AT THE GRANĪCUS
The army now marched slowly eastward, covering scarcely eight miles a
day. Alexander was not commonly a general who spared his troops; but he
was, for the present, almost timidly careful of them. A large Persian
force had, as he knew from his spies, been massed for several weeks
within striking distance of his point of disembarkation. Thanks to the
supineness or pride of the Persian leaders, he had been allowed to make
good his footing on Asian soil without opposition; but he would not be
suffered, he knew perfectly well, to advance without having to force his
way. He wanted to fight his first battle with every advantage on his
side; a victory would produce an immense impression in Western Asia, a
check on the other hand would be almost fatal. To bring his army into the
field perfectly fresh and unimpaired in numbers was, for the present,
his chief object. About noon on the fourth day his scouts came racing
back, with the intelligence that the Persians were posted on the right or
eastern bank of the Granīcus, a torrent-like stream which came down from
the slopes of Ida. A halt was immediately called, and a hasty council
of war held. The general opinion of the officers summoned, as expressed
by Parmenio, was to delay the attack till the following day. The king,
who was as ready to over-rule his advisers as great generals commonly
are, decided to fight at once. His men were flushed with high spirits
and confidence. Their strength had been so carefully husbanded that they
would be still perfectly fresh after a few more miles marching. The
king’s only fear was lest the enemy should decamp before he came up with
them. “I thanked the gods,” he said, in announcing his decision to the
council, “that the enemy did not offer me battle when I was landing my
army. I shall thank them not less fervently, if the enemy do offer it now
when I am better prepared to meet them than I shall ever be again.”
It was about an hour from sunset when Alexander, who was riding in
advance with a small staff, came in sight of the Persian army. It
was, indeed, but a single mile distant; and through the clear air,
unencumbered by the smoke of modern artillery, every detail of its
formation could be distinctly seen. The bank was lined with cavalry. On
the right were the Medes and Bactrians, wearing the round-topped cap,
the gaily-coloured tunic, and the scale armour which were distinguishing
parts of their national dress; the Paphlagonians and Hyrcanians,
equipped in much the same way, occupied the centre. Memnon the Rhodian,
the ablest of the counsellors of Darius, of whom we shall hear more
hereafter, shared with a Persian satrap the command of the right. He
had a few Greek troopers with him, but most of his men were Asiatics.
These were, however, the best horsemen that the vast empire of Darius
could send into the field. The descendants of the Seven Deliverers,[19]
with the flower of the Persian youth, in all the pride of a caste that
claimed to rule more than a hundred provinces, stood in all the splendour
of their gilded arms, to dispute the passage of the river. The stream,
greatly diminished indeed from its volume in early spring, when it is
swollen by the melting snows of Mount Ida, but not yet dwindled to the
slender proportions of summer,[20] was flowing with considerable volume.
The ford was many hundred yards in length, and for all this distance the
right bank opened out into level ground. The whole of this was occupied
by the cavalry. On the rising ground behind, marking the extreme limit
reached by the floods of water, or, rather, of early spring, the
infantry, both Greek and Asiatic, were posted in reserve. Mounted on
his famous steed Bucephalus, the king rode along the line, addressing
a few words of encouragement to each squadron and company as he passed
it, and finally placed himself at the head of the right division of the
army. (There were, it should be remembered, but two divisions.) For some
minutes the two armies stood watching each other in silence. Then, as the
Persian leaders recognized the presence of Alexander on the right wing of
his own force—and it was easy to distinguish him by his gilded arms, his
splendid charger, and the movement of the line as he rode along it—they
began to reinforce their own left. The fame of his personal prowess had
not failed to reach them; and they knew that the fiercest struggle would
be where he might be in immediate command. Alexander saw the movement,
and it hastened his own action. If he could catch his antagonists in
the confusion of a change he would have them at a disadvantage. The
word to advance was given, and the whole army moved forward towards the
river, the right wing being somewhat in advance. Here was the famous
_corps d’élite_, a heavy cavalry regiment that went under the name of
the “Royal Companions.” This was the first to enter the river. A number
of javelin-throwers and archers covered them on either flank; and they
were followed by some light horse, and by one of the regiments of light
infantry. This happened to be Charidemus’s own; he had begged and
obtained permission to return to his place in its ranks.
