Babylon E-Book

Robert Fabbri

• Herausgeber: Corvus
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

'This may be the greatest tale of the ancient world. Hugely enjoyable' CONN IGGULDEN 'Excellent . . . scintillating' THE TIMES Who will conquer the greatest city in the ancient world? Alexander the Great's sudden death has left his vast empire in chaos. War rages, cities fall and the lives of thousands are torn apart as his former generals struggle for a share. Alliances and betrayals are rife, and as one man threatens to gain an advantage, the others will not hesitate to plot his downfall. The one-eyed brute Antigonos is the most formidable power in the Western world and now has his eye on the jewel of the east: Babylon. As he schemes to seize it before returning to the West, his enemies join forces to stop him, mobilising fleets from Greece to Gaza. But only one warrior can claim the city. Babylon is the fourth book in a huge, brutal and bloodthirsty series about the fight to regain Alexander the Great's empire after his untimely death. Let the battles begin... Praise for Robert Fabbri: 'A powerful retelling of one of the most dramatic events in ancient history' BBC HISTORY 'Brutal and bloodthirsty' Sunday Post 'Stuffed with political deviousness and vivid depictions of war . . . shockingly good' Sunday Sport 'Powerfully chilling'Express Readers are raving about Robert Fabbri: 'A delight, full of plot twists and bloodthirsty battle sequences' Goodreads review 'Vivid descriptions and the battles are brutally and compellingly described' Goodreads review 'Action-packed and sumptuous - not for the faint-hearted!' Goodreads review 'Perfect for fans of Simon Scarrow's "Eagles" series!' Goodreads review

Leseprobe

Robert Fabbri read Drama and Theatre at London University and worked in film and TV for twenty-five years. He has a lifelong passion for ancient history, which inspired him to write the bestselling Vespasian series and the Alexander’s Legacy series. He lives in London and Berlin.

Also by Robert Fabbri

ALEXANDER’S LEGACY

TO THE STRONGEST

THE THREE PARADISES

AN EMPTY THRONE

ARCHIAS THE EXILE-HUNTER

THE ISSOS INCIDENT

THE SIEGE OF TYROS

THE VESPASIAN SERIES

TRIBUNE OF ROME

ROME’S EXECUTIONER

FALSE GOD OF ROME

ROME’S FALLEN EAGLE

MASTERS OF ROME

ROME’S LOST SON

THE FURIES OF ROME

ROME’S SACRED FLAME

EMPEROR OF ROME

MAGNUS AND THE CROSSROADS BROTHERHOOD

THE CROSSROADS BROTHERHOOD

THE RACING FACTIONS

THE DREAMS OF MORPHEUS

THE ALEXANDRIAN EMBASSY

THE IMPERIAL TRIUMPH

THE SUCCESSION

Also

ARMINIUS: LIMITS OF EMPIRE

First published in Great Britain in 2022 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Robert Fabbri, 2022

Map and illustrations © Anja Müller

The moral right of Robert Fabbri to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Hardback ISBN: 978 1 83895 609 7

E-book ISBN: 978 1 83895 611 0

Corvus

An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

Ormond House

26–27 Boswell Street

London WC1N 3JZ

www.corvus-books.co.uk

To my wife, Anja, with all my love.

A list of characters can be found on page 477.

SELEUKOS.THE BULL-ELEPHANT.

‘GARROTTED?’ ‘Yes, sir, I saw the body.’ Seleukos squeezed his throat and winced as he digested the spy’s news. ‘That it should have come to this: Alexander’s generals executing each other as if they were common thieves or murderers.’ Rubbing the back of his thick neck, he shook his head; the spy made no comment. None of us deserve a slow death like that; not even a sly little Greek like Eumenes.

He walked to the window of his first-floor suite in the palace of Ataxerxes, a royal hunting lodge on the western bank of the Cheaspes River, and gazed across his siege lines towards Susa, on the far bank, set before the magnificence of the Zagros Mountains, verdant with forest and tipped by ice-laden peaks. With cool air and plentiful game, the city had always been a favourite of the old Persian Achaemenid dynasty and, as such, contained a royal treasury full of the bounty of the east. It was because of this fortune that Antigonos the One-Eyed had entrusted the siege of Susa to Seleukos six months previously, with inadequate resources. High were its walls, tall were its towers and bitter was its defence in the able hands of Xenophilus, the garrison commander and warden of the royal treasury. Curse the old cyclops for leaving me just two thousand men to take a city, knowing full well that it wasn’t enough, but what can I do? By executing Eumenes, Antigonos has just sent a loud message to anyone who thinks to stand against him. How can I retain Babylon now?

And that was the problem in which Seleukos had found himself: he had been set up to fail by the man whose ambition now drove him to possess the empire that Alexander had bequeathed to ‘the strongest’, neglecting to specify exactly who he meant.

In the aftermath of the great man’s death, his former bodyguards and senior generals had quickly disagreed upon who should command and stand regent for Alexander’s as yet unborn child. Matters had been further complicated by a faction within the army insisting that Alexander’s dim-witted half-brother, Philip, be made joint king, causing yet further rift – especially when Roxanna was delivered of a boy named after his father. Perdikkas, the senior bodyguard to whom Alexander had handed the Great Ring of Macedon as he uttered those fateful words, tried but failed to assert his leadership in the name of the kings, and was dead within two years – indeed, Seleukos had been one of the three to wield the assassin’s blade.

It had been Eumenes, Alexander’s former secretary, a Greek among Macedonians, ever loyal to the Argead royal house, for the favour he had been shown by Alexander and his father, Philip, before him, who had fought to keep the empire entire for their line. The sly little Greek had battled with Antipatros, the eighty-year-old regent of Macedon, as he had attempted to take power on Perdikkas’ death. However, during this struggle, Krateros, the darling of the army and Macedon’s greatest living general, had been killed; Eumenes had been held responsible, outlawed and condemned to death by the army assembly.

At a conference at The Three Paradises, a royal hunting park in the hills above Berytus in Phoenicia, Antipatros had made a settlement, distributing military commands and satrapies – including making Seleukos the satrap of Babylonia. However, the agreement could be but temporary, for it failed to address just where power lay: was the empire subject to Macedon or was the home-country an equal part of that empire? And, besides, the satrap of Egypt, Ptolemy – reputed to be the bastard half-brother of Alexander – had refused to attend thus signalling that he considered himself independent; the empire had already started to disintegrate.

