
      "The General Bousardis, miss."
      Knossos's tough act hadn't lasted long and Barkane chuckled inside. Who is in charge here?
      The woman took her time looking Barkane up and down. "Bousardis," she said and she fingered the multitude of gold necklaces that hung from her neck and down over her robes. She wore fine amethyst rings and her clothing was exquisite. Richly died and thick. The fabric finely-woven and the trim a brilliant shade of purple - the purple color of the famous Murex die from none other than Tyre itself. The murex snail was rare and the purple dye it excreted so valuable that only royalty could afford it. Although the woman, naturally, was shorter and slighter than the men she seemed to look down on all of them. She looked at Barkane as if she didn't care whether he was a general or a stable cleaner.

      Barkane stepped forward to the threshold.
      "May I?" he asked her.
      She only raised her eyebrows and stepped aside.
      "I'll need a few minutes alone with our guest," Barkane said and Knossos instantly objected, "But sir, I must advise..."
      A stony glare from Barkane shut him up and then Barkane had pulled the door shut behind him and Knossos and his men stood stupidly outside the door scratching their heads. Markatt and Helyar casually leaned against the wall. Helyar picked his teeth with a chicken bone.
      On the other side the woman led Barkane deeper to where a great deal of rock had been hewn away and a large cavern opened up in the mountain. A dozen small lamps burned and Barkane could see their thin smoke rising straight up and he felt air movement though the place should be as still as a grave. The opposite walls of the cavern were lined with heavy stone shelving – crude, but voluminous storage. Barkane stepped forward and entered the body of the room where the ceiling soared even higher above his head. The oil lamps illuminated the place, but the air was not foul. Barkane was wary of being closed in tight spaces and though he found the fresh air in this buried tomb-like place a curiosity, he welcomed it. Wordlessly,

the woman followed him in.
      Water pitchers and vessels for cleaning rested on a stone counter top. Another woman stood there staring at him with the blankest of looks on her face. She was just younger than the first, and dressed in robes almost as fine. Her complexion and features were so very dark that Barkane knew at once she came from those mysterious spice lands so far to the east that few had ever stepped foot there, though slaves and concubines from those far away reaches were not uncommon in Persia.
      "My attendant, Methena," the woman said, introducing the girl. Barkane nodded at her but the girl's look turned surly and she didn't acknowledge him. Barkane ignored the slight.
      One corner of the main room featured an elevated area where Barkane was surprised to see a fine feather bed raised off the floor by four stout sycamore posts. There was another, smaller bed nearby and both were surrounded by rich carpets and couches. Wooden wardrobes and expensively crafted tables were arranged as if this was the fully furnished home of a nobleman. But there was no disguising a stifling place, cavernous as it seemed. Barkane shuddered. He wouldn't like being cooped up in here. He sniffed the air and stepped to one of the lamps that burned almost

smokelessly and peered at it closely.
      "Clean oil," he said.
      "No expense spared for royal prisoners," the woman said. "Welcome to my death chamber."
      Barkane said nothing but he thought to himself, you might not live long young lady but you're not going to die in here. Not tonight. Then he took a long look at her at last, as long a look as she had taken of him when she first opened the door. Her unmistakable female figure was undisguised by her robes. Her big brown eyes looked back at him, unafraid. Wearing neither smile nor frown the look on her face reminded him of a seasoned officer at thought, a look that revealed nothing.
      She watched him unashamedly stare at her and then gaze about her gaping living quarters again, taking in all the detail. This one is a serious one, she thought. And young for a general, but then many of Alexander's officers were young for combat burned through officers like firewood. The furious Greeks must start soldiers as children, she thought. It was a wonder any of them survived adolescence. Did they do nothing but war?
      Barkane went to a low bench and sat down. He put his arms on his knees and stared at the stone floor for a long time without saying a word. The women didn't move. They

only watched him. Waiting.
      Finally he spoke.
      "I was expecting someone else," he said.
      "Of course you were," was all the woman said.
      He suddenly had a pretty good idea who she was and what had happened. The revelation was bad news for his mission.
      "You are Sarisse," he said and she nodded matter-of-factly. Sarisse, daughter of Mexus. Mexus the Mapmaker. Mexus, the man Barkane had journeyed so far to find.
      Barkane sighed. "Alexander has taken your father to Tyre," he guessed and again she nodded.
      "My father is a stubborn man. I am insurance for his good behavior," she said.
      Barkane swore at the floor. Damned spotty intelligence, he thought. Mexus was fourth cousin to King Darius and high royalty and Sarisse a royal princess, too, but Barkane needed Mexus himself, not the man's daughter!
      The elders back in Carthage knew how badly Alexander wanted Mexus. Privy to all its secrets and the key to its capture, Mexus was more than the key to Tyre; much, much more. He was the author and compiler of the incalculably valuable Books: The Book of the East and the Book of the West. Alexander not only wanted Tyre, he wanted the Books

