HALICARNASSUS
It is no part of my purpose to tell again in detail what has been so
often told before, the story of the campaigns of Alexander. The victory
of the Granīcus had far-reaching results. It is scarcely too much to
say that it gave all Lesser Asia to the conqueror. The details of the
battle had been of a singularly impressive kind. It was a veritable hero,
men said, a manifest favourite of heaven, who had come to overthrow
the kingdom of Cyrus. He was incomparably skilful in counsel; he was
irresistible in fight. And then, as a matter of fact, so totally had
the beaten army disappeared, the Great King had no force on the western
side of the Taurus[23] range that could pretend to meet the invaders
in the field. Here and there a city or a fortress might be held for
him, but the country, with all its resources, was at the mercy of the
invaders; and the fortresses, for the most part, did not hold out.
The terror of this astonishing success was upon their governors and
garrisons, and there were few of the commanders who did not hasten
to make terms for themselves. The capital of the satrapy of Phrygia,
with all its treasures, was surrendered without a struggle. But a more
surprising success, a success which astonished Alexander himself, was
the capitulation of Sardis. He had not hoped to take it without a long
blockade, for an assault was impossible except the garrison should be
utterly negligent or faithless, and yet he got it without losing a single
soldier or wasting a single day. The Persian governor, accompanied by the
notables of the city, met him as he was advancing towards the walls, and
surrendered everything to him.
What he felt himself he expressed when the next day he inspected the
capabilities of the city, notoriously the strongest place in Lesser Asia,
which had fallen so unexpectedly into his hands. The town, he said, might
have been held for a long time by a resolute garrison; but the citadel,
with its sheer descent on every side and its triple wall was absolutely
impregnable. “Well,” he went on, turning to Hephaestion, “well might
old Meles have neglected to carry his lion’s cub round such a place as
this!”[24]
A garrison of Argive soldiers was left to hold the place. Alexander,
who, like all generals of the very first ability, possessed a gift for
remembering everything, had not forgotten that Charidemus had many
friends and connections in Argos, and offered the young man the post of
second in command, but was not at all displeased when he refused it. “You
are right,” he said, “though I thought it well to give you the choice.
But a young man like you is fit for something better than garrison
duty. You wish to follow me then? to see Susa and Babylon, and Tyre and
Jerusalem, and Egypt, perhaps India.” As he said this last word a cloud
passed over his face. It brought back what to his dying day was the great
remorse and terror of his life, the fate of Thebes and the dreaded anger
of Bacchus, that city’s patron god. For was not Bacchus the conqueror of
India, and who could hope to be under his ban, and yet safely tread in
his footsteps?
“Young man,” he said, “thank the gods that they have not made you a king,
or given you the power to kill and to keep alive.”
Ephesus was won as easily as Sardis had been; Miletus refused to
surrender, but was taken by storm a few days after it had been invested.
The only place of any real importance that remained in the west of
Lesser Asia was Halicarnassus. But the capture of this town would, it
was evident, be a task of difficulty. Memnon, now Commander-in-chief
of the Persian forces in the west, had thrown himself into it. It was
strongly placed and strongly fortified, Memnon himself, who was a
skilful engineer, having personally superintended the improvement of the
defences; and it could not be attacked by sea, for the Persian fleet,
which had been prevented from helping Miletus by being shut out from
the harbour, held the port of Halicarnassus in great force. Under these
circumstances, the fall of the town would be nearly as great a blow to
the Great King, as had been the signal defeat of his army at the Granīcus.
Alexander’s first experience was encouraging. He had scarcely crossed the
borders of Caria when he was met by the Carian princess, Ada. The army
had just halted for the midday meal, and Alexander with his staff was
sitting under a tree when the approach of the visitor was announced by
one of his outriders. Shortly afterwards she arrived, and, alighting from
her litter, advanced to salute the king.
The princess was a majestic figure, worthy, at least in look, of the
noble race from which she sprang. She was nearly seventy years of age,
and her hair was white; but her face was unwrinkled, her form erect,
and her step light and vigorous. Alexander, who had not forgotten to
make himself acquainted with Carian politics, advanced to meet her, and
kissed her hand. “Welcome, my son, to my land,” she said, as she kissed
him on the cheek. She then seated herself on a chair which a page had
set for her, and told her story. Briefly, it was a complaint against her
brother and the Persian king who had dispossessed her of her throne.
“My brother took it; the Great King has supported him in his wrong. My
ancestors fought for his house at Salamis, and was faithful to it when
others failed; and this is his gratitude. It is enough; we Carians have
never been slaves, and, if he will not have us for friends, we will be
enemies.[25] One fortress the robber has not been able to filch from me.