Antipatros too had died, grieving for his young son, Iollas, killed in a skirmish with Eumenes, leaving Antigonos untrammelled to make his claim for empire; a claim that Seleukos had supported – albeit reluctantly – for he could not bring himself to join with Eumenes and take orders from a Greek. But Eumenes had resisted Antigonos to the last in the name of both the kings and then solely for the young son once Alexander’s mother, Olympias, had murdered the fool.

And now Eumenes was dead, defeated in battle and then executed by Antigonos, the satrap of Phrygia whom Alexander had left behind to complete the conquest of Anatolia as he marched on, south and then east, to steal an empire. But the man who had been almost forgotten by all as Alexander had led his army in glory to Egypt, Persis, Media, Bactria and even to India only to die in Babylon after ten years of conquest, had emerged from obscurity to become the main power now within the convulsing empire. Having, with his men, ships and gold, helped Kassandros, Antipatros’ eldest son, to install himself as ruler of Macedon, he had chased Eumenes east and there, at the battles of Paraetacene and Gabene, the issue had been decided. Although Seleukos was technically on the winning side he was uneasy: for he had Babylon and he wished to keep it but he suspected that Antigonos would take it from him and would use his failure at Susa as an excuse to do so. Having no army of his own he would be unable to prevent it.

He turned back to his spy, who, although not small, was a head shorter than Seleukos. ‘Where is Antigonos now?’

‘His army’s at Aspadana in Paraetacene. He went back to Media to have the treasury at Ecbatana emptied—’

‘Has he left Peithon as the satrap of Media?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it was wise to take the money from the treasury to prevent Peithon having another go at rebelling.’

‘Yes. Now he’s secured the treasury, Antigonos will soon be heading south from Aspadana with an army of sixty thousand – he signed on most of Eumenes’ men. He should be in Persepolis in under a moon.’ The man, in his mid-thirties and unshaven and unkempt from a month on the road, took a deep breath. ‘Antigonos also executed Eudamos, burned his body in a fire-pit and then threw Antigenes in alive.’

Seleukos gaped in alarm at the spy. ‘Alive?’

‘Yes, sir, I witnessed it; he did not die well.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t. What did he do with Teutamus, the joint commander of the Silver Shields?’

‘It was him who organised the exchange, Eumenes for the Silver Shields’ baggage that had been captured during the battle.’

‘And so Teutamus bought his life with that of his comrade, did he?’

‘It seems so; he’s now commanding Antigonos’ phalanx along with Pythan, another of Eumenes’ officers who was a part of his betrayal.’

It was to be expected, Eumenes’ Macedonian officers going against the sly little Greek in the end. ‘How did Antigonos kill Eudamos?’

‘Beheaded him.’

‘Well, at least he gave one fellow satrap the decency of a clean death; but burning Antigenes, Alexander’s appointment as commander of the Silver Shields, alive is unforgivable.’

It’s abundantly clear that Antigonos is not of a forgiving nature; I think I made a tactical mistake accusing him of dishonourable behaviour.

And that was the crux of Seleukos’ problem: he had objected to the way that Antigonos had tried to deceive Eumenes, tricking him into a position whereby he could massacre his entire army. Eumenes had not fallen for it, but for his temerity Seleukos had been sent back to Susa to be made a laughing stock.

He handed the spy a weighty purse, dismissing him with thanks before turning to the only other person in the room, sitting in shadows at the far end on a large divan surrounded by cushions.

‘Well, Apama, what do we do?’

His wife, recently arrived from Babylon now that the roads were opening up again after the winter, tapped the cushions next to her. ‘Come and sit down, my love; this will need a lot of thought.’

It was with exhausted bodies but clear heads that Seleukos and Apama, curled around each other, bathed in sweat, began to put some thought into the problem a good time later.

‘If Antigonos is going to be in Persepolis within the month then he could be here soon after the spring equinox,’ Apama, said, stroking her husband’s barrel chest, a major part of a physique that could be a model for a statue of Heracles. ‘If I understand the military position correctly, there is no way Susa could have fallen by then.’

‘On the contrary; it will be stronger.’

She looked up into his dark and intense eyes, either side of a thin but prominent nose bisecting an angular face. ‘How so?’

The eyes narrowed as his lips creased into a wry smile. ‘Spring is here. Antigonos didn’t leave me any cavalry – I specifically asked for five hundred – and without them I can’t patrol the surrounding area to catch the foraging parties that Xenophilus sends out at night. My two thousand men cannot seal the whole perimeter. Therefore, as food becomes more abundant Susa will grow in strength. Xenophilus has at least the same numbers as I do, so storming the walls is unrealistic. And even if I were successful, he would fall back on the fortified treasury complex on the acropolis which could hold out for a year or more.’

‘Mining?’

‘The foundations are very deep. We’ve sunk a few mines under them and then filled them with fire to burn away the wooden supports, but that’s done very little to weaken the walls above, even if we shoot heavy boulders at them all day long.’

‘Subterfuge?’

‘I don’t think they’ll fall for a Trojan Horse.’ He cupped her head in his bear’s paw of a hand; pulling her closer, he nuzzled her raven hair, savouring its scent as he had done since the first time he had experienced it. The daughter of the Sogdian noble Spitamenes, a great foe of Alexander, Apama had been one of the many Asian brides that Alexander had forced his officers to marry, here at Susa, almost eight years previously, in an attempt to meld east with west. Unlike many of his peers, Seleukos had not repudiated his wife upon Alexander’s death; he would not and could not for he loved his olive-skinned beauty with a force that was beyond physical. He could never tire of her and now that she had recently given him a second son, Archaeus, a brother for the seven-year-old Antiochus and their five-year-old daughter Apama, his urge to protect his growing family had strengthened. Thus it was imperative that he should find a way through the unfolding events that would secure his position as satrap of Babylonia.

‘Bribery?’ Apama asked.

Seleukos stirred out of his reverie. ‘What? No, I’ve tried it but Xenophilus has over twenty-five thousand talents in gold, silver and jewels; he’s promised that Eumenes will give a handsome reward when he comes to claim the treasure.’

‘But Eumenes isn’t coming now.’

‘No, he isn’t. But then Xenophilus will try to make the same promises to his men for when Antigonos comes.’ Seleukos rolled over onto his back, one arm behind his head.

Apama caressed his chest once more, pulling herself closer to him. ‘Do you think Antigonos will be in the sort of mood to reward the man who, last year, refused him access to the largest treasury in the east?’

