The Sons of Antiochus (Rehashed)

The Sons of Antiochus.


Part 1 - Winter 280 BC.

The Gods play games with mortals, this I know as truth.

No man who has seen what I have seen, heard what I have heard and stood where I have stood could ever doubt this. I have seen bravery punished with shameful and ignominious defeat, and treachery rewarded with kingship. I have stood on the banks of the Indus, and the shores of the Mare Interum and always vice triumphs and virtue is trodden into the mud by the baseness of the masses.

Ahhh, but I see you stand there and look knowing young warrior, you imagine I am just another tired old cynic, who tries to hide the fact he knows nothing by belittling everything, who having achieved nothing in his lifetime imagines that nothing can be achieved.

Well then let me tell you my story you would be Achilles, and why, if there is anything in that helmet when I am done you will throw down that spear and build yourself a hovel, far from the great roads the armies of great kings march down and till the humble soil until the time comes when you pay the ferryman and cross the styx.

It begins in winter, in the city of Antioch, though you would not know it was winter for the sun was shining brightly in a blue sky. Aye, the sun always shone in Antioch…..

The trumpets blared out again, and again from above the great north gate of Antioch a fanfare replied, almost as if the army at the gates and the garrison within were engaged in some strange form of combat, and indeed on cue the army returned the salute, seeming even louder than before.

This was a feat which only a few moments before any onlooker would have sworn was impossible, especially the captain of the gate, who leaned back over the parapet, swore violently in his gruff Macedonian accent and cuffed a gawping boy round the ear,

“Quit lazing bout lad and git to east gate, find out were the ‘ell those friggin ‘eralds ave got to alrite? Rite lads” he continued, turning to a red faced, gasping clutch of trumpeters “Lets give em ‘ail to the conquering hero, an put some bleedin wind into it this time. Goddam show off bunch o whoremongers.”

Wearily the heralds picked up their weapons, gathered their breath and wits, and prepared to duel once more for the honour of the city of Antioch, whilst all the while beneath them the great iron bound gate ground inexorably open beneath them.

The sound of the trumpets spread chaos ahead of them, as onlookers rushed to the walls, Merchants and Fathers sought to hide what was valuable to them from victory drunk soldiers and in the Governors Villa Demetrius, 3rd son of Antiochus, the King, raced around trying to ensure his house was in a state fit to receive his father, yet knowing in his heart of hearts that he had already failed.

“Pytheas!” he cried, racing from room to room “Pytheas!”. Finally Demetrius found his quarry, half running half collapsing into a small room made to seem even smaller by the scroll cases that were stacked up every wall,

“There you are….. What are you doing here?”

Demetrius’ mentor looked up quizzically “What am I doing in my study? Why Studying of course. Hem, I often think all my time teaching you was completely wasted, you cannot draw even the most simple conclusions.”

Demetrius stared for a moment as Pytheas returned his attention to the scroll he had been studying moments before shaking his head “Never mind that. Where’s Athena, where are the Children?”

“Ah yes” chuckled Pytheas, “Grandfather will want to see all his grandchildren and beloved daughter all lined up looking happy, healthy and….” he paused for a moment whilst Demetrius grew even more anxious “Clean.”

“Clean, why clean Pytheas? Why Clean?”

“Well my dear fellow, when I last I saw them they were in the kitchen, which is only a short hop from the gardens, where, due to the new sewers being installed I understand there are several wonderfully muddy pools. Wonderfully muddy.”

The old man chortled as Demetrius ran from the room, crying for servants, hot water and his wife, then stood up and went outside into the courtyard where he picked up a servant Demetrius had bowled over and instructed him quietly and sternly to go to the kitchens and prepare hot water, fetch both the young childrens nannies to the kitchen, and inform his master, whom he would find in the gardens with his children, that the Lady Athena was in her quarters preparing for her father in laws visit.

*********************************************************

Next instalment to include, meet Aristarchus, the Faction Heir, Antiochus, The Faction Leader and an unexpected battle.

Boring technical stuff last, I strongly advise you skip this paragraph unless you really want to know about the game this story’s based on. Still here? Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This story is intended to be a history of a Seleucid provincial campaign played using the Rome: Total Realism mod (v5.4.1 I think). The setting are campaign emperor, and battles praetor, which equates to VH/M.

The battles themselves are played with the General cam switched on, which kind of makes up for the naff AI as half the time you cant see or control your units and so just stick them on AI control.

The emphasis of the storyline will follow several characters on their adventures through what I imagine giving my playing skills will be the decline and fall of the Seleucid Empire.

I will try and keep characters actions in the story true to their traits, and when not with other major characters their co-conspirators will normally be members of their retinue suitably fleshed out.

Finally please forgive any gross historical blunders. Any Feedback, Criticism or Plain Old Abuse will of course be gratefully received.

Selukia, Capital of The Seleucid Empire, Winter 280BC

“…also I don’t think you mention my pose enough. I spent hours working on that pose. Now I don’t expect you to write whole paragraphs about it, but insert a few scattered lines here and there, understand? Agreed?”

“Yes A-a-a-aristarchus” stuttered Aeneas, hurriedly gathering up the papers that were laid out on the low table.

“But before you do that send for wine, from anywhere will do, but definitely something grown on a south facing slope I think.” Aeneas shook his head in a frantic motion that could have meant anything, but which Aristarchus took to be an affirmative, and laid back on the low couch he had been seated on.
The problem with his genius, he reflected, was that he so often expected more of people than they were actually capable.

For example, when he had been told this Aeneas fellow was the finest biographer in all the empire he had expected someone who could produce works that would astound even him.

But alas, like every other art in this world that he turned his gaze upon he found that its current and previous exponents had barely raised it above mediocrity.

If only he was not burdened with these trials of governorship he was sure he would even now be excelling himself in every field which he turned his attention to.

But this line of thought soon drove his melancholy thoughts away, for after all was not his Father, Antiochus, King of Seleucia an old man? And on top of his age there was his passion for seeking danger in battle.

