ARBELA
“These Persians must be either very much frightened or very bold, if they
have nothing to say to us at such a place as this.”
Such in substance was what every one in the Macedonian army was saying
or thinking as they struggled through the dangerous and difficult ford
of the Tigris. It was indeed a crossing which even a few resolute
men posted on the opposite shore would have made disastrous, if not
impossible, to the advancing army. The stream was at its lowest—the
time was about two-thirds through the month of September—but the rapid
current fully justified the name of the “Arrow,” for such is the meaning
of the word Tigris.[60] The cavalry, keeping as steady a line as they
could across the upper part of the ford, did their best to break the
force of the stream, but did not save the infantry from a vast amount
of labour and some loss. In their lances and armour, not to speak of
other accoutrements, the men had to carry an enormous weight; they trod
on a river-bed of shifting stones, and the water was nearly up to their
necks. If a man stumbled it was very difficult for him to recover his
footing, and it was only the exceptionally strong who could do anything
to help a comrade in difficulties. It was already dark when the last
lines painfully struggled up the slippery bank on the eastern side of the
river. The depression of spirits caused by fatigue and discomfort were
aggravated by the portent of an eclipse. The soldiers saw with dismay the
brilliant moon, for whose help in arranging their bivouac they had been
so thankful, swallowed up, as it seemed, by an advancing darkness, and
they drew the gloomiest omens from the sight. But Alexander was equal to
the occasion. A disciple of Aristotle, the greatest natural philosopher
of the ancient world, he knew the cause of the phenomenon, but as a
practical man, whose business it was to understand the natures with which
he had to deal, he knew also that a scientific explanation of that cause
would be useless. Aristander the soothsayer was directed to reassure the
terrified multitude with something more adapted to their wants; and he
did not fail to produce it. “The moon,” he said, “was the special patron
of Persia, as the sun is of Greece. It is to the Persian now as more than
once before that the eclipsed moon portends defeat.” This reassuring
explanation was eagerly listened to, and when, after the sacrifices of
the next day, sacrifices with which Alexander impartially honoured sun,
moon, and earth, Aristander confidently declared that the appearance
of the victims indicated certain, speedy, and complete victory, he was
readily believed. “Before the new moon shall be visible,” he boldly
predicted, “the kingdom of Persia shall have fallen.”
That the final struggle was at hand was soon put beyond a doubt. Towards
the close of the sixth day after the passage of the Tigris—two days out
of the six had been allowed for repose—some Persian troopers were espied
in the distance. The king himself at once started in pursuit, taking
the best mounted squadron of his cavalry with him. Most of the enemy
escaped, but some were taken, perhaps allowed themselves to be taken,
for Darius’s disastrous cowardice at Issus had weakened his hold on the
fidelity of his subjects. From these men Alexander learnt all that he
wanted to know. Darius had collected a host far larger even than that
which had fought at Issus. The contingents of which it was composed came
indeed chiefly from the remoter east. Western Asia had passed out of
the Great King’s power and was added to the resources of the invader;
but the eastern provinces from the Caspian to the Persian Gulf and even
to the Indus were still faithful to him. The town of Arbela[61] had
been named as the _rendezvous_ of the army, and there the magazines and
baggage had been located; but the place chosen as the battle-field, where
Darius would meet his enemy on ground selected by himself, was Gaugamela,
a village some ten miles east of Nineveh, and situated on a wide and
treeless plain, on which the Persian engineers had levelled even such
slopes as there were. At Issus they had fought in a defile where their
vastly superior numbers could not be utilized; on the vast level of the
Babylonian plains every man, horse, and chariot could be brought into
action.
Alexander saw that he must fight the enemy on their own ground, and took
his measures accordingly. Daring as he was—he knew that he had to deal
with Asiatics—he threw away no chance, and neglected no precaution. On
hearing what the prisoners had to say about the force and position of the
enemy, he called a halt, and ordered the construction of an entrenched
camp. Here the soldiers had four days’ repose. After sunset on the fourth
day he gave the signal to advance. His intention was to attack the enemy
at daybreak, but the ground over which he had to pass presented so many
difficulties that when the day dawned he was still three miles distant
from the hostile lines.