‘That is just what I was starting to wonder. I was there when Antigonos demanded that Xenophilus open the gates. When he refused, Antigonos shouted that he had just signed his own death warrant.’

‘It seems to me that Eumenes’ execution could just have put you on the same side.’

‘In that we both want to protect ourselves from Antigonos?’

‘Yes, and the best way of doing that is?’

‘By giving him something he wants, and also turning his attention in another direction.’

‘I think you should go and talk to Xenophilus.’

‘I think you might be right.’

It was not without trepidation that Seleukos entered the besieged city to parley; his armed guard of eight men was a mere token force, easily overcome should treachery be on Xenophilus’ mind. Xenophilus had, unsurprisingly, refused to come out and Seleukos had not wished to shout up at the garrison commander standing upon the walls so that all would hear the very sensitive suggestion he wished to lay before his foe – a suggestion that would, if it came to Antigonos’ ears, be rendered obsolete.

The escort that led Seleukos and his guards through the narrow streets, climbing up to the acropolis, were, he noted immediately, smartly dressed, well fed and of a clean appearance; they did not look like men who had suffered a seven-month siege. Indeed, the city itself looked as if nothing was amiss: wooden shutters on windows – one of the first casualties from lack of fuel – were still in place, the local population were not emaciated and he saw a couple of dogs flitting though a side-street; he even noticed some cats sleeping in the sun, completely unafraid of ending the day in a cooking pot. We will never starve them out as it is and Xenophilus will be perfectly aware of that; he’ll believe that he has the upper hand. I think I’ll delay the news about Eumenes for a while; I’ll let him gloat and then bring him down to reality.

And it was with this tactic in mind that Seleukos was shown into the audience chamber in Darius’ palace on the acropolis; overbearing, with high windows letting in shafts of mote-filled sunlight to reflect off the glazed tiles, of rich blues, yellows and greens, covering both walls and floor. His footsteps, and those of his escort, echoed as he made his way to the solitary man waiting in the centre of the great chamber.

‘You need have no fears for your safety, Seleukos,’ Xenophilus said, as he greeted him. ‘If you are prepared to come here under such circumstances then I can only conclude that what you have to say is worth listening to without threat of violence. Please, sit.’ He indicated to a couple of chairs set on either side of a round table laid with wine and pastries.

I have no choice but to trust him. Seleukos turned to the commander of his guard. ‘Wait outside.’ He took a seat as his men stamped out; a slave poured wine and water into the two cups on the table and then scuttled out without being ordered.

‘Good,’ Xenophilus said with a smile, ‘we’re alone now.’

‘Eavesdroppers?’ Seleukos asked.

‘We’ll talk in hushed voices, but I think I can trust my people; after all, we’re still inside the walls and you are still outside them, as none has seen fit to open the gates to you.’

‘A reasonable point.’

‘And we’re all looking very well; I’ll think you’ll agree. I had your guide take you on a slightly circuitous route so that you would get a good idea of conditions in the city.’ Xenophilus, a balding man in his late forties and running to fat after ten years, since his appointment by Alexander as the garrison commander and warden of the royal treasury, raised his cup with a self-satisfied grin. ‘Your good health, Seleukos.’

Enjoy your gloating whilst it lasts. Seleukos returned the toast; the wine was of the finest quality.

‘Yes, we have almost everything we need in here,’ Xenophilus said, evidently reading the appreciation on his guest’s face. ‘Now what is it that you wish to say that you believe would tempt me out of this very comfortable billet?’

‘It’s not for me to tempt you out; it’s for you to decide that it would be in your best interests to leave.’

‘I agree; but only if I would be saving my own life would it be in my interests to go. At the moment I can’t see any threat; especially not from you, Seleukos, without wishing to cause offence.’

Seleukos raised his cup again. ‘None taken. No, I was never meant to be a threat to you; Antigonos saw to that by taking away most of my men when he went north. I was just here to keep you inside and then to be used as a scapegoat when he came back.’

‘But what if he doesn’t come back and Eumenes does?’

‘Then that would be a remarkable feat; one that has never been accomplished by a mortal.’

Xenophilus considered the statement for a moment. ‘You’re saying that the struggle has been decided in Antigonos’ favour?’

‘Antigonos had Eumenes garrotted over a month ago.’

‘Garrotted?’

‘I know, nasty, wasn’t it?’

Xenophilus put his hand to his throat and winced. ‘Very.’

‘He also burned Antigenes alive.’

Xenophilus’ eyes widened and he swallowed hard and audibly.

Seleukos rolled his cup between his palms. ‘Yes, that’s roughly how I reacted when I heard the news.’

‘Are you sure this is true?’

‘I pay my spies very well; they have no reason to lie to me.’

‘But you have reason to lie to me.’

‘Do I? Really?’ Seleukos took a sip of wine, placed his cup on the table and then leaned back in his chair with his hands across his taut belly, fingers locked. ‘Look at it from my point of view, Xenophilus. If Eumenes is still alive and has won, my taking Susa wouldn’t save me: I wouldn’t be able to outrun the men he sent after me and take a significant amount of the treasure with me as well. Result: I lose Babylon and probably my life. So I stay here instead but Eumenes would besiege me and I would be a very rich man unable to go anywhere until I was relieved of my life. The third option would be to voluntarily surrender the treasure to Eumenes, and I’m sure he’d be really grateful, but he would still deprive me of Babylon, even if I might just get to keep my life.’

Xenophilus nodded, pursing his lips as he thought. ‘Yes, that would seem a reasonable assessment of the situation and in all those scenarios I get to survive and am handsomely rewarded.’

‘Indeed. Now shall we consider the other alternative: that I’m telling the truth about Eumenes having been executed?’

‘By all means.’

‘Firstly, and I was there on the day he said it, Antigonos told you that in not surrendering the city you had signed your own death warrant.’

‘Yes, I remember it well.’

‘And I have no reason to think that he would change his mind if he came back to find you still in possession of the treasury; do you?’

‘None.’

‘So you run, but like me, you wouldn’t be able to take a sufficient amount of treasure with you and outrun the pursuit, and I’d catch you because presenting Antigonos with a fugitive might save my life but he would still take Babylon. So, perhaps you decide to travel light – poor, in other words – and have a chance of reaching the sea and taking refuge with Ptolemy without me catching you; but who are you to Ptolemy and what use could a pauper like you be? You would fade and I would still lose Babylon and, no doubt, be executed for letting you get away; unless I too run and throw away Babylon in order to save my life. Have you heard a pleasing outcome yet?’