Aristarchus smiled warmly to himself as he thought of himself as King - and who was remembered more, revered more than great Kings who performed great deeds? And who could doubt that he would be the greatest King ever known.

He could almost feel the adulation and awe of all the ages yet to come, pressing down upon him, but the feeling was not unpleasant, indeed he rather welcomed it.

Antioch, Winter 280BC

Antiochus strode into the courtyard with the all the easy assurance of one who not only owned the Villa, but the city around it, and indeed anything you could see from the top of the tallest tower in the city, and much more besides. His stern face broke into a smile at the sight of his grandchildren and the conqueror of a hundred foes went down onto his knees before them, enquired if they were being good, remarked favourably on their growth, and messed up their recently combed hair.

Standing he greeted Athena cordially, as a father-in-law should a dutiful daughter-in-law, and finally frowned upon his 3rd born,

“Demetrius, when I left the streets were paved, I return and they are mud. I worry that this, as well as being true, may be an apt metaphor for the rest of your governorship.”

“Sewers, Father, I’m installing sewers across the city, we, erm, had to pull the paving stones up.”

Antiochus sighed, and rested his head in his hands “My son” he murmured, his voice raising as he spoke, “When you look to the south what do you see, hmmm?”

“Hmm, Geography eh? The Judean Highlands?”

“That is because you are incapable of seeing what lies beyond your sight. I see the Ptolemaic empire, biding its time, increasing its strength, waiting till it sees the moment is right before it strikes! And you are building sewers?”

Demetrius, backed into a corner tried to placate his father, “I’ve raised a new regiment of pikemen, to strengthen the garrison.”

The frown on Antiochus’ face never altered as he continued “Good, for I shall require 2 regiments of Pikemen to replace those I left to garrison Tarsus, also all the prodromi you can spare, there will be great need of horsemen in the central provinces. I shall take Attalus with me, he will be useful in dealing with the Parthians”

“Ah yes, Attalus, he’d be that bald fellow wouldn’t he?” asked Demetrius, knowing perfectly well who the Ambassador was. Antiochus was too skilled a reader of men to doubt for a moment that his son was simply stalling for time.

“Where is Attalus? No wait” he interrupted Demetrius’ answer “You have sent to the Ptolemaic Empire haven’t you?” As Antiochus’ face softened Demetrius was struck almost forcibly by how much his father resembled an old man,

“Demetrius, Demetrius, just because you speak the truth and keep your word it does not mean the rest of the world does. Attalus is wasting his time, the Eygptians will just tell us what we want to hear, and then do what they wish to do. That is their way and if we are not ready for their attack we will lose everything. Whilst I am defending Selukia, you must hold the western empire - Tarsus, Hatra and Antioch. Ahh by the gods, enough of this talk, let us go eat.”

For less than a week did Antiochus dawdle in Antioch, for always was his eye drawn to the east, where he imagined his enemies massing against him, and his sons wasting valuable time in idle pursuits, and so as winter began to turn to summer Antiochus left the city that bore his name and with great strength of arms gathered about him marched east, to his capital and new, as yet unfought battles.

Assyria,on the road between Hatra and Selukia, 279BC.

Antiochus turned to the exhausted scout and questioned him again “You are sure of these numbers, and equipped as you described?”

“Yes, My lord” the scout replied “6000 all ahorse, and near a third armoured from head to foot - the horses likewise garbed - and those unamoured were carrying bows with the Parthian royal standard in the van.”

Antiochus looked to the heavens and muttered a short prayer, before wheeling his horse about and galloping back down the column of troops behind him. “Lysander, Hergrippas, your brigades prepare for battle, face back the way we came and form a dogs-leg line, Floggings all round for those who delay.”

Antiochus’ horse continued down the line, past the pikemen whose column was disintegrating as they raced into their new formations to where the light javelin armed peltasts had come to a halt as the regiments in front of them stopped to respond to orders.

“Agesilaus,” he cried as he saw the officer he was looking for, “your men in front of the pike block, give no ground until I give the signal.”

“Aye my Lord” replied Agesilaus as he began pushing and barking orders to his still confused troops “Give no ground it shall be.”

Antiochus saluted the commander of the peltasts and spurred his horse on again until he came upon Polymidas, commander of his own companions. Antiochus did not bother giving orders here, for Polymidas had fought alongside him in a dozen battles, and saved his life too in many of them.

“Who we fighting then?” grunted the big man as together they led the Companions back towards the rear of the rapidly forming pike block.

“The Parthians, damn them for treacherous dogs. I thought they were supposed to be our allies”

Polymidas laughed, a rare enough occurrence to draw a glance from Antiochus “Tell them that not me” he said, and nodded his head towards where the first few Parthian horsemen were appearing on a distant crest.

Decided to try and write this post as if it were some sort of historical work.
Dont worry if you hate it I'll return to the normal style soon enough.

The Battle of Assyria.

Now it happens that the first battle of Assyria is memorable for only a few things, one of which is that though the parthian commander, Arsaces, was outnumbered by 3 to 1 he still attacked in a most determined and reckless fashion.

It has been the fashion recently to condemn this as reckless folly, however, given the poor quality of the Seleucid army in this period it is likely that the majority of Antiochus’ forces were composed of poorly motivated and under trained forces, who would be unlikely to stand a full on charge of Parthian cataphracts, who were at the time the decisive factor in many eastern battles.

We read in Aeneas work “The Lives of Aristarchus and Cleitos” that Antiochus formation was cautious to the point of cowardliness, given his advantage in numbers.

Although much of this work has been shown through careful research to be heavily biased against anyone who was not Aristarchus or Cleitos (Where it is not entirely fabricated of course!) we do have other references to Antiochus being a very defensive general, such as the battle of Selukia where a unnamed parthian scholar quote Pharotes as crying out “This Man fight like a stone! Is there nothing which will make him offer battle?”

Aeneas also claims that Antiochus “blundered unknowing into battle, like a blind beast of burden.”

However as Aeneas also claims that Antiochus was drawn up in a defensive formation at the start of battle it is hard to reconcile these two statements. It is possible of course that the two forces were not aware of the presence of the other until shortly before the battle began.