The van of the attacking force made its way in fair order through the
stream. The bottom was rough and uneven, full of large stones brought
down by winter floods, with now and then a hole of some depth, but there
was no mud or treacherous sand. The first onset on the defenders of the
further bank was not successful. A line of dismounted troopers stood
actually in the water, wherever it was shallow enough to allow it; on the
bank above them (the summer bank, as it may be called, in distinction
from that mentioned before as the limit of the winter floods) was ranged
a dense line of horsemen, two or three files deep. The combatants below
plied their swords, or thrust with their short spears; those above them
showered their javelins upon the advancing enemy, and these, not only
finding their footing insecure, but having to struggle up a somewhat
steep ascent, failed to get any permanent hold on the coveted bank. The
few who contrived to make their way up were either slain or disabled,
and the rest were thrust back upon the troops that followed them. These
were of course checked in their advance, and it was not till the king
himself at the head of the main body of his army took up the attack that
there appeared a prospect of success. Then indeed the tide of battle
began to turn. For the first of many times throughout these marvellous
campaigns the personal strength, the courage, the dexterity in arms of
Alexander, a matchless soldier as well as a matchless general, changed
the fortune of the day. He sprang forward, rallying after him his
disheartened troops, struck down adversary after adversary, and climbed
the bank with an agility as well as a daring which seemed to inspire his
companions with an irresistible courage. What a few minutes before had
seemed impossible was done; the first bank of the Granīcus was gained.
But the battle was not yet won. The Persians had been beaten back from
their first line of defence, but they still held the greater part of
the level ground in what seemed overwhelming force. And now they could
deliver charges which with the superior weight of horses and men might
be expected to overthrow a far less numerous foe. Again Alexander was in
the very front of the conflict. His pike had been broken in the struggle
for the bank. He called to one of the body-guards, a man whose special
office it was to hold his horse when he mounted or dismounted, and asked
for another. The man, without speaking, showed him his own broken weapon.
Then the king looked round on his followers, holding high the splintered
shaft. The appeal was answered in an instant. This time it was a Greek,
Demaratus of Corinth, who answered his call, and supplied him with a
fresh lance. It was not a moment too soon. A heavy column of Persian
horse was advancing against him, its leader, Mithradates, son-in-law
of Darius, riding a long way in advance of his men. Alexander spurred
his horse, charged at Mithradates with levelled pike, struck him on the
face, and hurled him dying to the ground. Meanwhile another Persian noble
had come up. He struck a fierce blow at the king with his scymetar, but
in his excitement almost missed his aim, doing no further damage than
shearing off the crest of the helmet. Alexander replied with a thrust
which broke through his breastplate, and inflicted a mortal wound. There
was a third antagonist behind, but his arm was severed by a sword-cut
from a Macedonian officer just as it was in the act of delivering a blow.
The _mêlée_ however, still continued with unabated fury. The Persian
nobles pressed forward with a reckless courage; and it was not till
almost every leader had fallen that the cavalry gave way.
In other parts of the field the resistance had been less obstinate.
The _élite_ of the Persian army had been brought together to oppose
Alexander, and the remainder did not hold their ground with the same
tenacity. When the phalanx, after meeting no opposition in making the
passage of the river, formed again on the other shore, and made its way
over the level ground, it encountered no resistance. All the defending
force either had perished or was scattered in a wild flight over the
plain.
A force, however, still remained unbroken, which, had it been properly
handled, might have been found a serious difficulty for the conquerors.