enshrined there; the Books that were so critical to his conquest of all of Asia and beyond; the Books the learned and diligent Mexus had spent a lifetime assembling.
      The bitter truth of it was known to only a few: Alexander already had the Book of the East and was using its priceless knowledge to obviously great effect. How he gained the precious thing no one could say – only that a mountainous amount of gold must have changed hands. Alexander's appetite for the other Book was as voracious as a feeding animal for he was having such success with the first he considered both books a bargain at any price whether that price was a country, a navy, or a hundred thousand men.
      He must have the Book of the West as well.
      But Barkane's orders were clear: The Book of the West was not to fall to Alexander at all costs for that Book held all the secrets of Carthage and her promising empire.
      Barkane rubbed his palms together in doubt and imagined the future of his beloved Carthage fumbling from his hands.
      The Books were exhaustive compilations of navigation charts, trade routes, landmarks, languages, tribes, leaders, cultures, customs and more. There was nothing more valuable than the Books to Alexander. Nothing. A state

secret, the books had been assembled painstakingly by the elders of Tyre for over a century. Their information held the key to unlock fortunes across the whole world. In Alexander's hands the Book of the East had already unlocked all of Asia to his pleasure and he knew it. He also knew that Tyre would fall to him eventually but he feared the Book of the West would be spirited away or destroyed.
      Alexander had figured he would hold Mexus until Tyre fell and the Book of the West was safely in his hands. If he failed to capture the Book, at least he had Mexus and he would beat what he could out of the man. And if the man himself proved uncooperative, his only daughter as hostage would quickly persuade Mexus of the error of his ways.
      Sarisse stared at Barkane sitting on the stone bench with his head in his hands and staring at the floor. So this is how generals operate, she thought. She watched Barkane pick his head up and gaze slowly all across the cavern. The ceiling. The floor. The walls all around.
      Suddenly the man got up, snatched a lamp from her bedside and knelt down near the door examining the floor. Sarisse knelt down beside him to see what the man was looking at. She couldn't help but notice the man's battered face. She took a long, lingering look at his ear where half the thing had been hacked away in some distant and bloody

episode. Barkane carefully rubbed one hand in a sweeping motion back and forth across the stone. Then Barkane looked up at the door itself. It was just big enough for a single person to pass through but now that he looked closely he could see that there used to be a larger opening here that had been mortared over and then disguised as stone by a crude coating of lichen dye.
      He touched the floor again and looked over his shoulder to the opposite wall with the heavy stone shelves, then back toward the disguised door again. Sarisse followed him across the chamber to the big shelves as he examined the floor there. Again his fingers could feel the slightest of depressions running the length of the floor in two parallel lines. The dimensions were familiar to Barkane; the two lines were the same distance apart as the wheels on a mining cart.
      Barkane put his hand between the deep shelves and against the wall behind them. It was mortared, etched, and died to resemble real stone, but like the repaired door across the room, it was not.
      Barkane unsheathed his sword and dropped to his belly and poked the hilt of his weapon against the wall in an inconspicuous spot beneath the bottom shelf. He felt the mortar crack. Then he reached deep and with his fingers

scratched at the thin layer of mortar he had just chipped off. Then he got up and dusted himself off. Sarisse crossed her arms in front of her and spoke to Barkane like a mother to a child.
      "You spend a lot of time on the ground for a general."
      "It's not a job for everyone," Barkane said just as frantic knocking and shouting erupted outside the entrance door. "General Bousardis, sir! General Bousardis!"
      Barkane went to the door and turned to the women, "It sounds as if you'll be leaving shortly. It would be best to prepare."
      Their eyebrows rose at this.
      "Pack lightly, Princess," he said, and then he was through the door and it slammed shut behind him leaving her and the puzzled Methena alone again with the tracks on the floor and the phony walls. Sarisse suddenly had the feeling her first visitor would be her last.
      Outside the door Helyar and one of Knossos's men took Barkane up the corridor and through the warehouse and out into the open of the defensive square where Argon and Markatt waited with a circle of wide-eyed soldiers gathered as agitated as a nest of scorpions at noon. None were more wide-eyed than Knossos.

      "There is a commotion at the gates, sir."
      Barkane made light of it. "At this hour?" was all he said knowing full well what the commotion most likely was.
      At that moment four soldiers appeared in the moonlight and sprinted through the archway across the square. They skidded to a stop and the breathless squad-leader bowed to Barkane before turning to Knossos.
      "It’s a whole damn army, sir."
      Knossos's look was one of abject disbelief, as if the soldier just reported that he'd seen a dragon. An army?
      Barkane tilted his head back and laughed out loud. He slapped Knossos on the back.
      "Ha! An army come to Tahtani, Knossos! This is one busy outpost you have here." The men were reassured by Barkane's easy manner.
      "Go, Knossos," he said. "Go see what in the name of the gods is happening at your gates." He nodded at the panting soldiers. "Good work, gentlemen. Escort your commanding officer to the gate."
      "Yes, sir," they all replied and Barkane took hold of Knossos's arm. "Report directly back to me, understand?" Knossos nodded that he did and Barkane shoved Knossos forward, "Go!" he said and Knossos and his men took off at a run. In his next breath Barkane turned to the four guards