What we do know for certain is that the parthians opened the battle with a charge by heavy cavalry, led by Arsaces himself on the Seleucid centre whilst light cavalry (possibly armed with bows) haried the flanks.

Antiochus chose to ignore this threat to his flanks, and instead used his Javelin armed cavalry behind a line of pikemen. It appears that from the position of height offered by Horses these prodromi were able to fling their javelins over the heads of their own pikemen to great effect.

The Parthian centre retreated with heavy losses, although the flanking forces did great damage before withdrawing, apparently without suffering any great losses.

I had forgotten that Assistant moderators cannot delete things anyway, so i guess you making a new thread is ok. Just make sure this is the last one on this story, no need to have three threads going at the same time ~;)

I've closed the other thread off as to not confuse people. and i hope you get promoted to Member status soon so you can edit your posts ~D

Good story, except for that last part. It's advisable to remain writing in the style you began with -- it keeps the story moving and doesn't lead to confused readers wondering what they're reading now and who it's about.

Besides, your writing is best suited to character-driven stories, comparing the first to parts to the last one.

But besides that, a good story. Please continue!



~Wiz

Selukia, Summer 279BC

Aristarchus leaned forward, the better to catch the peformers words. He found the best thing about others performing his works was that one could be as lavish as he wished in his public praise, rather than effecting to any sort of false modesty.

Suddenly however his reverie was broken by a burst of brainless chattering over towards the Odeon’s entrance. Aristarchus turned towards the disturbance, confident an imperious gaze would persuade the vile mob to calm itself, but as he turned towards the noise he saw a site that horrified him.

People were leaving! For a moment he stared on, dumbstruck, unable to understand. They would miss the best bit! They had to come back! Could not these imbeciles understand that this was some of the finest poetry performed in the Homeric style that they would ever have the chance to appreciate?

Aristarchus leaned back, and caught the eye of his nearest companion, “Thucydides, take some men and stop those people leaving, and bring back those who have left - for I deem it a great and undeserved insult to a fine poet.”

The Companion hesitated, looked at the departing crowd, now noisier than ever, looked at his master and decided he was in earnest and so ran towards the entrance, gesturing towards the two soldiers who already stood there.

Aristarchus tried turning his attention back to the poet, but it was only a few moments before Thucydides had returned, looking unusually concerned.

“My lord, we are besieged. The Parthians are before the southern gates, and a second army has been sighted to the west.”

Aristarchus let out a heart felt sigh, rising only slowly, “Then my course is clear - I shall give a most rousing speech to all here. Thucydides, be so good as to run to the palace and fetch Aeneas - and tell him to bring parchment and quill, for I believe this will be worth recording.”

For a moment the cavalryman looked confused, uncertain at what he had just heard “But my lord,” he ventured, “what orders to the garrison, should we not prepare our defences?”

“Tush Tush dear fellow, there will be time to sort out the details later - first I must inform the citizens how well prepared and unafraid they are. Then we shall see what needs to be done on the walls.”

Aristarchus knew of course even as he spoke these words that his son Cleitos would even now be running to and fro, shouting and bawling in his soldierly fashion, and everyone would soon be standing where they should, holding the right type of pointy stick and generally looking formidable to those beastly parthians outside.


“My Lord Cleitos!” Cleitos had heard the running feet, sandals slapping on the stone of Selukias walls before he heard the cry, but still ignored the shout, staring out intently at the mass of parthians camped well outside arrow range, not that it mattered for there were few archers inside the walls.

“My Lord Cleitos!” by now the fellow was too close to ignore any longer and so he spun on his heel and glared at the young messenger.

“This better be worth my time boy” he growled. After 4 hours of siege Cleitos was already bored, tired of waiting, tired of having to tell people what they should do automatically. His father had neglected the discipline of the garrison, that was for sure, and now he, Cleitos was paying the price with wasted time and having to deal with drooling simpletons who should be snapping to orders.

“A horseman just came in the south gate sir, gave his name as Philip and claims Antiochus sent him, that Antiochus is only a few hours march away, and not to offer battle until he is available to support, sir”

Many superstitious and foolish tribes of the north have legends of dead kings who will rise and aid them in their hour of need, but for the people of Selukia it was a living king who came hurtling to their aid, like a thunderbolt thrown by Zeus Almighty, Antiochus descended upon the parthians, who like the dogs and curs they were took shelter behind a hastily fortified camp until the Lord of the Parthians, Pharotes, a great general and mighty warrior who had sworn many mighty oaths to humble the Seleucid Empire, and win back the East from the cursed Hellenes, came amongst them and put shame into their hearts for cowering and hiding whilst the enemy stood upon the field.

So Pharotes gathered the finest warriors of Parthia about him, and raising a great battle cry rode out to do battle against the combined armies of both Antiochus and Aristarchus, who marshalled their men to their banners and joined battle with a glad heart, for their numbers were far greater than those of the Parthians, and here was the head of the snake, and all knew that if the head of the beast were chopped off with a sound stroke here today, this Parthian menace would surely fade away like the setting of the sun.

The Battle of Selukia, Summer 278 BC

Jason was already cursing his ill luck in being placed in the front rank even before the first parthians came into view.

Already, only a few ranks away he could hear Galaxidorus, singing, roaring drunk, and the sun barely risen. He must have been up all night drinking, rather than up all night trying to sleep but instead mulling over stories the veterans had told him of Assyria.

Next to him the sergeant was still bawling out Cylon for the hideous crime of switching the shoulder he was resting his pike on. Callias on the other side was muttering what sounded like prayers.

This was going to be a lousy day.

Somewhere far off to the right he could hear someone shouting at the top of his voice, when he leant forward to see past the rest of his pike block he could see it was a man on a horse.

Shame he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Still Antiochus had won battles before, perhaps he’d win this one. There was an encouraging thought.

A tap on his shoulder, turning showed him the grinning face of Ismenias offering him a bladder skin of….. Ummm wine, nice wine too. The Gods knew where Ismenias had got that from, but it was good to know his friend was right behind him.