‘I can’t say I have.’

‘No, nor have I.’

‘Do tell me there is one, won’t you, Seleukos? I assume that’s why you’re here?’

Seleukos leaned forward with his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips. ‘We give him the money before he comes for it; you take it to him.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘But surely he’ll kill me anyway?’

‘Not if you’ve already been a part of exposing a plot against him.’

Xenophilus smiled. ‘And will I have?’

‘We both will have.’

‘And who will we have denounced?’

‘Peithon.’

Xenophilus’ smile broadened. ‘Someone more deserving would be hard to find. It was he, after all, who started the war out here by deposing the satrap of Parthia and replacing him with his own brother, causing the other eastern satraps to unite against him and defeat him.’

‘Thus drawing Eumenes east with the intention of siding with the alliance after Antigonos had captured his fleet—’

‘Thus leaving him unable to take his army to Europe to join with Olympias against Kassandros and drawing Antigonos’ attention west. Shame, really; we could have been spared all this had Peithon not united the east against himself.’

‘Yes, and Antigonos will find our story easy to believe as Peithon had already tried to take twenty-five thousand Greek mercenaries into his army who had deserted their posts in the east just after Alexander’s death and were trying to make it back to the sea.’

‘Indeed, I remember.’

‘Had Perdikkas not sent me there to remind the Macedonian troops of their obligations and made sure that they massacred the deserters to a man, Peithon would have had the power to rebel. Antigonos is well aware of that story, I’m sure.’

‘So what are we going to say that Peithon has done this time?’

‘No more than I’m sure he’s already doing now that Antigonos has left Media and is heading south to Persis, leaving Peithon to his own, dim and slow-witted, devices: sending out feelers for a rebellion in the east once Antigonos goes back west.’

‘But how will we prove it?’

‘Peithon would need money to rebel but Antigonos took the precaution of emptying the treasury at Ecbatana.’

Xenophilus chuckled in approval. ‘He would have to try his luck with me.’

‘Which he will think is a certainty seeing as he also heard Antigonos say that you had just signed your own death warrant.’

‘A forged letter?’

‘Two, actually: one to you asking you for the contents of the Susa treasury in return for making you satrap of Susiana once he’s secured the east; and one to me offering troops to take Susa and share the treasury before Antigonos arrives.’

‘Ha! A masterstroke: portray Peithon as being duplicitous even in his duplicity.’

‘Yes. I think Antigonos will find it difficult not to believe that to be the truth. It’s no secret that Peithon isn’t overburdened with subtlety – or intelligence, for that matter. I’ll send a fast courier to intercept Antigonos with the sad news before he gets to Persepolis.’

‘And me?’

‘I’ll give you half of my men, a thousand to add to your two thousand, to escort you south with the full contents of the treasury – minus a few bits and pieces for our expenses, naturally.’

‘Naturally.’

‘I think that will be enough men to look like you mean to keep the treasure safe, rather than fight him for it.’

‘I should hope so. And what about you?’

‘I’ll leave five hundred men here as a garrison and take the other five hundred back to Babylon and hope that giving Antigonos Peithon and the Susa treasure is enough to keep me installed in Babylon when he arrives there. Don’t forget, he’s already taken Teutamus and Pythan onto his staff because they gave him Eumenes. Let us hope Antigonos will be as accommodating with us.’

ANTIGONOS.THE ONE-EYED.

‘MY ARSE! MY sweaty arse! The man must be an idiot.’ Antigonos was not in the best of moods, nor had he been since physically kicking the courier who had brought Seleukos’ despatch back through the tent entrance to sprawl in the mud outside.

‘Father, you know he is. Why are you so surprised?’ Demetrios, Antigonos’ twenty-one-year-old son, struggled to keep a smile from his face, a face that was far more appealing, although dominated by an impressive nose, than the grey-bearded, weather-beaten visage of his one-eyed father. He ran his fingers through his ample curls of black hair, sweeping them back from his forehead. ‘Peithon can never be accused of intellectual prowess, and don’t claim that knowledge comes as a surprise to you.’

He’s right, the young pup; why am I so surprised that Peithon not only tries to rebel but does it in such a cack-handed manner? I should never have left him in position. Antigonos wiped a red-stained tear, oozing out of the ravaged socket of his left eye, and glared with the fully-functioning right at his son. ‘The reason I emptied the Ecbatana treasury was to stop him – or anyone else I might have made satrap of Media, for that matter – rebelling; and so he writes to Xenophilus in Susa and tries to get hold of the gold there! My arse!’

Demetrios refused to be outraged. ‘Well, for a man of little brain it would have seemed like a shrewd move; after all, he did hear you tell Xenophilus that he had just signed his death warrant when he refused you entry to Susa. Peithon just assumed that Xenophilus would come over to him in order to save his life.’

‘But, instead, he contacts Seleukos to warn me and it turns out that Peithon has also made overtures to him too. The man must be an idiot!’

‘Father, we’ve already established that he is. Shall we move on from that point and discuss what to do about the idiot?’

‘Are you being flippant?’

Demetrios sucked in a breath. ‘No, Father; I just think we should move on from the ranting stage and get to the decision stage.’

‘Oh, so now that you’re a father again, you think that you have the monopoly on maturity and I’m just a blustering old man who has to be handled with care, do you?’

‘No, Father, Phila giving birth to young Stratonice is neither here nor there in this conversation; you’ve been a grandfather for almost three years now, since young Antigonos was born, so you should have had time to get used to it. Now, what are we going to do about Peithon?’

‘Execute him, of course.’

‘Good; now we’re getting somewhere. How are we going to execute him? Shall we send assassins – although I fear that Archias the Exile-Hunter is too far away to do the job with sufficient haste and I can’t think of a more reliable man for the mission – or shall we summon him to us on some pretext?’

Antigonos stopped his pacing around the tent and scratched his grey-flecked beard with vigour. ‘I need to resinate myself,’ he said, pouring a decent amount of resinated wine into a cup and downing it in one. ‘We get him to us; there’s too much that can go wrong with an assassination, even with the expertise of someone like Archias, and anyway, the last I heard of him he was with Ptolemy. No, we’re fifteen days from Persepolis; we summon him there. If we send a messenger back up to Ecbatana now, Peithon, riding fast, could reach Persepolis at about the same time as us with the army.’

‘What would induce him to come?’