who remained at the big stone building and stated the obvious.
      "Remain at your post."
      There were more, "Yes, sirs."
      Only Markatt and Helyar noticed their commander drum his fingers discreetly on the hilt of his sword but he may as well have been speaking out loud for the trained Carthaginians recognized the hand signal instantly. Be ready. Barkane casually put his hands on his hips and sniffed the air.
      "Well, that's done, then." He turned to the four guards again.
      "How long have you been on duty?"
      One of them answered, "Ten hours, sir."
      "How long is your shift?"
      "Twelve, sir."
      "Excellent. That is good military discipline," Barkane said and Markatt and Helyar revealed nothing but both knew that Barkane would think such long shifts ludicrous, amateurish, and as events would soon show, dangerous. None of the four guards thought anything amiss as Barkane turned his body away from them and winked at Helyar and Markatt and all in one motion made a fist with his left hand, tapped it to his chest, and then covered it

with his right hand. Argon narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. The movement was so brief as to be unseeable to the untrained eye but not to Markatt and Helyar. They knew the signal well. Control.
      Barkane turned back again to the four guards and summoned a ceremonial tone.
      "I must commend you all on your devotion to duty. Were that my men were half as diligent as you," he said. With that, Barkane bowed low; a very respectful and showy bow. Very Persian, in fact, and the four Greek guards bought it. To a man they flushed with pride and they all bowed in return and their next moments were a blur of surprise. As soon as they were looking at the dirt the seasoned Carthaginian commandos struck. Barkane's two hands flashed forward and seized the two men's heads nearest him by their helmet flaps and spanked them violently together in a loud smack while Helyar dropped to the ground and leg-whipped the feet from beneath the third guard and as the man fell Helyar elbowed him hard in his temple. His size limiting him, Markatt was the least subtle. He simply stepped forward and drove his fist into the fourth guard’s midsection and as the man doubled-over, Markatt brought his knee up into the man’s jaw, sending it slapping back with a snap and the man crumpled to the ground unconscious before

his body touched Mother Earth.
      Of the two guards Barkane took on first, only one fell immediately. The other was only stunned and he tried to recover, but Barkane stepped forward, drove his fist hard into the man's nose and the man's head snapped back against the wall behind him and then he, too, slumped to the ground unconscious.
      In the space of a breath all four guards lay still on the ground. The Carthaginians produced leather line out of nowhere and in seconds the guards were bound securely to posts, their mouths gagged with rags that Argon conveniently retrieved from a barrel nearby.
      Barkane drew his sword and Argon saw the look on the man's face was suddenly all business. "Go get your men," Barkane said to him. "All of them."
      "Who is at the gates, Commander?" Argon said.
      Barkane laughed. "Who do you think?"
      Then Barkane leaned forward and seized Argon by the collar and Argon felt the warmth of the man's breath in his face. "Get your men here now," Barkane said and then came the order that sent a chill down Argon’s spine.
      "All weapons to hand, Argon."
      All weapons to hand.
      That was no casual command. It didn't mean just

"Be ready" or "Alarm". It was the traditional Greek command for urgent hand-to-hand combat. To fight and kill.
      "Go!" and Argon felt Barkane shove him off and as he ran his thoughts and his wits straightened. The real Bousardis was at the gates. Damn the gods and Barkane to all Hades. Bousardis is here!
      Argon cursed himself. This is what you get for hiding in the wilderness! His heart began to beat in his ears and his feet pounded the unwelcoming ground beneath him as he ran, his feet feeling both heavy and fast and he felt as if he were running like a top-heavy drunk.
      The fort's stray dogs scattered and barked as he bounded down the twisting switchbacks and to him it seemed like forever before he reached their compound below where the rest of the Greeks were clearly agitated; the commotion had woken everyone and they had seen Knossos's troops running to and fro.
      "What is it, Argon?" one of the Greeks said to nothing but air as Argon sprinted past without halting and burst into the main house already alive with activity. All around him men were shouting at one another and frantically gathering their gear. The scent of cooked mutton still hung heavily in the air and an unruly pile of bones next to the hearth attested to the men’s recent feasting. Their dinner

fires still burned hot with no one bothering to pause and put them out for the night. A door burst open from the back and four men stumbled in carrying Helios like so much dead weight, the man's hair as wild as Medusa’s with filth and straw peppering his face. His head swung back and forth like the clapper of a bell. His bloodshot eyes were open, though just barely; they rolled around in their sockets as stupidly as his head rolled on his shoulders. He still clutched an empty jar of wine in one hand.
      "Move it, move it…," men were saying all around him and the besotted Helios proceeded to repeat their words at the top of his lungs.
      "Mooob it!!" he wailed to no one in particular before leaning his head back and laughing insanely. Argon rolled his eyes and cursed the air. Damn you, Helios. Not now! Instead he helped the men get the hopelessly intoxicated man outside.
      Argon glared at the useless Helios.
      "Get him up to the mines," he said to the men dragging him before shouting over their heads to everyone.
      "Up to the mines! Quickly now!"
      "Qwiglegey now..QWIGLEY!!" Helios bawled and the four soldiers threw their gear over their shoulders and hustled him away.