Suddenly from the tree line ahead, like birds bursting out of long grass when startled by a dog, came the peltasts. Their Javelins were gone and so was any attempt at a formation as the light troops came racing towards the line of pikemen, each absorbed in his own little race against death.

And then, from behind them came that death, emerging in long shining lines came the cataphracts of parthia, their polished armour catching the sun and appearing to Jason and the other pikemen to be some vision come down from Mount Olympus to inform them that now was their time to die.

“Open Order” cried Agis the file leader, and instinctively the pike block shuffled its ranks as the peltasts poured through.

“Your turn now boys, give em Hades.” called a peltast as he ran past Jason, who was feeling too witless to reply with anything more than a vacant grin and a nod of his head.

“Close Order” again the Pike block responded as if on the training fields of Antioch.

“Zeus Almighty, were gonna cop it now lads” despite the words the speaker spoke with a laugh in his throat, and as the Sergeant called for silence Jason studied the Partians to see what he meant.

Quickly he realised and wished he hadn’t. The entire Parthian line was shifting to their left, moving to outflank the Seleucid pike line and with despair Jason remembered that his pike regiment was anchoring the right hand side of the Seleucid position.

“Lower Pikes - look to your front, look to your front” cried Agis, the anxiety in his voice obvious.

Callias cursed violently as a pike shaft from the rear ranks was lowered too far and struck him squarely on the head.

Already the ground beneath him was trembling under the parthians approach, as was Jason. As the parthians closed with the seleucid line, he could see the horses tossing their heads back, seeming eager for the charge that must come, willing their riders to give them their reins.

But still the parthian lances were held almost contemptuously towards the sky, as if those opposite them were not worthy of preparing for, and still the Parthian line shifted to the Seleucid right and the open flank.

Then at the blast of a horn, whose meaning the Seleucid pikemen understood as well as those Parthians who were waiting for it, the lances of the enemy dropped and they raced forwards.

The ground beneath Jason seemed to drop away, then raise again to meet him as the weight of the armoured horses racing towards him shook the earth, throwing Jason to his knees as he saw the Cataphract who had singled him out - who was riding at him - whose lance had become a gleaming single point.

Jason drove the spiked haft of his pike into the ground, closed his eyes tightly and screamed.

A force struck Jason that felt somewhat like standing against the wind, only a thousand times stronger, throwing him to the floor. As Jason opened his eyes he saw the blue of the sky and knew that he had been killed. All around him was silence save for a strange ringing sound. How curious.

Then a pair of hands caught him beneath his armpits and began to lift him up, and Jason saw the battle around him. Everywhere Cataphracts had driven in the line, and glancing left and right he saw Galaxidorus astride a parthian horse, using the business end of a snapped pike to launch a flurry of short thrusts at another horseman, who was parrying frantically with a mace. Agis lay dead or dying with a broken lance point high in his stomach.

To his front lay a fallen Parthian horse, the splintered point of Jasons pike in its chest as its rider, trapped beneath his horse by his leg was trying desperately to pull himself out from beneath it.

“Kill him, Kill him” shrieked Cylon, leaping forwards at the distressed Parthian and thrusting downwards with his short sword. As Jason followed, he saw the sword deflected by the Parthians scale mail curiass, leaving only a thin white score down its front.

The Parthians right hand shot up and in it was a mace, and with a mighty blow he crushed Cylons jaw, leaving him to stagger back shaking his head, causing his horrendously mangled jaw to swing to and fro limply whilst he moaned in confusion.

Callias brought his foot down firmly on the parthians mace as he tried again to pull himself from beneath his horse, “Get the bastards helmet off, cut his throat!” hollered Ismenias, racing past and leaning down to grasp the enemys helmet. The parthians left hand struck Ismenias’ face as he bowed to grasp the helm, and at the same instant a pikeman on Jasons left crashed into him, throwing him again to the floor.

As he picked himself up again he threw a glance to the left and saw all order in the ranks collapse, parthians on 3 sides and everywhere seleucid pikemen throwing down their pikes and turning to flee.

“Run for it,” he screamed at his two comrades and throwing down the remains of his pike he turned to flee, using all the strength desperation gave him in a headlong flight for the gap that was left in the Parthian encirclement.

Seconds after he fled through the gap he cried out in despair and fell to his knees, for galloping straight towards him were yet more horsemen, but his despair was almost instantly replaced by delight as he recognised at the fore of the riders Cleitos son of Aristarchus, roaring with bloodlust and throwing himself and his outnumbered band into the fray - whilst behind him came two larger bands of companion cavalry and more, lighter prodromi hurling javelins into the fray and racing away before the heavier cataphracts charge.

Jason was still laughing with elation at being alive when Ismenias collapsed next to him, his face sweat streaked, and groaning with fatigue.

“Whats so funny?” he asked him.

“Nothing” said Jason, and handed him back the still half full bladder of wine. “but I think we might have won.”

Time has a way of passing quicker, young warrior, when you grow as old as I am. The days, it is true, seem longer, passing gradually in a multitude of complaints, aching bones, lack of teeth, ungrateful young…. But the years, the years, they pass like a summer shower in the far north…

Ha, but I am sure you had a grandfather to inform you of the complaints of the old, and I am sure you listened closely, as an attentive grandson should, hoping perhaps to pick up the wisdom of the ages. More like you learned that you were a wretch who never lived up to your families expectations in any way whatsoever.

Yes it is said the old are wise - but when I look at the elderly statesmen, generals and kings I have met I think they are just fools of a different nature, stuck in there past and trying to fit the present into it.

Which is perhaps why Antiochus left things as he did on his deathbed, leaving his empire to his eldest son Aristarchus, with his heir to be Demetrius, his third son. To his youngest child and only daughter Dione he left a suitable dowry, when Aristarchus deemed an acceptable suitor could be found.
Alexander, the second son was not mentioned on his deathbed, and all agreed that this was his punishment for tarrying in the farthest East, long after he had been summoned home to Selukia by his father.

Summer 277BC, Selukia.

“Demetrius, my dear brother, it has been too long.”