‘He won’t suspect that Seleukos or Xenophilus would have betrayed him as he would have calculated that both of them would have more to gain from him.’

Demetrios frowned. ‘Wait a moment, Father, they both have: you’ve promised to kill Xenophilus and you’ve made Seleukos look so stupid sitting outside Susa that Peithon’s offer of troops would be welcome to help him save face. So why have they come to you with this information?’

Antigonos had no doubts. ‘Because they can see that, in the long term, I will be the one with the patronage; Seleukos wants to keep Babylon and Xenophilus wants to keep his life. Ha!’

‘If I were you, I would certainly spare Xenophilus.’

‘Spare him?’

‘Yes, and keep him in his post.’ Demetrios put both his hands up as he read the signs of an imminent explosion. ‘Listen to me, Father; he may have denied you access to Susa, but he was only acting under the orders of Eumenes who was officially commander of the east as appointed by the then regent, Polyperchon. Had he opened the gates to you I would say that would be a reason for his execution, but because he didn’t I can’t think of a better man to have looking after the treasury at Susa for us.’

Antigonos poured and downed another cup of wine. ‘You’re right, curse you for a smug little puppy.’ He crunched the cup back down on the table. ‘Xenophilus has given me Peithon, and he is bringing the treasury to Persepolis as a precaution against Peithon launching an attack on Susa when he realises that he is not going to cooperate with him. I should reward him in a way that is also advantageous to me.’

‘The wine seems to be working, Father.’

Antigonos grunted and poured himself another. ‘As for Peithon, I shall order him to Persepolis, hinting that he’s about to get what he wants without having to rebel: I’ll imply that I’ll make him commander of the east free to act with his own authority after I move back west. He’ll not be able to resist that.’

Demetrios smiled. ‘No, Father, he won’t; I think the journey to Persepolis will be his last.’

‘Apart from the one to the Ferryman.’

‘Ah, yes, there’s always the Ferryman.’

It was in a far better mood that Antigonos gazed upon the walls of Persepolis in the eastern foothills of the Zagros Mountains at the end of a seventeen-day march; shining bright in the strengthening sun, they encircled the capital of the satrapy of Persis, built on an artificial platform so that the city itself was level despite the local topography. Partially destroyed by fire by Alexander in a drunken spree, encouraged by Ptolemy’s mistress, Thais, it was the seat of the satrap of Persis, Peucestas. Eager to arrive, for it was here that he would finalise his settlement of the east and thus leave himself free to return west to deal first with Seleukos and then Ptolemy, he left the army, under the command of Teutamus and Pythan, to trudge the last few leagues and went ahead with his son and an escort of fifty Companion Cavalry – unshielded lancers.

They were not challenged as they clattered through the east gate; indeed, it was quite the reverse as there awaited them a guard of honour welcoming party and flocks of citizens dressed in their best robes cheering and scattering flowers in their path.

‘Peucestas is evidently anxious to ingratiate himself with me,’ Antigonos commented to Demetrios as they trotted along the wide thoroughfare that headed to the Tachara, the winter palace of Darius, the first of that name, one of the few structures to totally escape Alexander’s arson. With scores of skipping children leading the way and their mothers and fathers cheering from the sides of the street, it was to a holiday atmosphere that Antigonos arrived at the gardens in front of the Tachara; lush they were, laid out with lawns and sprinkled with fountains; pathways and verdant shrubberies bisected them and an air of calm enveloped them.

‘I can see why Peucestas is so keen to remain here,’ Demetrios observed as they dismounted and walked through the gate guarded by two Macedonians at rigid attention.

Never really having been one to appreciate beauty, Antigonos grunted and stomped towards the multi-coloured building rising tall from nature’s bounty. With stairs on either side leading up to a terrace, supported by a wall engraved with life-sized, brightly painted depictions of Apple-Bearers, the tiara-wearing guards of the Great Kings of old, it was a feast of artificial colour. Tall columns behind the terrace supported a high roof that provided the royal skin with respite from the sun or shelter from the rain. Behind and to each side lay the formal rooms, the walls and intricate pattern of many-hued tiles depicting hunting scenes, military triumphs or just abstract formations. To either side of the structure, two mighty, horned bulls stood on giant pedestals of carved marble, whilst on the roof, overlooking each of the sets of steps up to the terrace, two lions perched ever roaring at all who approached.

And it was on the terrace that Peucestas stood, resplendent in the trousers and long tunic of a Persian noble and standing stiff-backed straight for on his head he wore a tiara, tall and unwieldy. His personal guard, Macedonian Hypaspists, stood at attention on the steps; with bronze helmets, breastplates and shields and red cloaks over their shoulders, they provided the one western prospect in an eastern vista.

‘If he thinks that he can impress me dressing up as a barbarian, he’s going to be bitterly disappointed,’ Antigonos growled, quickening his pace. ‘No doubt he’s been taking it up the arse all morning judging by how he’s standing. Nasty eastern habits he’s picked up; treachery not being the least of them.’

‘The satrapy of Persis welcomes Antigonos, lord of the east, and invites him to a welcoming feast,’ Peucestas declaimed, extending his arms towards Antigonos, scrunching his way along the gravelled path. ‘And I, as satrap, recently reconfirmed in my position by the lord of the east, do also welcome him and name him the Bear of Macedon.’

The Bear of Macedon, my arse! I’ll give him Bear of Macedon. ‘Stop all these eastern theatrics, Peucestas,’ Antigonos snarled as he reached the bottom of the steps. ‘You’re meant to be a Macedonian, not some outgrown Persian bum-boy; so try to act and sound like one.’ He looked at the guards as he mounted the steps. ‘What do you lads think of all this eastern frippery? Makes you laugh, does it? Or have you all succumbed to trousers, buggery and sherbets as well?’ The men kept their eyes focused on the mid-distance and their thoughts to themselves, as Demetrios followed him up.

Peucestas turned to face Antigonos as he reached the terrace, a smile just visible beneath a red-hennaed, tightly curled beard that hung to his chest. He extended his arms, but concern showed in his eyes as the pace of his guest failed to slacken.

Antigonos’ hand came out but it was not to clasp that of his host; it flashed through the air, open-palmed, and struck the tiara from Peucestas’ head. ‘Since when do Macedonians wear such effeminate head-gear?’

Peucestas, shocked, his mouth hanging open, blinked as he stared at Antigonos for a few moments, unable to martial his thoughts as the tiara scraped along the tiled floor, cracking into a column. ‘But I meant only to welcome you,’ he spluttered, ‘compliment you.’