      As the building emptied around him Argon ran into the back rooms and scrambled up a ladder that led to the roof. One lookout remained there, lying as flat on the roof as he could make himself and peering nervously over the edge. It was Sestus.
      "We have everyone, Sestus. You are the last," Argon told him.
      "Yes, sir," answered Sestus, slipping into Barkane’s military vernacular for the first time though neither man noticed. The color drained from his face. He nodded his head toward the front gates where Argon could see scores of horsemen moving quickly their way. They were methodically marching through the sprawling market area below at double-time and Argon noticed not a single one of them paused to loot or vandalize the numerous stalls of goods there. He could hear their commanding officers barking orders.
      Outside the fort walls there was more shouting. Argon could see hundreds of men and horse crowding their way through the gate. He felt his stomach crawl and instinctively clutched at it. Bousardis’s army was practically on top of them! No wonder Sestus’s face was as pale as the moon. Bousardis himself could be seen shouting orders. Two feathered plumes rose from his Macedonian war-helmet. His two top lieutenants flanked him like the attack

dogs they were.
      Sestus waited at the top of the ladder.
      "Has the Carthaginian trapped us, sir?" he asked.
      To Argon it appeared that indeed he had but he said only, "That son-of-a-bitch has something in mind, be sure of it," and Argon hoped it was true. "Let us to the mine and quickly!"
      Argon took one last look at the Silvers below combing through the marketplace before he and Sestus slid down the ladder three rungs at a time and ran through the house tripping over the detritus of thirty men gone in a hurry.
      They raced up the switchbacks to the mining compound above and Argon couldn't help but think that with the relentless Bousardis closing in and the mountain preventing any escape that all of a sudden the unimaginable had arrived – that they were going to die today. Could our lives really end in just a few minutes? Never to see the sun again? Nor to marry? Argon swallowed what felt like childhood panic before an anger he had not known before suddenly seized him. Was it panic? Was it madness? He could not know. Blood surged through his veins like water through a swollen river.
      He and Sestus made the last switchback and sped through the inner wall archway just as the other Greeks

rolled a heavy wooden palisade shut behind them, a contraption identical to the one at the gate of the fort down below. They caught their breath but only for a moment before pitching in with the rest of the Greeks as they piled up whatever they could behind the palisade; loose stone, broken barrels, wheels, carts, and any piece of miscellaneous timber they could get their hands on. The makeshift wall of rubble would hold the gate, but to what end, thought Argon? The wall is barely a man and a half tall; Bousardis's men will scale over the top of it in no time at all!
      Helyar appeared and ordered all men to the mine and no one argued. They took to their heels at once and Argon turned to follow and immediately lost his footing and fell. He had stumbled over a rope suspended just inches above the ground. The rope stretched across the length of the courtyard and then there was another and again another, this one at face level. There were ropes strung all across the square. He rolled beneath some and hopped over others only to fall painfully to the ground then get to his feet again and keep going.
      Barkane and his Carthaginians had been busy. Their hastily contrived rope obstacles were as crude as they came and all Barkane could come up with on such short notice but

they would slow the enemy down. What’s more, Bousardis's men couldn’t advance through the rope-tangle and wield weapons at the same time. As every Greek arrived from below Barkane had put them to work immediately all over the square and the men worked fast powered by fear and purpose. Argon stumbled at last to the long overhang where Barkane stood in the middle of it all, barking orders and urging everyone to hurry.
      "Double-time!" he kept shouting as if anyone really needed reminding. Argon saw that generations of wear had taken their toll on the old overhang and aging boardwalk. Holes in the dilapidated roof were so numerous moonlight dappled in everywhere and the floorboards along the entire expanse heaved every which way. The sagging roof was supported only by a series of ancient and fragile posts, each one as warped and cracked as an old man’s face.
      Stefanos had collared his four favorite archers. He had them stack barrels the length of the boardwalk leaving only enough space between each stack from which they could work their bows.
      Helyar walked down the overhang with an axe chopping mercilessly at the old posts that barely supported the overhang in the first place. He was followed by a man dragging a long length of chain and wrapping each post with

it. Argon grabbed the man by the arm.
      "What is this?"
      "Another scheme of the Carthaginian’s," was all the man said. Argon watched him secure the thick chain to a post, then run to the next post, secure the chain to that one, too, and so on all along the boardwalk until the chain connected each post to every other. The man reached the end of the boardwalk where Helyar secured the end of the chain to the heavy yoke of two oxen, though the oxen themselves lazily munched from a bale of summer grass, oblivious to the bedlam around them. That would soon change.
      Argon reached Barkane at last and if he expected a greeting he didn’t get one. The Commander had his hand on the hilt of his sword. He looked over Argon's shoulder at the men dragging the limp body of Helios into the mine.
      "Where is Captain Sajan?" said Barkane.
      Argon swallowed hard. Helios had been minding the man. Barkane realized at once that he had lost Sajan and he spat at the ground in disgust. There was no time! He glared at Argon.
      "Stefanos and his archers will stay out here until the very last moment. Get everyone else into the mountain chamber at once. Markatt is in there with a battering ram and he can't lift the thing by himself."

      Argon’s mind spun. Battering ram? Inside?
      Barkane seized Argon by his shoulder. "This is a fight, now get your wits about you. Go!" shouted Barkane and Argon found himself shouting, "Yes, sir!" in return and he dashed down the boardwalk gathering Greeks as he ran. "Into the mine! Quickly, everyone! Inside, now, move!" The bark of his commanding officer was sharper than a fist to his face and ignited him to purpose. He felt his nerve stiffen and the fight within him grow and in that moment the dawn of battle-understanding came to him; the Commander knew what he knew and directed the fight. Each soldier to his task!
      A solitary cry came from the defensive wall across the square. Barkane had left only a single Greek soldier there to keep an eye on Bousardis’s advance and now the man shouted.
      "Commander!"
      While Argon ushered the rest of the Greeks through the warehouse and into the mountain chamber, Barkane stepped off the boardwalk where Stefanos had his four archers stationed, each standing behind an opening between barrels, their quivers bulging beside them.
      "Get your men to their knees, Stefanos," Barkane ordered.