“Ha, a day without you seems like eternity, Aristarchus!”

Aristarchus sighed “Ahh, yes I should not so foolishly have hoped that being King of the greatest empire in the world would prevent me being the butt of my brothers bizarre jokes.”

“Come fellow” grinned Demetrius, “how many hundreds of thousands grovel at your feet, surely you can spare me the licking of the divine arse?”

Aristarchus’ smile slowly faded as he answered “Yes…. quite”, and turned back to the window overlooking the royal gardens. Abruptly he began to speak again,

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Father, upon his deathbed pronounced that you should be my heir.”

Pfffhhhhhhhh……….. Aristarchus frowned at the red stain on the fine Persian rug that had been caused by Demetrius spitting out his mouthful of wine. “Ahhhh,” began Demetrius, looking at the same stain “ermmm, sorry.”

Aristarchus composed himself and continued.

“But unfortunately many have voiced concern that the future of the empire should rest in the hands of one who has never fought for it…..”

“I Agree.” interrupted Demetrius hastily, noticing as he spoke how Aristarchus’ look of gravity momentarily changed to one of relief,

“So I have decided to name Cleitos as my heir, to rule after me.”

The Alarm in Demetrius reply was apparent, “But surely it should be Alexander to inherit from you? I mean Cleitos is what….. Sixteen? And also I have heard much that is dist….” he tailed off as he remembered that he spoke to Cleitos’ Father.

Aristarchus gave a laugh that Demetrius would remember as one of the most obviously contrived he had ever heard,

“Please, I do not believe that anyone would think that a son so undutiful as not to attend his fathers funeral would make a suitable heir. I mean who was that fellow he ‘sent in his place’. Some adopted son, taken up simply because he can swing a sword better than most?”

“You mean Ceyx of Antaradus?” countered Demetrius, who had quite liked the brash young warrior “you would do well not to neglect the martial virtues - from what I have heard our defences are precious few.”

“Exactly, do you know how many regiments of light troops, archers or cavalry we have east of Susa? I will tell you. None: And yet Alexander insists on riding from city to city, making vain promises to the citizenry, making pointless plans for defence and begging for money from the royal treasury when HIS PLACE IS HERE!!!” Aristarchus’ voice had risen to an almost incoherent scream “HE IS VAINGLORIOUS, A SPOLIT FOOL WHO SEES HIMSELF AS THE HEAD OF SOME NEW EASTERN EMPIRE!!!”

Demetrius was stunned for a few moments. Never before had he seen his brother lose control so obviously and he glanced around, anxious for the dignity of his family that none should have witnessed should a spectacular breakdown in composure. Flustered he rose and bowing backed out of the room.

“I apologise sire, if my ill chosen words have caused offence. I have no doubt in the wisdom with which you shall rule, and hope only to be your most useful servant. I shall return to Antioch at once.”

As Demetrius left the room he saw for a moment his brother blink, control and a look of conciliation returning to his face, and an arm raise, perhaps to gesture him back, but Demetrius, out of sight turned and fled, hoping only to avoid more confrontation.

His flight was cut short when he realised a figure stood in front of him, and as he raised his eyes from the flagstones he saw the bearded figure of Cleitos standing square in his path.

“So Uncle,” he rasped “You think Alexander should be heir in my place?”

Demetrius, still flustered stalled,

“You should not listen to your fathers conversations, Boy”

Cleitos leaned forward, looming over the slight frame of Demetrius, a grin on his face and suddenly Demetrius was afraid of the look in his nephews eye, recalling all the rumours of mutilation and massacre that he had heard Cleitos had practiced after the battle of Selukia.

“You should address me as Lord, Uncle.”

Demetrius abandoned all pretence at civilised behaviour and tried simply pushing past Cleitos, but the youngster was stronger and lifting his arms threw him to the floor. His Eyes rose as Cleitos stepped to one side and gestured for Demetrius to pass,

“You should be more careful of where you tread Uncle.”

Cleitos’ laughter followed Demetrius down the corridor as he fled.

Two horsemen threaded their way between the tents of the Army of Selukia, which was camped beneath the walls of the capital of the Seleucid empire. As they rode one was silent, seemingly concentrating on the point in the air between the ears of his horse, whilst the other waved his arms around, guiding his horse with his knees and talked incessantly.

“By All that is holy Demetrius, I tell you it’s a shocking insult. This Cleitos fights one battle and suddenly everyone thinks he’s Hercules come again. Pah, I would have slapped his stupid bald head, or tweaked his beard at the least.”

Ceyx stopped talking for a moment to draw breath and in that moment laughed as an amusing thought came to him.

“Heh, his head looks like it got put on upside down.”

Demetrius again didn’t answer, glad that Ceyx didn’t know the worst of it, about his running from Cleitos outside his brothers quarters when he was beginning to suspect he really should have done as Ceyx was proposing. He slowed for a moment to guide his horse round an outstretched guide rope.

“…..upside down, heh, heh, heh. But seriously Demetrius, if being round here gets to be too much of a bore - what with slaphead and the lord high king poet-in-chief on your back all the time you should come live with Alexander in the East. His men are loyal to him, not some far distant throne and theres always plenty of fighting, what with the Parthians and those damn Saka rebels - we could use good men.”

As Demetrius smiled and turned to nod and grin at Ceyx he was surprised to see him looking earnestly back, as if expecting an answer.

“Well, I mean thanks, but I couldn’t, well, erm, I’ve got to return to Antioch, I only came here to offer sacrifices on fathers tomb.”

“What’s so good about Antioch? We’ve got some fantastic cities in the east I can tell you. You can govern one of them - and what’s more you can defend it too. There’s always Parthians and Rebels need killing I tell you.”

“My wife’s in Antioch Ceyx, I cant just gallop off to the East looking for adventure.”

“By the gods Demetrius your not going to stay because of a woman are you.” He made a noise that was somewhere between a bark and a laugh, “We’ve got loads of women in the East, if your tastes run that way. Fine women, or so I’m told they are.”