The sight of them made him hesitate and reconsider his plans. Though he
did not doubt of victory, he saw that victory was not to be won by a
haphazard attack. And indeed it was a formidable array that stretched
itself before him, as far as the eye could reach, or at least as far
as the eye could distinguish anything with clearness. On the extreme
right were the Syrians, the Medes, once the ruling people of Western
Asia and still mindful of their old renown, the Parthian cavalry, and
the sturdy mountaineers of the Caucasus; on the opposite wing were the
Bactrians, hill men for the most part, and famous for fierceness and
activity, and the native Persians, horse and foot in alternate formation.
But it was in the centre of the line, round the person of Darius, where
he stood conspicuous on his royal chariot, that the choicest troops of
the empire were congregated. Here were ranged the Persian Horse-guards,
a force levied from the noblest families of the dominant people, and
distinguished by the proud title of the “Kinsmen of the King;” and the
Foot-guards, also a _corps d’élite_, who carried golden apples at the
butt end of their pikes. Next to these stood the Carians, men of a race
which had shown itself more apt than any other Asiatic tribe to learn
Greek discipline and rival Greek valour; and next to these again, the
Greek mercenaries themselves.
In front of the line were the scythed chariots, numbering two hundred in
all, each with its sharp-pointed sides projecting far beyond the horses,
and its sword-blades and scythes stretching from the yoke and from the
naves of the wheels. Behind the line, again, was a huge mixed multitude,
drawn from every tribe that owned the Great King’s sway.
So formidable was the host, and so strong its position that Alexander
halted to take counsel with his generals how the attack might be most
advantageously delivered. A new entrenched camp was constructed, and the
rest of the day was spent in carefully reconnoitring the enemy’s forces.
Some of the most experienced officers—Parmenio among them—suggested a
night attack. Alexander rejected the proposal with scorn. Raising his
voice that he might be heard by the soldiers, who were crowding round
the tent where the council was held, he cried, “This might suit thieves
and robbers, but it does not suit me. I will not tarnish my fame by such
stratagems, for I prefer defeat with honour to a victory so won. Besides
I know that such an attack would fail. The barbarians keep a regular
watch; and they have their men under arms. It is we, not they, who would
be thrown into confusion. I am for open war.”
And this, of course, was the last word.
The next morning the Macedonian king drew out his order of battle. As
usual he put himself at the head of the right wing. This was made up of
the Companion Cavalry, under the immediate command of Philotas, son of
Parmenio, with next to them the light infantry, and three of the six
divisions of the Phalanx. The three other divisions, with a strong body
of cavalry from the allied Greek states, formed the left wing, commanded
as usual by Parmenio.
But behind the first line of the army stood another in reserve. Frequent
reinforcements had not only enabled the king to supply all losses, but
had also largely increased his numbers. The thirty thousand infantry
which had been brought into action at the Granīcus had now grown to forty
thousand, the four thousand five hundred cavalry to seven thousand. It
was thus easier to have a reserve, while the nature of the battle-field
made it more necessary, for attacks on the flanks and rear of the main
line might probably have to be repelled. This second line consisted of
the light cavalry, the Macedonian archers, contingents from some of the
half-barbarian tribes which bordered on Macedonia, some veteran Greek
mercenaries, and other miscellaneous troops. Some Thracian infantry were
detached to guard the camp and the baggage.
The Persians, with their vastly superior numbers, were of course extended
far beyond the Macedonian line. Left to make the attack, they might
have easily turned the flanks and even the rear of their opponents.