      "But sir, we have more power on our feet."
      "I want accuracy, not power. By the gods, the square is a mere fifty paces! To your knees, damn the lot of you!"
      Every archer complied at once as Barkane dashed across the square shouting over his shoulder as he went, "And get those arrows out of their quivers!"
      Ducking and jumping through his own rope obstacles, Barkane cleared the distance across the courtyard in only moments and clambered up the slapped-together defensive bulwark of junk and throw-a-ways. All the stuff had to do was slow them down. So be it, thought Barkane. He scrambled to the top of the wall where the lone sentry gaped in terror at the three hundred cavalry charging up the hill. Barkane immediately spotted Bousardis in front. Like the horns of a beast, feathers rose from his helmet over each ear in the Macedonian fashion - like Alexander himself.
      Barkane expected as much and what he saw next stung him to the quick. Riding next to Bousardis among his officers was Captain Sajan and the grin on the captain’s face was as broad as a desert horizon. Barkane swore out loud. He ordered the sentry to the mine and the man needed no urging. He sprinted across the booby-trapped square so fast his feet barely touched the ground.
      Alone now on the feeble wall Barkane studied the

advancing cavalry one moment more. As intimidating as they were and though his nerves were at their tightest he managed to smile that crooked smile of his. Your horses will do you no good up here, Bousardis.
      With that he leapt from the wall and ran back across the square shouting, "Ready, arrows!" as he ran. He knew the palisade and a volley or two of arrows would hardly hold them for long. No one thing would hold them for long; but with a number of things they had a chance. All that was left was for his hunch to be right and for his men deep in the mountain chamber to be successful. In his desperation he called upon the strongest gods he could think of, be they Persian, Carthage, or Greek. By Melquart and Ahura Mazda and Herakles, let me be right.
      Argon followed Helyar down to the chamber and both had been surprised to see two Persian women there. The women were dressed in royal robes and had bags slung over their shoulders. They carried burning torches in their hands. There was little time to think. Helyar and Argon both dove into helping Markatt with the battering ram. The Carthaginians had dragged a thick length of timber down here that weighed as much as a horse and was as long as one, too. Markatt barked orders. The timber was already fitted with ropes all along its length. The ropes where

fastened to two stout poles that ran alongside the length of the timber on either side; when the men hoisted the poles and the timber with it, "One, two…heave!", the huge timber swung between the poles as if in a sling.
      Markatt turned to the women. "You should stand back, ladies," he said but Methena stared back at him with one fist defiantly on her hip and the other wrapped around her torch. Markatt looked in surprise at the pretty girl with the dark complexion and exotic face. And big eyes. She didn't step back and Sarisse told Markatt why.
      "Pardon me, Carthaginian," she said, and Markatt raised an eyebrow at the reference. "She speaks but little Greek and I think she is more worried about the army outside than your splinter of wood."
      Markatt nodded politely at Sarisse but he was taken aback by the nerve of the dark wispy girl. He watched a mischievous smile sneak across her face. For just an instant her eyes locked on his and, despite the circumstances, the big man found himself blushing. He bit his tongue and turned back to the task at hand.
      "To the wall!" yelled Markatt. With the exception of Stefanos, his four archers, and Barkane, everyone else had made the chamber. Everyone, that is, except Sajan. Helios lay snoring in a heap against the wall. Weighed down by the

big timber, twenty men shuffled forward as one until they were positioned directly in front of the wall at a spot Barkane had marked with the ash of a torch.
      "Get it swinging," announced Markatt.
      Every man put their weight into the log and pushed it forward. They groaned in unison at the weight but the log swung forward, then back, and then forward again. On the third swing it had the right distance and it struck the wall with a boom that shot around the chamber so shockingly loud that Sarisse and Methena clapped their hands to their ears.
      "Again," shouted Markatt and another loud boom rocked the mountain.
      Outside, Barkane stood beneath the overhang. Stefanos and his men flanked him, crouched at the ready, each with a half a dozen arrows out of their quivers and leaning against the barrels close at hand.
      "Well done, Stefanos," Barkane said. "They will try to come through the gate first. Hit the first of them who poke their heads through."
      They could hear the snorting and whinnying of hundreds of horses milling about on the other side of the wall. The gate doors trembled then shook and the debris and lumber the Greeks had piled up began falling away as Bousardis's

men shoved their way into the main gate.
      Barkane and Stefanos could not hear the pounding coming from deep inside the mine but down there the men were sweating and the swearing had begun in earnest for despite all their exertion they had made only the slightest crack in the stone wall before them. Then the men were surprised to see the two women step forward and put their shoulders behind the big timber as well.
      "Again!" shouted Markatt. And again the timber surged forward and struck the wall with a boom but this time there was the hint of a crunch with the impact that gave everyone in the chamber renewed energy.
      "Again!"
      The lumber surged forward.
      Boom.
      And another crunch!
      "Yes!" they all cried and they leaned into it all the more. Markatt's weighty calves strained against the stone at his feet. The women gritted their teeth and pushed. Argon squared his legs and shoved for all he was worth. His face scrunched painfully into the timber and as he pushed he caught a fleeting glimpse of what he had not noticed before; lamps, dozens of them. They burned next to clay flagons of oil and Argon saw for the first time that the