Demetrius shook his head at the warrior and tried to sound regretful, “Sorry Ceyx but I really have to return to Antioch. Duty calls and all that.”

“Oh well,” for the first time since Demetrius had met him he sounded less than jovial, “I suppose this is farewell Demetrius. If the Gods must look upon you, let it be favourably!”

“You also friend - good luck with your struggles in the East.”

The two had now ridden clean through the camp to where two squadrons of Companions stood waiting in double file, one squadron on each side of the road. Ceyx spurred his horse past Demetrius’ to the head of the leftward one, shouting back over his shoulder to Demetrius,

“Fighting’s never a struggle Demetrius, always a pleasure.” This drew a laugh from the surrounding companions even as Ceyx’s column began a brisk trot away from the camp, turning left as it reached the road and soon disappearing behind its own dust-cloud.

Demetrius did not lead his column away at the same pace but rather spent a few moments looking over his shoulder at the walls of Seleukia.

At the front of the column was Pytheas, who turned to Demetrius as he arrived.

“So, home then?”

“Yes Pytheas, Home it is.”

As the horsemen set off Pytheas continued to speak, “And how was Ceyx of Antaradus, in good health I hope?”

“He was fine. Disturbingly angry about Cleitos being made heir in my place though.”

“He is not the only one.” Demetrius turned a puzzled glance on his old mentor and thought how unusual it was for him to speak of his emotions. Feeling suddenly awkward he decided to fall back on baiting him.

“Why Pytheas I never knew you cared.” Pytheas looked momentarily blank as he stared straight ahead.

“What? Hah, you think I spoke of myself? No, youngster I see I must as always explain everything to you in no small detail. I meant only to warn you - Aristarchus cannot but see the discontent he has caused, hmmm, and in the way of Kings everywhere he will not imagine it to be his fault, no, but rather he will begin to see plots everywhere and who will he see at their head when the crowd is at the gates of the palace demanding Demetrius is re-instated as heir? And then what action will he take, hmm?”

Demetrius shook his head and grinned disarmingly at the old man. “I don’t think my brother will need to dream up threats to his throne. Not with them hovering about.”

Pytheas followed Demetrius’ gaze and saw the Parthian out-riders on the ridge.

“Careless of them to get sky-lined like that,” commented Demetrius.

“They grow bolder because they have heard of Antiochus’ death. He struck fear into their hearts, and now they must laugh around their camp fires and speak of our having a poet on the throne.”

“We’ll I think we’ll have a double watch round our campfire tonight, and lets get moving a little bit faster.”

The Road between Antioch and Selukia.

Pytheas pulled his cloak tighter around him and, holding it closed with one hand tried using the other to massage his shoulders.

Damn Breastplate. He really was getting too old for this.

Demetrius and his companions had been riding faster than they should for the past week, considering they had to make the whole trip on the same horses, and especially considering that since the ambush on the second day they now rode fully armoured the whole time, hence his poor aching shoulders.

Pytheas gave up trying to massage life back into his shoulders and drew his knees up inside the cloak whilst trying to shuffle closer to the campfire. At least tonight Demetrius had deemed it safe to have campfires, the previous nights beneath the freezing desert sky had not made this any more of an enjoyable journey.

He glanced round at the other campfires, each surrounded by a dozen or so dozing bundles. They had the right idea. It was definitely time to sleep. Taking one last look around the camp he was dismayed but not surprised to realise the sleeper opposite the fire from him was gone. Sighing he tottered onto his creaking knees once more and went looking for him.


“Demetrius”, his mentors voice shook him out of his reverie, and raising his head he saw Pytheas had already seen him, and was fast approaching.

He also noticed that Pytheas was shaking his head and using his favourite look of scornful disbelief.

“If you must hang around on the edge of the camp trying to appear enigmatic perhaps you would care not to outline yourself against the camp fires? You are just asking to pick up a stray parthian arrow.”

“Well that would make a nice souvenir wouldn’t it?” countered Demetrius, but crouched down all the same.

“What are you doing here anyway?” continued Pytheas.

“Oh….” Demetrius glanced around quickly. “Studying the stars….. have you ever thought how much it looks like we are in some giant globe, and perhaps the stars above are the campfires of those on some strange world above us?”

“A trite idea I have heard many times before and always dismissed. If it was true why does it not rain people at night, hmmm? If it is not true why waste your time on it? Come, Demetrius why do you seek to put me off with such a ridiculous answer? Throughout this journey you have been constantly moping, slinking off and behaving like a man guilty of some great crime. The men have noticed and I tell you they do not…..”

“Enough, Pytheas, Enough.” There was both resignation and anger in Demetrius’ tone. He risked a brief upwards glance before continuing in a more subdued tone, “Do you think me a coward Pytheas?”

“What?” the puzzlement in Pytheas voice was obvious. “By all the gods on mount Olympus any man would have run from that ambush. There were 50 of them for every one of us. It would have been reckless, nay, idiotic folly to stay. No one would….”

Pytheas’ voice trailed off as he realised that Demetrius’ was not paying attention any longer but staring once more out into the darkness of the night. Obviously the ambush was not what was preying on his pupils mind, and knowing Demetrius he would have a hard time getting him to admit what did concern him so much.

More consideration of this matter was definitely needed.


A Wheatfield near Seleukia.

It was good to defend his country, thought Cleitos, It was good to test himself in battle and it was very good to bring your sword down just so on a parthian slingers head and watch the life run out of him. In fact that was definitely the best bit of all.

Already Cleitos’ arm was red to his elbow and the sun was not even above his head. He looked left, then right and nodded approvingly - his companions were formed up around him - but damn this wheatfield, he couldn’t see more than a few yards.

His horse let out a shriek of protest and pain as he lifted first one foot then another to stand on its back, but it had been taught that he was one rider it would never pay to throw. Much like the rest of this army he thought, and the metaphor pleased him, ‘follow me or suffer pain unlike any other’. It was the best way to treat men, a wat they understood.

THERE! The wheat was swaying to and fro in a way that must mean men were moving through it. Quickly retaking his place in the saddle he cried out the order to charge and led his men on yet another charge.