Alexander seeing this, and following the tactics which had twice proved
so successful, assumed the offensive. He put himself at the head of
the Companion Cavalry on the extreme right of his army, and led them
forward in person, still keeping more and more to the right, and thus
threatening the enemy with the very movement which he had himself reason
to dread. He thus not only avoided the iron spikes which, as a deserter
had warned him, had been set to injure the Macedonian cavalry, but almost
got beyond the ground which the Persians had caused to be levelled for
the operations of their chariots. Fearful at once of being outflanked and
of finding his chariots made useless, Darius launched some Bactrian and
Scythian cavalry against the advancing enemy. Alexander, on his part,
detached some cavalry of his own to charge the Bactrians and the action
began.
The Bactrians commenced with a success, driving in the Greek horsemen.
These fell back on their supports, and advancing again in increased force
threw the Bactrians into confusion. Squadron after squadron joined the
fray till a considerable part of the Macedonian right wing and of the
Persian left were engaged. The Persians were beginning to give way, when
Darius saw, as he thought, the time for bringing his scythed chariots
into action, and gave the word for them to charge, and for his main line
to advance behind them. The charge was made, but failed, almost entirely,
of its effect. The Macedonian archers and javelin throwers wounded many
of the horses; some agile skirmishers even contrived to seize the reins,
and pull down the drivers from their places. Other chariots got as far
as the Macedonian line, but recoiled from the pikes; and the few whose
drivers were lucky enough or bold enough to break their way through all
the hindrances were allowed to pass between the Macedonian lines, without
being able to inflict any damage. As a whole, the charge failed.
Then Alexander delivered his counter attack. He ceased his movement to
the right. Then, wheeling half round, his Companion Cavalry dashed into
the Persian line at the spot where the Bactrians, by their advance,
had broken its order. At the same time, his own main line raised the
battle cry, and moved forward. Once within the enemy’s ranks he pushed
straight for the point where, as he knew, the battle would be decided,
the chariot of the king. The first defence of that all-important position
was the Persian cavalry. Better at skirmishing than at hand-to-hand
fighting, it broke before his onslaught. Still there remained troops to
be reckoned with who might have made the fortune of the day doubtful,
the flower of the Persian foot and the veteran Greeks. For a short time
these men stood their ground; they might have stood it longer, but for
the same disastrous cause that had brought about the defeat of Issus,
the cowardice of King Darius. He had been dismayed to see his chariots
fail and his cavalry broken by the charge of the Companions, and he lost
heart altogether when the dreaded Phalanx itself with its bristling
array of pikes seemed to be forcing his infantry apart, and coming nearer
to himself. He turned his chariot and fled; the first, when he should
have been the last, to leave his post.[62]
The flight of the king was the signal for a general rout, as far, at
least, as the left wing and centre of the Persian host were concerned. It
was no longer a battle; it was a massacre. Alexander pressed furiously
on, eager to capture the fugitive Darius. But the very completeness of
his victory, it may be said, hindered him. So headlong was the flight
that the dust, which, after months of burning summer heat, lay thick upon
the plain, rose like the smoke of some vast conflagration. The darkness
was as the darkness of night. Nothing could be heard but cries of fury or
despair, the jingling of the chariot reins, and the sound of the whips
which the terrified charioteers plied with all their might.
Nor, indeed, was Alexander permitted to continue the pursuit as long as
he could have wished. Though the precipitate flight of Darius had brought
the conflict on the Persian left to a speedy end, the right had fought
with better fortune. Mazæus, who was, perhaps, the ablest of the Persian
generals, was in command, and knew how to employ his superiority of
numbers. While the sturdy Median infantry engaged Parmenio’s front line,
Mazæus put himself at the head of the Parthian horse and charged his
flank. Parmenio was so hard pressed that he sent an orderly to the king
with an urgent demand for help. Alexander was greatly vexed at receiving
it, feeling that any chance that remained of capturing the person of
Darius, a most important matter in his eyes, was now hopelessly lost. But
he knew his business as a general too well—being as cautious when the
occasion demanded as he was bold when boldness was expedient—to neglect
the demand of so experienced an officer as Parmenio. He at once called
back his troops from the pursuit, and led them to the relief of the left
wing. Parmenio had sent the same message to the left division of the
phalanx, which, though under his command, had actually taken part in the
advance made by the right division. These, too, prepared to come to his
assistance.