That is yours, and all that it contains. My people love not these Persian
tyrants, and they will help you for my sake. One favour I ask. The gods
have not given me the blessing of children; will you be my son? I shall
be more than content, for the gods could scarcely have allowed me an
offspring so noble.”
Alexander kneeled before her; “Mother,” he said, “give me your blessing.
I have now another wrong to avenge on these insolent Persians. And
remember that Caria, when I shall have wrested it from the hand of these
usurpers, is yours.”
The siege of Halicarnassus was a formidable undertaking. A wall of
unusual height and strength surrounded the town, and the wall was
protected by the outer defence of a moat, more than forty feet wide and
twenty deep. Two citadels overlooked the town; and the besieged, besides
being well provided with food and ammunition, had the command of the sea.
The harbour, itself strongly fortified, was occupied by the Persian fleet.
The first efforts of the besiegers failed. An attack on the north-east of
the town was repulsed with loss; and an attempt to take the neighbouring
town of Myndos, from which Alexander hoped to operate with advantage
against Halicarnassus, was equally unsuccessful. The king then moved his
army to the west side of the town, and commenced the siege in regular
form. The soldiers, working under the protection of pent-houses, which
could be moved from place to place, filled up the ditch for a distance of
seven hundred yards, so that their engines could be brought up close to
the walls.
But these operations took time, and the army, intoxicated by its rapid
success—in the course of a few weeks it had conquered the north-western
provinces of Lesser Asia—loudly murmured at the delay which was keeping
it so long before the walls of a single town.
About a month after the commencement of the siege, Parmenio, who was in
chief command of the infantry, gave a great banquet to the officers of
the light division, at which Charidemus, in virtue of his commission, and
his Theban friend, by special invitation, were present. The occasion was
the king’s birthday, and Alexander himself honoured the entertainment
with his company for a short time in the earlier part of the evening. He
was received, of course, with enthusiastic cheers, which were renewed
again and again when he thanked the guests for their good will, and ended
by pledging them in a cup of wine. Still a certain disappointment was
felt when he withdrew without uttering a word about the prospects of the
siege. There had been a general hope that he would have held out hopes of
an immediate assault. The fact was that the battering rams had levelled
to the ground a considerable distance of the wall, including two of the
towers, and that a third tower was evidently tottering to its fall. If
many of the older soldiers would have preferred to wait till the breach
should have been made more practicable, the common opinion amongst the
younger men was that the place might be stormed at once.
When the king had left the banqueting tent, there was a general
loosening of tongues among the guests. The senior officers, sitting near
Parmenio at the upper end of the table, were sufficiently discreet in
the expression of their opinions, but the juniors were less prudent and
self-restrained.
“What ails our Achilles?” cried one of them, Meleager by name, who had
been applying himself with more than common diligence to the wine-flask.
“Is he going to play the part of Ulysses? If so, we shall have to wait
long enough before we find our way into Troy. And if a single town is to
keep us for months, how many years must we reckon before we can get to
Susa? The breach, in my judgment, is practicable enough; and unless we
are quick in trying it, the townsmen will have finished their new wall
behind it, and we shall have all our labour over again.”
A hum of applause greeted the speaker as he sat down. A noisy discussion
followed as to the point where the assault might be most advantageously
delivered. When it was concluded—and this was not till a polite message
had come down from the head of the table that a little more quiet
would be desirable—it was discovered that Meleager and his inseparable
friend Amyntas had left the tent. This was sufficiently surprising, for
they were both deep drinkers, and were commonly found among the latest
lingering guests wherever the wine was good and plentiful.
“What has come to the Inseparables?” asked one of the company. “Has the
wine been too much for them? Meleager seemed a little heated when he
spoke, but certainly not more advanced than he usually is at this hour.”
The next speaker treated the suggestion with contempt. “Meleager,” he
said, “and Amyntas, too, for that matter, could drink a cask of this
Myndian stuff without its turning their brains or tying their tongues.
It may be as good as they say for a man’s stomach, but there is not much
body in it. No; they are up to some mischief, you may depend upon it.”
“Run to the tent of Meleager,” said the officer who sat at the lower end
of the table to one of the attendants, “and say that we are waiting for
him.”
The lad went on the errand and returned in a few minutes. He brought
back the news that neither of the occupants of the tent were there; and
he added an interesting piece of information which, being an intelligent
young fellow, he had gathered on his way, that they had been seen to come
back, and to go out again with their weapons and armour.