The horses galloped forward madly through the wheat and as Cleitos saw a lone footman he let out a cry of triumph and raced his horse forward. It was with black disappointment he realised the man in front of him was a pikeman of his own army.

“Damn you man,” he cried, reining up his horse. “What are you doing here?”

The pikeman glanced up, grinning inanely like the stupid peasant Cleitos knew him to be.

“We were ordered forward in pursuit sir. The day is ours. The Parthians have fled.”

Cleitos cursed inwardly. The Parthians were running too soon, he’d hoped to get a lot more killing in today. He looked around for Lysander to carry orders to halt the pursuit before the river Tiber, and suddenly realised that some freak of battle had left him and the pikeman alone. He smiled as he realised he’d never killed a greek before.

Wondering if they looked any different on the inside he raised his left hand to point behind the pikeman and asked “What’s that?”.

Antioch. Summer 276BC.

“We’ll, bugger me,” chortled the Gate Captain, leaning over the parapet. “Looks like ‘is friggin nibs is back lads. Run an’ get trumpets an’ we’ll see if we can nae scare shit out of ‘im when ‘e gets ‘ere.”

The few men above the gate sighed even as they left on their errand. Having Demetrius back would mean more drilling, more exercising and generally more work for everyone. To his subordinates Demetrius seemed never to sleep and they felt they had no choice but to try keep up.

“Aye, we’ll all be chasing our own arses for a while to come now,” continued the Gate Captain, his gap toothed grin showing his true feelings on the matter, despite his disapproving tone.

Half a dozen heralds came running out of the gate house each clutching a trumpet almost as long as themselves, and the gate captains features slowly turned into a rather sadistic looking smile.


Pytheas was the first to ask what nearly all but the most dull-witted of Demetrius' companions were thinking as they approached the North gate of Antioch.

“Where are the gate guard? Why is no one manning the gate?” The returning party had seen more than enough carts laden for market going into the city, and caravans coming out, to know that nothing more sinister than a lax captain could be at work here, yet a lax captain was never a good sign.

“Oh Gods,” sighed Demetrius, “We should have gone in the South gate, I fear we’re going to get the full returning hero treatment.”

As he spoke Demetrius raised his eyes, but whether he was examining the battlements for the first sign of heralds or silently imploring the heavens Pytheas could not tell.

“I don’t know why you don’t replace that lun….” Daaahhhh-Dah-da-daaaaahhhhhhhhhhh, Darrrr-da-da-darrrrrrr.

Pytheas words were cut short by the cavalcade of sound that descended upon them. To Demetrius he appeared to be merely mouthing words at him, but guessing his question he tried to answer, shouting so that his face turned red and the veins on his neck stood out.

De-De-Daaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr “….just obsessed with trumpets” was all that Pytheas could make out as the two of them rode under the Gate house.

Near Selukia.

Self restraint, thought Cleitos, self restraint was the key. As the bloodlust faded from his mind it occurred to him that he really should have stayed up on the hill directing the army as a whole, rather than rushing after those Parthian footmen. It had just been so tempting.

After riding for a short time Cleitos’ horse led him out of the wheatfield and almost immediately he saw the majority of his companions standing a short distance away, dismounted and looking pleasingly concerned.

“Hail friends,” He shouted waving his arm wildly above his head, “Victory is ours!!!”

Lysander came running towards him, his face split in two by a broad grin, “No Cleitos, Victory is yours - there will be many songs sung about your deeds this day.”

Cleitos nodded, he had done damned well today, riding through the Parthian ranks time after time. He wondered vacantly how the rest of the army had done, but well, they had won hadn’t they. What more could anyone ask for. Suddenly he remembered something.

“By the way, I found this - someone tell him where his regiment is will you?” he said nodding over his shoulder at the grinning pikeman following him.

Yes, self restraint was definitely the key.


The City of Selukia, 276BC, 1 week later.

Aristarchus looked up from the parchment on which the casualties of both sides had been hurriedly scrawled. Cleitos stood in front of him, still, ludicrously, fully armed and attired for battle a week after it had ended.

“Oh well done indeed…….. I sometimes wonder what I have done to deserve two such worthless sons.”

Aristarchus sat down heavily and gazed resignedly at Cleitos.

“Another slaughter house to your name, another opportunity to destroy a Parthian army lost - This is just like First Sleukia!” he cried, thinking back to the second battle of the war in which Cleitos' seemingly suicidal charge had turned the enemy flank, but only after many, many men had died trying to cut their way through to his surrounded companions.

“I suppose it was a cunning ploy of yours to place yourself in a position where you could see nothing of your enemy? Where you utterly failed to direct the battle? The pursuit of the beaten enemy did not begin until half an hour after the battle ended! Do you have the wits of a camel boy?”

He waved the papers he had been studying in Cleitos face

“All these men wasted! With the treasury nearly empty we cannot afford casualties on this scale - we have the army I have entrusted you with, only 10,000 men now. Say another 20,000 surplus garrison troops of poor quality here and at Susa and that is all!!!!”

Cleitos looked back, seemingly undisturbed.

“There is the garrison at Antioch, and Alexander must have near 30,000 men in the east.” He tried to avoid smiling at proving his father wrong - a rare occurrence for one who had grown up with regular reminders of his fathers genius.

However Aristarchus’ response was not what Cleitos had been hoping for. An all too familiar look of contempt spread over his face, and his lips curled into a snarl. However for Aristarchus to lash out wildly was even rarer than for him to be proved wrong, and he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and lifted his hands up, holding them poised to strike the low table, but equally deliberately not carrying through the action.

“Think oh dullard,” he began, noting with satisfaction how well he composed his voice, “Antioch’s garrison has been stripped to the bones, and Alexanders 30,000 might as well be in Ultima Thule. They are spread over half the world. Get from my sight, and send in your idiot brother.”

Aristarchus looked intently at the floor as he waited for his lazy, lying younger son, Zeuxis, to enter. Cleitos should be replaced as commander of the army. There were a couple of very good candidates, not least himself, but to do so would be to admit his lack of judgement - not only to the people but to himself. No - he would simply have to keep Cletios on a shorter leash.