The infantry had remained, during the conflict just described, in
absolute inaction on the rising ground, watching without attempting to
share in the battle that was being fought on the plain below. They had
no responsible leader; no orders had been issued to them. The Persian
nobles had felt, in fact, so blind a confidence in the strength of their
own special arm, the cavalry, that they had treated this important part
of their resources with absolute neglect. And yet, not to speak of the
native troops, there were not less than ten thousand Greek mercenaries,
resolute, well-armed men, got together and supported at a vast expense,
who were never utilized in the struggle, but simply left to be
slaughtered. These now remained to be dealt with. The king had recalled
his cavalry from their pursuit of the flying Persians, and had launched
them against the unprotected flanks of the Greek infantry. Not content
with what he had already done in the way of personal exertion—and it was,
perhaps, his one defect that he was incontrollably eager in his passion
for “drinking the delight of battle,” he charged at the head of the
troopers, and had a horse killed under him by a thrust from a mercenary’s
lance. This horse was not the famous Bucephalus, which, as it had fallen
slightly lame in the course of the battle, he had exchanged for another
charger. While he was waiting for another horse to be brought to him,
the light infantry came up, and with it Charidemus and his Theban friend.
“Ah!” cried the king, recognizing the two comrades, with whom indeed
he had exchanged a few words several times on the march from the place
of landing, “the crowns of victory have fallen so far to the horsemen;
now it is your turn.” He had scarcely spoken when he remembered that
one at least of the two might find former friends or even kinsmen in
the hostile ranks, for many Thebans, he knew, had, after the fall of
their city, taken service with Persia. With the thoughtful kindness that
distinguished him till his temper had been spoilt by success and by
absolute power, he devised for the young man an escape from so painful
a dilemma. Hastily improvising a reason for sending him away from the
scene of action he said, “You must be content to help me just now as an
_aide-de-camp_: run to Parmenio[21] with all the speed you can command
and deliver to him this tablet. It contains some instructions which I
should like him to receive at once.” As a matter of fact the instructions
contained nothing more than this, “Keep the messenger with you till the
battle is over.”
The final struggle of the day, from which the young Theban thus
unconsciously received his dismissal, was fierce, but not protracted. The
light-armed infantry, following the charges of the cavalry, acquitted
themselves well, and Charidemus especially had the good luck to attract
the notice of Alexander by the skilful way in which he disposed of a
huge Arcadian. But the mercenaries continued to hold their own till the
phalanx came up. The native levies which supported them broke in terror
at the sight of that formidable array of steel; and even the hardy Greeks
felt an unaccustomed fear. Some indeed, having served all their time in
Asia, had never seen it in action before. With slow resistless advance
it bore down upon the doomed survivors of the infantry. The front ranks
fell before it; the rest stood for a few moments, wavered, and then broke
up in hopeless confusion. Two thousand were admitted to quarter; some
escaped by feigning death as they lay amidst the piles of their comrades’
corpses; but more than half of the ten thousand perished on the field.
After this nothing was left but to collect the spoils and to bury the
dead. This latter duty Alexander caused to be performed with special
care. The enemy received the same decent rites of sepulture as were
accorded to his own men.
Late that night, for it was already dark before the battle was over, the
two friends sat talking in the tent which they shared over the events of
the day.
“What think you of our king now?” said the young Macedonian. “Was there
ever such a warrior?”
“No,” returned the Theban. “I compared him in my mind with our own
Epaminondas. Epaminondas was as brave; but he was less possessed with the
passion for fighting. Our great general felt it his duty to do everything
that a common soldier could be asked to do; he thought it a part of a
general’s work; and, consequently, he was lost to his country when he
was most needed. The life for which ten thousand talents would have been
but a poor equivalent was expended in doing something for which one that
would have been dear at a score of drachmas would have sufficed.[22] It
has always been a puzzle to me, but doubtless so wise a man must have
known what was best. But to your king the fighting is not a duty but a
pleasure. He is greedy of it. He grudges it to others. He would like to
do all of it himself. Yes; you are right, he is an incomparable warrior.
He is a veritable Achilles. But I tell you he won my heart in quite
another way to-day. I have been thinking over his sending me on that
message, and I can see what he meant. I did in fact see more than one
face that I knew opposite to me, and though I should have done my duty,
I hope, it was a terrible dilemma. The general who can think of such a
thing on a battle-field, the king who can remember a humble man like
myself, is one to be honoured and loved. Yes, after to-day I can follow
your Alexander everywhere.”
Charidemus grasped his hand, “The gods send us good fortune and a
prosperous issue!” he exclaimed.