cavern was crowded with the same wooden detritus of broken mining equipment Barkane had used to block the gate up above. Desiccated material of every variety was piled in the chamber as high as a man. Piled like kindling. And the women – they must have been lighting the lamps. What in the gods had Barkane in mind this time?
      Boom. Crunch.
      Every Greek on the battering ram felt the powder and stone burst from the wall in a cloud of dust! Large sections of plaster fell away revealing a rusting iron door so ancient it might have been built by the Titans themselves. The door hung tentatively on hinges as big as shields and Markatt cursed the hulking thing for it had yet to yield but Barkane had been right. The concealed door had once been the entrance to a working shaft as the ruts in the floor had revealed.
      "Again," Markatt ordered.
      Outside in the square, that gate had given way as well and Stefanos watched as arms and legs began picking and kicking at all the pieces of everything wedged against the gate.
      Barkane casually waved a fly from his face. "Hold your fire," he said. Barkane pulled his composite from his shoulder, strung it, and had a fistful of arrows out of his

fat red quiver and at the ready in no time at all.
      More arms pushed through and then a whole section of the barrier came tumbling down in a crash and suddenly a dozen men were charging through, tripping over the debris. On foot. Barkane smiled for the archway was so jammed it allowed no room for horses.
      Barkane pulled string to cheek.
      "Fire," he said.
      Six arrows left their bows with a twang and the missiles whistled across the square. The fletchers had done their jobs well for the cock feathers on each arrow spun their shafts perfectly and the arrows sang through the air straight and true. Most of them found flesh and the gate-crashers cried out.
      "Again," ordered Barkane.
      More arrows flew and more attackers screamed in pain.
      "Again."
      Another round of crisp twangs from the taut bows of Stefanos's men, more whistling missiles, more cries, and Stefanos watched this volley put the attackers back on their heels. Half of them darted back out the shattered entrance while the others rolled behind the nearest cover and then the square was quiet again.
      Barkane looked to his left and to his right.

Stefanos's men each had another arrow fitted to string. For accuracy, each had his arrow-finger elbow held behind his ear as straight as the horizon. Their fingers itched on their bowstrings and every man stared at the gate, waiting for Barkane's next command. Terrified they may have been, but the grip of battle had taken them and Barkane felt a twinge of pride in them as if they were his own.
      "Ignore the gate," Barkane said. "Look to the walls." And every man raised his aim for the wall.
      "Stefanos."
      "Yes, sir?"
      "Get to my extreme left, just beyond your last man."
      "Yes, sir," and Stefanos scurried over to that position.
      Barkane knew that the darkness of night would make it hard for Bousardis's men to even see them in the shadows beneath the overhang. He turned to Stefanos again for beyond Stefanos was the team of oxen waiting at the far end of the covered boardwalk. Attached to their yoke was the thick chain that linked to every post.
      "On my order your target is the ass of that ox, Stefanos. Think you can hit it? It is the size of a farmhouse."
      "Yes, sir," said Stefanos and he and all of his men

grinned despite the danger weighing on them and at that moment dozens of Bousardis's men appeared on the wall all at once. Even though Bousardis wasn't sure what he was getting into he let his temper get to him and he had his men all cry out their battle cries at once and the noise from over the wall sent a deafening roar across the square. For the Greeks, the blood-chilling noise drowned out the world and they would have frozen in place had Barkane given them any time to think about it.
      He didn't.
      "Fire!" he yelled and the Greeks let their missiles fly.
      "Again!"
      More arrows from the Greeks but as Bousardis's men were now prepared, only a few arrows would find a mark and those that did would do little damage other than to keep the men on the walls off balance, an outcome Barkane fully expected. Bousardis had hundreds of men, and figuring he had Barkane trapped, he sent them all. Shouting more Macedonian battle cries the Silvers poured through the gate and over the wall all at once and the suddenness of all their numbers in the square surprised even Barkane. There were so many men that neither Barkane nor the Greeks could see anything but onrushing soldiers.

      "Fire!" yelled Barkane and one last volley of arrows blazed from beneath the overhang and those arrows and the rope obstacles slowed the attackers just enough.
      "To the cave!" shouted Barkane and the archers sprinted for the corridor to the stairs.
      Barkane looked at Stefanos.
      "Now."
      Even as the arrow's cock feathers brushed the bowstring as the missile left its bow Barkane seized Stefanos by his tunic and the two of them darted from the boardwalk and after the others. Behind them Stefanos's final arrow soared true through the dusty night to zip home to its target and the business end of the Persian shaft sunk into the rear end of the ox and the animal jerked in pain. The beast dug its hooves into the dirt and both oxen bolted away howling!
      Bousardis's men, charging toward the overhang caught only a glimpse of a handful of men disappearing into the shadows of the mine-works. Though their swords were in their hands, Bousardis's attackers were preoccupied with stumbling through the rope maze. If they managed not to stumble themselves they tripped over someone else who did. Frustrated and confused, the first of them emerged through the ropes only to hear the cry of an ox and out of the