Before, however, the help thus demanded could be given, the need for it
had almost ceased to exist. On the one hand, the Thessalian cavalry had
proved themselves worthy of their old reputation as the best horsemen in
Greece. Held during the earlier part of the engagement in reserve, they
had made a brilliant charge on the Parthians, and more than restored
the fortune of the day. And then, on the other hand, Mazæus and his men
had felt the same infection of fear which the flight of Darius had
communicated to the rest of the army. The conspicuous figure which was
the centre of all their hopes had disappeared, and they had nothing to
fight for. Parmenio felt the vigour of the enemy’s attack languish,
though he did not know the cause, and he had had the satisfaction of
recovering and more than recovering his ground before any reinforcements
reached him.
[Illustration: THE COMPANIONS.]
Strangely enough it was in the very last hour of the battle, when nothing
could have changed the issue of the fight, that the fiercest conflict of
the whole day occurred. The cavalry, mainly Parthian, as has been said,
but with some squadrons of Indian and Persian horse among them, which
had won a partial victory over Parmenio’s division, encountered in their
retreat across the field of battle, Alexander himself and the Companions.
Their only hope of escape was to cut their way through the advancing
force. It was no time for the usual cavalry tactics. Every man was
fighting for his life, and he fought with a fury that made him a match
even for Macedonian discipline and valour. And they had among them also
some of the most expert swordsmen in the world. Anyhow, the Companions
suffered more severely than they did in any other engagement of the
war. As many as sixty were slain in the course of a few minutes; three
of the principal officers, Hephaestion being one of them, were wounded;
and Alexander himself was more than once in serious danger. It is not
easy to say what might have been the result if the chief thought of the
Persians had not been to cut their way through and save themselves. Those
who succeeded in doing this did not think of turning to renew the fight,
but galloped off as hard as they could.
Yet another success was achieved by the Persians in the extreme rear of
the Macedonian army. The wheeling movement of the left companies of the
phalanx to help Parmenio had left a gap in the line. A brigade of Indian
and Persian horse plunged through this gap, and attacked the camp. The
Thracians who had been left to guard it were probably not very reliable
troops, and they were hampered by the number of prisoners over whom they
had to keep watch. Many of these prisoners contrived to free themselves.
The chief object of the attack was to liberate the mother of Darius
(the king’s wife had died a few weeks before, worn out with grief and
fatigue). This object might have been attained but for the unwillingness
of the lady herself. Whether she was afraid to trust herself to her
deliverers, or despaired of making her escape, or was unwilling to
leave Alexander, it is certain that she refused to go. Meanwhile, some
troops from the second line had come to the rescue of the camp, and the
assailants had to save themselves as best they could.
Alexander, his fierce struggle with the retreating cavalry over, was
free to renew his pursuit of Darius. The Persian king had reached the
Lycus,[63] a river about ten miles from the battle-field. His attendants
strongly urged him to have the bridge which spanned the stream broken
down, and so delay the conqueror’s pursuit. But, though his courage
had failed him at the near sight of the Macedonian spears, he was not
altogether base. He thought of the multitudes whom the breaking of the
bridge would doom to certain death, and determined to leave it standing.
It was dark before Alexander reached the river, and the cavalry was by
that time so wearied that a few hours’ rest was a necessity. Accordingly
he called a halt, and it was not till midnight that he resumed the
pursuit. Even then many had to be left behind, their horses being wholly
unfit for service. With the rest the king pushed on to Arbela, where
he thought it possible that he might capture Darius. In this he was
disappointed. Darius had halted in the town only so long as to change his
chariot for a horse. The chariot with the royal robe and bow fell into
Alexander’s hands, but Darius himself, safe, at least for the present,
was on his way to the Median Highlands.