“It was odd,” said Charidemus, who had his own idea about the matter,
“that Meleager had nothing to say about the place where the breach might
be best stormed, when we consider the speech he made.”
Some one here remarked that he had observed the two Inseparables
whispering together while the discussion was going on.
“Then,” cried Charidemus, “depend upon it, they have gone to make a try
for themselves.”
“Impossible!” said one of the guests. “What, these two! They cannot have
been such madmen!”
“If they have,” laughed another, “this Myndian vintage must be more
potent, or our friends’ brains weaker, than Pausanias thinks.”
But the incredulity with which this astonishing suggestion was at first
received soon gave way to the belief that it was not only possibly, but
even probably, true. The two friends were notorious dare-devils; and the
fact that they had taken their arms with them was, considering that they
were neither of them on duty for the night, almost conclusive.
“Run to Parmenio’s tent,” said Charidemus’ superior officer to him, “and
tell him what we suppose.”
The young man overtook the general before he had reached his quarters,
and told his story. Parmenio, as may be supposed, was greatly annoyed
at having his hand forced in this way. “The Furies seize the hot-headed
young fools! Are they in command or am I—not to speak of the king? They
have made their pudding; let them eat of it. I shall not risk any man’s
life on such hare-brained follies.”
As he was speaking, the king himself, who was making a nightly round
among the men’s quarters, came up. Parmenio told him the story, and was
not a little surprised at the way in which he took it.
“Ah,” said the king, “perhaps they are right. After all, we must be
audacious, if we are to succeed. Life is short, and the world is large;
and if we are to conquer it, we cannot afford to wait. It is madness,
as you say; but sometimes madness is an inspiration of the gods.
Perhaps, after all, they will have shown us the way. Anyhow, they must
be supported. Go,” he went on, addressing himself to Charidemus, “and
get all the volunteers you can to follow at once. And you, Parmenio, get
three companies under arms at once.”
The young officer found that the king’s commands had been anticipated.
The volunteers were ready, and, hurrying up at the double, found that
they had just come in time. Meleager and Amyntas had been at first
astonishingly successful. So absolutely unlooked-for was their attack,
that the party told off by the commander of the garrison to defend the
weak point in the defences of the city was taken completely by surprise.
Man after man was cut down almost without resistance, and the survivors,
who did not realize that their assailants were but a simple pair, began
to retire in confusion. But such a panic naturally did not last long.
The clash of swords attracted other defenders from the neighbouring
parts of the walls, and the Inseparables found themselves hard pressed.
They had indeed been parted by the rush of the enemy. Amyntas had set
his back against a broken piece of wall, and was defending himself with
desperate courage against some half-dozen assailants; Meleager had been
forced about twenty yards backwards, and at the moment of the arrival of
the Macedonian volunteers, had been brought to his knees by a blow from
the sword of a Theban refugee. A furious conflict ensued. Reinforcements
hurried up from within the walls, and for a time the besiegers were
forced back. But when the regular Macedonian infantry appeared upon
the scene, the aspect of affairs was changed, and the garrison could
no longer hold their own. Indeed, it became evident that if proper
preparations had been made, the town might have been taken there and then.
“You see that the madmen were inspired after all,” said Alexander to
Parmenio.
Meanwhile one of the two original assailants was in serious danger. The
tide of battle had left him stranded, so to speak, and alone, and a
disabling wound on the right knee prevented him from regaining the line
of his friends. His companion saw his predicament, and rushed to his
help, followed by a score of Macedonians, among whom were Charidemus and
Charondas. The rescue was successfully effected, but not without loss.
By this time the sky had become overcast, and the darkness was so thick
that it was necessary to suspend the attack. The signal for retreat was
accordingly sounded, and the besiegers hastened to retire within their
lines. At this moment a missile discharged at random from the walls
struck Charidemus on the head with a force that at once prostrated him
on the ground. Charondas, who was close by him when he fell, lifted
him on to his shoulders, and carried him as well as he could. But the
burden of a full-grown man—and the young Macedonian was unusually tall
and broad—was considerable, not to speak of the additional weight of his
armour, and Charondas, who had been slightly wounded in the course of the
struggle, fainted under the exertion. Partially recovering consciousness,
he struggled on for a few paces in the hope of getting help. Then he lost
his senses again. When he came to himself he was in the camp, but about
his friend nothing was known. The soldier who had carried the Theban off
had supposed him to be alone, and had unwittingly left his companion to
his fate.