corner of their eyes they saw the team of oxen surge forward, their yoke yanking an unseen chain tight. The chain tightened and seized each weakened post like a metal snake constricting on its meal and the posts were so hacked by Helyar's axe that they couldn't hold up. Thirty posts gave way at once. The whole overhang collapsed in an explosion of rotten wood and chain and dust, stopping the attackers in their tracks.
      When Bousardis himself came through the gate his first reaction was dismay – all across the square his men were stumbling and cursing inexplicably over what at first glance appeared to be a flat surface of unimpeded ground. As he pondered this, at that very moment the entire wall of the sprawling warehouse on the other side of the square collapsed in front of him in a great crash and an impenetrable wall of dust rose in front of him. It billowed out over the square in his face. His entire attack force stalled and stopped. Their view obliterated, his men backed up, spitting and coughing from the enveloping cloud of dust.
      Bousardis was furious. The upstarts had been but moments from capture!
      "Forward," he shouted. "Forward!"
      Covering their faces with their cloaks, the Silvers

waded into the dust cloud, waving their arms in front of them and choking as they stepped tentatively forward.
      Down in the chamber, Markatt and the others were near the end of their strength.
      "Again!" ordered Markatt and the lumber swung forward, the ram slammed into the wall yet again with a boom and a crunch as Barkane and Stefanos finally burst into the chamber breathing as hard as the men working the ram.
      They had secured the two tunnel doors behind them but it wouldn't be long before Bousardis was through. Barkane took one look at the still-standing door and glared at Markatt who spat in frustration.
      "It is as stubborn as a mule, sir," he protested.
      Barkane sighed. "Well, don't quit now," he said. Stefanos's men threw themselves on the ram while Stefanos ran back to cover the entrance door. Another boom echoed through the chamber.
      Stefanos had his hands cupped on either side of his mouth in a vain attempt to project his voice over the noise of the men shouting and the ram. But Barkane could read his lips well enough.
      Here they come.
      Barkane grabbed two soldiers and shouted instructions in their ears and the men immediately began dousing the

piles of wood all around with the foul smelling contents of the flagons. The stench of the stuff hit Sarisse and she and Methena pinched their noses. There was more than oil in those containers. That smell was sulfur and pitch. Common to miners, the mixture was known as 'Hades' Fire' and it was as volatile as any substance known.
      Barkane ran to the ram and threw himself into it like the others.
      Boom…
      Crack!
      One of the ancient hinges broke free and clattered to the ground and a cheer erupted from the throats of the Greeks and they swung the ram forward again. This time it plunged through the stubborn door with a crash and all the men stumbled forward with the ram and scattered as the heavy timber fell into the doorway in a heap of stone and splinters. The ancient doors buckled at last and fell backward into the blackness beyond them with a crash more deafening than any sound yet and the sound reverberated throughout the cavern.
      Everyone was on the ground in exhaustion, their shoulders bleeding and chafed from the lumber but each felt as light as a bird, the weight relieved from their shoulders at last. The only sound was the sound of

breathing and distant shouts coming from the corridor above. As the dust settled, they all stared into the darkness and what lay beyond the fallen doors.
      A tunnel. As black as an overcast and moonless night.
      "In we go," ordered Barkane and every man secured his weapons. Several snatched torches and they led the way, feeling their way over the fallen door into the darkness. Two men put Helios's arms over their shoulders and dragged him out like a bag of wet grain.
      "Move it." Barkane and the Carthaginians urged everyone forward.
      "After you, your highness." Barkane helped Sarisse over the fallen door and Sarisse offered her hand to Methena because the girl was suddenly limping. But Methena ignored her and held out her hand to Markatt and he took her small hand in his meaty grip and helped her through. Only Sarisse noticed Methena bat her eyes at the big Carthaginian with the lazy eye and she smiled to herself. It takes a certain kind of woman to think of such things in circumstances such as these. She turned to Barkane.
      "Do you know what lies back here?" she asked him.
      "Not exactly. Do you?"
      Sarisse laughed out loud.
      "Aren't you the bold one! All this trouble and you

don't know where you're going?"
      Barkane managed a thin smile and held up a torch. The smoke of it blew in their faces and back up the corridor toward the outside. It was the heavy draft pouring from deep within the mine that had tipped off Barkane. Now she saw it too. The powerful draft told them there was another opening somewhere deep down the tunnel!
      Only Argon and Stefanos and his four-man squad remained in the big cavern behind them. They could hear voices coming down the corridor. Barkane hovered in the rubble of the tunnel entrance and Stefanos opened the entrance door and waited for the order.
      Barkane nodded. "Fire the room," he said.
      Stefanos's men put their torches to the pitch and fires flared throughout the room. Barkane ordered them into the tunnel. They clambered over the fallen door and followed the others into the dark.
      Only one man remained, waiting for Barkane.
      Argon.
      "Go," Barkane said, the light from the growing flames dancing shadows across their faces.
      "I prefer to wait, sir. Wait for you." "As you wish," said Barkane but it was only seconds more before the pitch accelerated the fire and now that the