‘Dressed like that?’ Antigonos pulled at the baggy sleeve of Peucestas’ tunic and then spat in disgust on the delicate yellow slippers on his feet. ‘You think calling me the Bear of Macedon is a compliment?’

Peucestas’ eyes flicked left and right but no one was coming to his aid; his guards remained to attention staring straight ahead as if nothing untoward was occurring, let alone their satrap being assaulted. ‘Alexander was the Lion of Macedon, so I thought “Bear” would be an appropriate compliment for you.’

‘The Resinated Cyclops of Macedon, perhaps, or just that Resinated Cunt, as most of my men call me, but don’t try to flatter me with mock-heroic epithets when we both know that I’m a plain-speaking Macedonian and you seem to have lost your way. Now come with me.’ He pulled Peucestas by the embroidered collar and dragged him towards a set of double doors standing open at the back of the terrace, leading into the royal garden chamber, where once the King of Kings took his leisure.

‘Father!’ Demetrios shouted, following. ‘That’s enough!’

But Antigonos was in no mood to be restrained. ‘I’ll say when it’s enough. You stay there.’ Once inside the chamber he threw Peucestas down onto a couch. ‘Did you honestly think that display would impress me?’

Peucestas looked up with hate in his eyes, the shock of the assault now turning to burning resentment. ‘My dignity, Antigonos, has been severely compromised.’

‘Your dignity dissolved when you pulled on your first pair of trousers. Your dignity was absent when you betrayed Eumenes to me so you could keep Persis. What do you think your men made of you ordering them from the field in Paraetacene? Yes, I was pleased we could have made the arrangement but it gave me no pleasure to deal with such a grasping little traitor, and any respect I may have had for you for old time’s sake evaporated as I saw you as you really are. If you had any dignity left, your guards would have come to your aid, but no, what did they do? They stood there and did nothing. Why? Because they knew that I was right; because they, like me, can see what you are. So either give us an enjoyable performance of The Persians, by Aeschylus, seeing as you seem to be dressed up as Xerxes, or go and get out of that ridiculous costume and into something more civilised before you host me to, what I imagine will be, an unnecessarily exotic feast.’ He did not wait for a reply.

‘Feeling better?’ Demetrios asked as Antigonos emerged back onto the terrace.

‘No.’

‘Then why put the man through all that humiliation?’

‘Because in making a fool of himself he makes a fool of me if I am seen to condone it.’

‘And by condoning it, you mean not slapping him around in public?’

‘He’s lucky that I only knocked his tiara off. I knew it was bad when I saw his beard after Paraetacene, but at least he was in a Macedonian uniform, albeit with trousers underneath; but what I saw just now was unacceptable in any Macedonian, let alone a satrap, and a satrap who I have reconfirmed in his post. If I wanted a Persian here I would have appointed one. The idea of blending east with west was Alexander’s big mistake: it weakens Macedonian blood; but the idea of Macedonians voluntarily taking on the aspects of the east is degrading and will lose us respect.’

‘I think you’re wrong, Father. If we are to keep the east and take advantage of the wealth that it brings, we must be seen to rule in partnership and not just be their overlords.’

‘We do rule in partnership; why else do you think I appointed the Persian, Orobantes, to be the new satrap of Parthia? Why did I confirm all those other easterners in the posts? I’m not stupid. My point is that we need to keep ourselves separate; there are far more easterners than Macedonians, they would easily absorb us out here if Peucestas sets a precedent. I’ve just let it be known what I, “the Bear of Macedon”,’ he paused to snort at the ludicrousness of the name, ‘what I think of people going native. No, if we allow that to happen then the Macedonian empire won’t last; instead it will become a hybrid culture. Take Seleukos, for example: he’s kept his Persian wife and has now had three half-breed children with her; it’s already starting and it mustn’t be allowed to go any further.’ He looked around the terrace. ‘Now, I assume that someone here knows where we are to be quartered. I’ll see you at the feast later on.’ He stomped off, leaving his son looking after him, deep in thought.

The banquet was as Antigonos had suspected it would be: a prissy affair with the rigid manners of the Persian elite precluding any of the raucous behaviour that should, in his opinion, go with good food and copious drink. Instruments droned on, unseen, in some corner of the banqueting hall, sounding to him like the last lamentation of a wounded beast in dire need of being put out of its misery. Conversation was stilted, with Peucestas, now dressed in Macedonian fashion, being keen to impress his guest but nervous of what his Persian nobles would think of a descent into old-school Macedonian drinking and boasting. And thus, with Peucestas’ obvious unease with his own kind, preferring instead to pander to the sensibilities of a conquered race, Antigonos had come to a decision about his future, a decision enforced by the fussiness of the food, picky little plates with nothing substantial to get your teeth into. ‘And what am I supposed to make of this?’ Antigonos asked, lifting up a tiny spatchcocked gamebird, covered with a deep red spice.

‘That is a quail grilled in a coat of sumaqqa,’ Peucestas answered, wiping the tips of his fingers with a moist sea-sponge; he might have forgone eastern dress but not eastern manners – or, for that matter, his eastern beard. ‘You pull the flesh from the bones and eat it.’

‘It hardly seems to be worth the while,’ Antigonos muttered, tossing the offending item over his shoulder and looking around the array of dishes on the table before him for something that looked able to satisfy a hearty appetite. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed to a long sausage-like creation covered in small pale seeds.

‘That is a loin of pork cooked in honey and rolled in sesame; it’s most delicious, especially if you eat it in conjunction with the rice with rosewater, almonds and dried apricots.’

Antigonos grunted and picked up the loin whole, took a bite off one end and began to chew with gusto. Teutamus and Pythan, reclining on couches next to him, laughed at the ill-manners and grabbed at hunks of meat themselves.

Persian nobles, reclining nearby, averted their eyes and whispered to one another.

‘Hmm, not bad,’ Antigonos said, lobbing the meat to Demetrios across the table from him. ‘Give it a go.’

Demetrios caught it in one hand, placed it on his plate and set to it with a knife, causing some murmurs of approval from many of the Persians. They still refrained from looking at Antigonos, however, who was now sucking the honey from one finger at a time, making popping sounds as he finished each one.

‘How about something substantial, like a whole roast deer or boar?’ Antigonos said, raising his voice so that all two hundred diners in the room could hear. ‘I’ve had enough of theses fripperies.’

‘These fripperies, as you call them,’ a Persian on the next table said, standing up, ‘are some of the finest cuisine known to man. That you fail to appreciate them says more about you than it does about the food.’

The room went silent as the Persian stood, staring at Antigonos.

Antigonos smiled; it was not a pleasant sight. ‘My, my, an easterner with spunk. Demetrios, make a note of the date and place; they will never believe us back home. What’s your name?’

The Persian was not to be cowed. ‘Thespius; my family are originally Greek from Lydia but have lived here in Persepolis for generations. You may have come here to deliberately insult us and our culture but we know that there are some Macedonians with a sense of propriety who manage to show respect for our ways. Peucestas here is one of them and we are grateful to have him as our satrap.’

‘Well, then I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disappoint you: I’ve decided that Peucestas is not a suitable satrap and so I will relieve him of his position and appoint someone with a little more authority.’

Peucestas’ eyes widened in horror. ‘But you promised!’

‘I know; but I’ve changed my mind.’

‘It would be hard for us to support any other satrap,’ the Persian said, coming to Peucestas’ side.

‘Would it now, Thespius?’ Antigonos raised his hand. ‘Guards!’ From the double doors of the chamber, where they had been stationed, came half a dozen men. Antigonos pointed to the Persian. ‘Teutamus, take this man and execute him.’

Thespius stared in horror at Antigonos as Teutamus shrugged and got up from his couch. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Why not? You just said that you did not think you could support another satrap, which means that you must be a traitor and, as “the Bear of Macedon”, I have to keep order here.’ Antigonos got to his feet and looked around at the many diners. ‘Is there any other man here who feels that they can’t support my new choice of satrap, whoever that might be, and would rather join Thespius?’

There was no rush to join the hapless Thespius now being manhandled away by Teutamus and the guards.

‘Good; that’s settled then.’

Peucestas still stared beseechingly at Antigonos, oblivious to his loyal supporter’s fate. ‘Antigonos, you promised me when I agreed to take my men from the field at Paraetacene that the reward would be reconfirming my position here in Persis.’

Antigonos reclined back down on his couch, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Surely you must be a canny enough politician to realise that a man who betrays his friends as easily as you did cannot be trusted and therefore any promises made to him are null and void? No? You’re not that canny? Never mind; I’ll find something for you that will fit with your limited intellect and pumped-up vanity. How about I make you general in command of Asia in place of the little Greek? That sounds important, don’t you think?’

‘Antigonos, you promised me Persis!’

‘General commanding Asia is far more important.’

‘I thought that I was to be given that role, Antigonos,’ a voice said from the door.

Antigonos turned to see Peithon walking into the room. Ah, good! I am enjoying myself this evening. ‘Peithon! Well, well; the guards are going to be busy this evening. I shall be heading west to settle with Seleukos sooner than I thought.’

SELEUKOS.THE BULL-ELEPHANT.

AND WEST WAS where Seleukos was headed; west as far as Babylon. And as he saw the distant outer city wall, shimmering golden in the morning sun away across the plain, his relief at arriving unmolested was palpable; for he had travelled the hundred leagues from Susa with his wife, six hundred talents in gold and silver and an escort of just five hundred men, through a land ravaged by Eumenes’ advance from the north through to the east of the satrapy just a year previously.

Dire had been the consequences of the sly little Greek dividing his army into three columns so as best to plunder the wealth of Babylonia; villages and towns had been abandoned for lack of food and those inhabitants who had stayed had not yet managed to bring in the first harvest due in a couple of months at midsummer. Gangs of dispossessed and despairing people of all ages roamed the land, malnourished, feral and heeding only the instinct to survive; there had not been a night on the journey when the camp had not been attacked in some form by the ragged column shadowing it, if only to kill a sentry for the contents of his purse. On one night a great troop of the desperate, nearly two hundred in total, attempted to storm the horse-lines to grab as many of the beasts as possible for their cooking fires; many had died in the attempt and no horses had been lost, but it had served as a stark lesson to Seleukos of the damage that war had done to the eastern and northern regions of his satrapy.

Once he had crossed the Tigris the agricultural situation was much improved, for it had been untouched by Eumenes that far south; but this presented its own problems in that the scavengers from the eastern bank would raid their more prosperous western bank neighbours causing resentment and blood feuds.

To regain control he would prioritise some of the money he had taken from the Susa treasury for purchasing grain to distribute throughout the ravaged areas in order to ease the suffering. If he wished to secure his position even more in Babylonia, importing food was as important as importing mercenaries.

There was no welcome as the column clattered through the east gate in the outer city wall, a plain affair of cut stone compared to the brilliance of the blue-tiled inner wall. Through the gardens that thrived between the two defences they progressed, crossing the bridge over the canal before coming to the Marduk Gate decorated still with the figures and beasts of Babylon’s past days of glory of Nebuchadnezzar, when it ruled an empire, subject to no man. Passing through the gates into the city’s grid-like system of streets, the size of the population became apparent for there was humanity everywhere; buying, selling, discussing, arguing, copulating up side-streets or just sitting, displaying whatever gross deformity that might induce another to drop a small bronze coin in a bowl.

‘But at least they seem to be reasonably well fed,’ Seleukos said to Apama as the escort cleared the way along the main thoroughfare in the Kullab district, with as much restraint as possible on Seleukos’ orders; he did not want the people resenting his return.

Along they went at a slow pace before turning left at the Eridu district onto the Processional Way that led past the Southern Citadel in the Kardingira district to the Ishtar Gate and then on to the Main Citadel beyond which housed the treasury.

‘So, Temenos, how much of this year’s taxes have you managed to collect?’ Seleukos asked the commander of the Babylon garrison, once the six hundred talents had been secured in the treasury.

Temenos, in his mid-thirties with the refined dress and jewellery of one with a taste for eastern luxury, sucked the air through his teeth.

Seleukos did not need him to say more. ‘Well down?’

‘Yes, lord; because of the famine in the north and east of the satrapy.’

That comes as no surprise. ‘How much, would you say?’

‘We’ve collected just over half of what we would normally expect in a good year; this is the lowest I’ve ever known it since Alexander appointed me commander of the garrison.’

‘So the six hundred talents should just about cover the shortfall?’

‘Yes, just about.’

‘Start buying grain from anyone who has it; I need to stabilise the situation.’

‘I will, lord. As a matter of fact, Babrak the Pathak merchant recently arrived here with a proposition along those lines. He has been waiting to see you.’

‘Then find him and send him to me.’