huge doors had been compromised the air flow was so intense it felt like a wind at their back. The air fanned the flames and the wood piles roared with flames that heated the room to an unbearable degree, sending an impossible amount of smoke and fumes billowing up the stairwell and into their pursuers' faces. The fire made the way behind them impenetrable, even for one as determined as Bousardis. Barkane and Argon had to back away from the heat.
      "That should hold them for some time, Argon."
      "Then what, sir?"
      It wouldn't last forever but the smoke and heat would keep anyone from entering for hours. Barkane rubbed his chin.
      "One crisis at a time, soldier," he said, and he pushed Argon forward and the two of them followed the rest into the abandoned mine.
      Up the long stairwell, Bousardis urged his men on and they crowded down the narrow corridor in total darkness; Barkane had had all extra torches thrown into a water barrel. In desperation, Bousardis's men could only manage to fire up some thin brands. These led them down the rough stone steps only to encounter smoke pouring out of the big chamber below. Soon the smoke was blowing up the staircase in their faces so thick they could neither see nor breathe.

The growing heat blasting up the corridor burned their faces and started a panic. Bousardis felt the heat and watched his men choking and gasping and stumbling into one another yet again. Cursing, he ordered withdrawal.
      Moments later Bousardis stood once again in the booby-trapped square under the bright summer moon. His eyes took in the series of tattered trip wires strewn across the yard. The broken crates and clay jars littered everywhere across their path; all designed as simple impediments to his advance. Two frustrated oxen tried to free themselves from a heavy chain secured to their yoke, the chain that had collapsed the decrepit overhang. Suffocating smoke billowed from the mountain and out the warehouse and showed no sign of abating.
      Zeno and Cleon arrived dragging Knossos and a local townsman with them. Bousardis demanded answers but the townsman could only tell him that the deep section of the mine had been shut down for years, that the caverns down there were long abandoned. Knossos insisted that all of Barkane's men must have perished in the flames below. There was nowhere else to go.
      "Suicide, sir," Cleon suggested.
      Bousardis scoffed. Barkane was many things, but suicidal wasn't one of them. The man might be a patriot,

but he was more soldier than fanatic. And all the man's tactics here today were meant only to delay Bousardis's men, not kill them. Indeed, neither side had lost a man and no one suffered more than a few minor missile wounds. This wasn't a fight. It was an escape, pure and simple. And when Knossos told Bousardis of the hostage, the general feigned nonchalance, but his stomach sank. So neither was this an accident. Barkane had not happened upon this miserable outpost by chance.
      He came. He got what he wanted. He left.
      "Curse this filthy mountain," Bousardis said. He soon became more irritated when he learned that neither Knossos nor the townsman could tell him who the hostage was, only that she was Persian, obviously royal and that her attendant spoke neither Greek nor Punic nor any of the familiar Persian tongues but rather an unknown eastern language and the attendant herself was very dark-skinned with eyes as black as the sea at midnight.
      Bousardis sighed and looked up at the high hills that ringed him in all around; the protective cloak of cliffs that made this fort so ideal.
      "What is on the other side of this mountain?" he asked. The answer from the townsman was, "Nothing." It was a wilderness.

      Bousardis asked Knossos if he had reconnoitered the surrounding areas and Knossos could only meekly reply that his men had only explored the river valley below, that it was a day's ride to the nearest pass and that, at any rate, his orders were only to secure the fort and the hostage.
      "Well," said Bousardis, "we haven't covered ourselves in glory on those accounts, have we?"
      Bousardis assigned a small contingent of men to watch the 'hole' as he now called the smoke-fulminating stairs. When the smoke thinned they were to enter as soon as possible. They had had a grinding ride to Tahtani to get here as soon as they did and his men were at their end. There were a few hours still before dawn so Bousardis gave the orders to rest in the village below.
      "Tend to our horse and be ready to march at sunup," he ordered. Cleon and Zeno ran off barking orders.
      Based on Knossos's count of the upstarts, Bousardis knew he still held an overwhelming numerical advantage over Barkane. A few of his Silvers were lost to the wilderness during the futile horse chase a few nights ago and now he felt compelled to leave a few more here to supervise Knossos and his incompetents. Barkane was chipping away at his advantage though Bousardis dismissed the losses as typical mission attrition.

      Bousardis glared in silence at the black smoke belching forth from the hole. I'll find you yet, you bastard.

      *     *     *     *

Since the multitude of laborers at Tyre were not equipped to do battle, the Macedonians built two high wooden towers on the causeway. They covered the towers in soaked hides, 'alligator skin', they called it, to ward off incendiary arrows from the raiding Tyrian ships. Soldiers manned the high towers with an assortment of missiles so that the workers could be protected and the work on the causeway continued. For now. Alexander sent envoys to Cyprus to entreaty more Persian ships to defect to his cause and was successful. A blockade was ordered and soon the Tyrian navy was cut off by sea.
      The progress of Alexander's causeway was steady now that the workers were protected by the wooden towers which the engineers simply rolled forward foot by foot as the causeway advanced into the sea. Every time a Tyrian ship approached it was bombarded by deadly fire arrows and artillery from the towers.
      Nearby Mt. Libanus was cleared of trees to provide

timber for the great effort. By midday, every day, a long train of working mules hauling carts of stone and lumber stretched out of sight. After six long months of siege, the Macedonians could see the end in sight and the prospect encouraged them to redouble their efforts. But the Macedonians would soon learn how resourceful a people under attack could be.