‘You do me too much honour, great lord, in granting me a private interview.’ Leather-skinned, hook-nosed and with sunken dark eyes twinkling out from beneath a white headdress, Babrak bowed, touching his right hand to his forehead.

Seleukos waved the compliment away and sat back in his chair. ‘Babrak, we both know that I would be foolish not to see you in private, so don’t pretend that this is an unusual occurrence. But first to business.’

Babrak grinned, his red-stained teeth appearing ghoulish in the lamplight of Seleukos’ private study in the Main Citadel. Seleukos indicated to the chair at the table opposite him and nodded.

‘You rush to business with no preamble, my lord,’ Babrak said, seating himself, ‘like a travel-weary merchant would to a favoured boy after long absence.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that myself; but yes, I’m keen to know what you can offer me.’

‘What I do is for you and not for personal gain, great lord; I am only pleased to be able to be of service to you.’

‘Yes, yes; get on with it, Babrak. What have you got?’

‘Grain, lord; five transport ships full of it, moored under heavy guard, you must understand, expensively heavy guard, fifty leagues upstream at the port of Is. I heard about the disgraceful way that the traitor Eumenes abused your satrapy by stripping it bare with three advancing columns and so I decided that I must do what I can to aid you.’

‘Very altruistic of you, I’m sure.’

Babrak inclined his head. ‘You are too kind, lord.’

‘So, how much grain is there?’

‘Four hundred talents in three of the ships and five hundred in the other two.’

‘Two thousand two hundred talents in all; how much do you want for it?’

Babrak spread his hands, hunching his shoulders. ‘Great lord, how can I answer that question? It is like asking a brothel keeper the price of a boy in general without inspecting the wares or ascertaining what each one can do.’

Does everyone have as much difficulty as I do in understanding what he is going on about? ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning how much do you want, where do you want it and how soon?’

‘What has that got to do with brothel keepers and their boys?’ Seleukos put his hand up as Babrak opened his mouth to answer the question. ‘Never mind, Babrak. I’m sure it was an apposite simile. I want it all, I want it here and I want it now. How much?’

Babrak heaved a deep breath as if the weight of the question was crushing him. ‘My lord asks a great deal.’

‘Babrak! Don’t play your games with me. I’ll give you above the going rate: one silver drachma to the mina of grain.’

‘That is sixty drachmae to the talent, which makes…’ Babrak did a series of calculations counting knuckles and finger joints and then tallying with his thumbs. ‘One hundred and thirty-two thousand drachmae or two hundred and twenty talents of silver, or twenty-two in gold.’

Seleukos’ arithmetic was not so advanced. ‘I’ll have someone check it.’

‘That is not much more than what I paid for the grain, lord, and then there is the hire of the shipping and the guards.’

‘Which are your responsibilities as without them you wouldn’t have got the goods here so as you could make a profit on them by selling them to me.’ Seleukos pointed a finger at the Pathak. ‘And, by the way, I’m well aware that you are intending to blackmail me by threatening to walk away with something that you know I desperately need, so I say this to you: two hundred and fifty in silver or I’ll impound your ships for entering Babylonia without my permission.’

‘But I don’t need your permission so long as I pay the tax.’

‘Times change, Babrak, time’s change.’

‘Two hundred and sixty in—’

‘Babrak!’

‘In silver would be too much, great lord; two hundred and fifty it is.’

He spat on his hand and proffered it.

Seleukos took it and clinched the deal. That will buy me time and it’s pleasant to reflect upon the fact that Antigonos is paying for it. He clapped his hands; slaves appeared with wine, sherbet, and honey and pistachio pastries. ‘So, Babrak, help yourself and tell me the news; we have heard nothing of the west since the autumn equinox last year. What of Kassandros?’ He unhooked a bulky purse from his belt and casually placed it on the table between them.

Babrak eyed the purse as he poured himself a sherbet. ‘He is to marry Thessalonike.’

Seleukos looked at the merchant, astounded. ‘Alexander’s half-sister?’

‘The very same.’

‘But surely Olympias will prevent that.’

‘Olympias is dead; Thessalonike betrayed her to Kassandros and she was stoned to death by the families of her victims from her time as regent.’

‘No!’ Seleukos was incredulous. ‘Kassandros condemned her to death?’

Babrak wiped some excess froth from his moustache. ‘No, lord, I heard he was far more subtle than that. He knew that he would never be able to advance himself in Macedon with the stigma of being the man who condemned and executed the mother of Alexander, so he let the people’s assembly do it, only the assembly was made up purely of the relatives of her victims.’

‘Very clever, for a pockmarked little toad. So now he is unchallenged in Macedon and has a royal bride.’

‘Aristonous still holds out against him in Amphipolis, the last I heard, but that may well have changed by now. King Aeacides in Epirus was deposed and the new regime has signed a peace with Kassandros, so he is safe from the west.’

‘And the east?’

‘Lysimachus continues to build his fortresses to defend the north against the coming of these barbarians whose name I forget.’

‘Keltoi.’

‘Yes, something like that. He has also taken advantage of Antigonos’ absence to create a presence in Hellespontine Phrygia.’

‘Ah, so he claims both banks of the Hellespont; very lucrative.’

Babrak flicked another look at the purse. ‘Indeed. And Asander, the satrap of Caria—’

‘I know who Asander is.’

‘Indeed, forgive my patronising surplus of detail, lord.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, Asander has been interfering in Kappadokia since hearing of Eumenes’ death; he may well have managed to secure it by now unless Ptolemaios, Antigonos’ nephew, reacted swiftly in the absence of his uncle.’

Seleukos chuckled. ‘That will infuriate the resinated cyclops when he gets back west. That must be the first interesting thing that Asander has ever done.’

‘You are not the first to have made that observation, lord.’

‘I’m sure I’m not. And to Kassandros’ south, what is happening there?’

‘Ah, Aeacides fled with a few of his men to Polyperchon who is in Perrhaebia in north-western Thessaly with a ragtag army of no consequence; they have no power and are irrelevant. Alexandros, Polyperchon’s son, continues to hold the northern Peloponnese, but Demetrius of Phaleron’s hold on Athens in Kassandros’ name is so strong that he is unable to advance into Attica.’

Seleukos pondered the situation for a few moments. ‘The question is: now that Kassandros has become a force in his own right, will he show himself to be for Antigonos or against him?’

Babrak shrugged. ‘I know only the news, lord, I steer clear of opinions.’

‘Very wise. Now tell me of Ptolemy.’