Antioch.

“And what did your mother & brother say?”

“About what?” Demetrius’ tried his favourite stalling for time tactic - a question answered by a question. He should have known better to try that on Athena, his wife.

“You know what. I reminded you about it perhaps, oh, half a dozen times before you left. In fact I specifically reminded Pytheas to remind you and he…”

Demetrius interrupted before the only excuse he could think of became even more improbable. Oh gods he’d only just got back from his journey. The basin of water he was washing his feet in was still warm and already he was feeling guilty.

“Oh of course!!!” he cried, slapping his forehead - too melodramatically he realised almost instantly, and in trying to atone for his error lowered his voice almost to a murmur, “Ummm, I forgot.”

“I see” said Athena, and smiled, sickly sweet, at him before returning to the embroidery that seemed to be permanently in front of her.

Demetrius studied the floor hard, but still it steadfastly refused to swallow him. After only a few moments of tolerating the floors disobedience he stared at the ceiling instead.

It still wasn’t working. Damn it all, why hadn’t he asked his mother to come live at Antioch with him now that father was dead. Reasons flushed through his head with the rapidity that his new sewers had cleared the waste from the streets.

But sadly there was no hiding from himself, especially not on the blank space of the ceiling. Having his mother around would make him feel even more the lost little boy in a mans world. The sting of Aristarchus’ reasoning for ignoring his fathers will came back in full force -

“But unfortunately many have voiced concern that the future of the empire should rest in the hands of one who has never fought for it…..”

- Demetrius tried to avoid cringing as he remembered how readily he had agreed, and how he still did. Battle made men, and he had never fought.

30 years old and he had never lifted a sword in anger. He shuddered to think of what his wife, whose brother and father had died fighting enemies of the empire, must think of him, one of its so called rulers, who dared not even invite his own mother to stay.

His thoughts turning to her he glanced across at his wife, who was working with exaggerated effort, just as she caught one of her fingers with the long embroidery needle. Because he was looking at her he saw the murderous glance she momentarily threw at him before quickly returning her gaze to the cloth in front of her.

Oh Zeus, there was nothing for it Demetrius decided

“I’ll write, first thing tomorrow, and invite her, and ask Aristarchus’ permission too.”

Athena looked back towards him, but her gaze was distracted as Pytheas entered the room behind him, without even his usual discreet cough to announce himself.

“Demetrius” he began, his voice oddly strained, “The Eygptians have crossed the border 6,000 strong, a powerful scouting force. A letter from Attalus reports a similar sized army at Sidon.”

With a repressed chortle Demetrius looked back to the ceiling and wondered whether to thank the gods or curse them.

Selukia, Summer 276BC

Aristarchus knew as soon as he entered his private quarters that he was not alone. There were clues that only a mind as sharp as his could comprehend. Who could it be? Once again Aristarchus knew his mind would be up to the challenge.

His Wife was well trained and knew better than to enter his quarters without him inviting her. A servant would have been far, far easier to detect. An assassin would have killed him by now. A spy? No, a spy would be spying on the council chambers where he spoke his decisions, not in here where he made them up in his mind. There was no spy good enough to read his mind.

Ahhh, but of course it was a spy…..

“Philip, my old friend,” Aristarchus spoke smoothly and without any of the annoyance he felt that his chief spymaster came and went when and where he pleased, for he was certain that annoying him was all he intended by it. “More bad news I trust?”

“Of course” growled the aging spy. “Clietos is at the southern crossing of the Tigris in full strength. Pharotes is opposite him and plans to attack at dawn tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Philip, you may go.”

Philip left as he had entered, without a sound. Aristarchus when he was certain he was alone groaned in despair.

Cleitos was at least guarding the crossing as he should, but Aristarchus had made it clear that if Pharotes and his army, who had been driven south of the river after their last bloody clash with Cleitos, should attempt to cross to the north bank then he should be sent for.

With the Garrison of Selukia and the Army of Cleitos concentrated in one place under his command the Parthian king’s doom would be sealed. Cletios obviously though to steal the glory for himself - no doubt he would look baffled and claim brigands must have attacked his messengers.

Thanks to Philip however there was still time - If, and only if the garrison marched now they could sally forth, defeat the parthians and return before any dissident groups managed to whip up any real support.

He called out for Polymidas, his fathers old friend who now rode with his own companions and was currently standing guard on his door, “Hey there, Polymidas - send out word to all the captains, we march out as soon as possible to link up with Cleitos army. Pharotes approaches and must be dealt with.” These last words were said with a confidence inspiring smile at the companion so that he would spread the word to the men that Aristarchus was unafraid and more than ready to do battle with the foes of the Seleucid empire.

South of Antioch, still Summer 276BC

Alexander Teos looked down on the Seleucid army that was marching along the valley bottom below him. He had known, in his heart, that the ambush would not work. Still it had been worth a try had it not? After all nothing had been lost by it.

There were other approaches that would work against this Demetrius. In his minds eye he pictured himself as one of the mountain lions that lived in the furthest southern reaches of his Uncles kingdom. There was a satisfaction to the hunt that could not be denied, but true joy would only come when this hunt was concluded.

Never one to trust scouts Alexander counted the enemy formations again. 3 regiments of pikemen, 2 of Prodromi and a handful of heavy cavalry.

In the open field they would no doubt crush his force, which consisted almost entirely of lightly armed auxiliary troops - recruited from the desert where they hunted and fought their rival tribes with javelins, but Alexander Teos had a different purpose for these weapons today.

He threw a glance behind him at the hollow where his troops were concealed, then did a double take, this time looking at the sky, where a long dark yellow smudge indicated a coming sand storm.

Oh this really was just too perfect. He gave a few hand signals and like the well honed force it was his troops began racing over the ridge, no doubt appearing to the Seleucids in the valley bottom like a thick syrup pouring down the hillside towards them.

Immediately the Seleucid’s responded. The pike men began to thin their lines, spreading out whilst the prodromi took up position on the flanks.

“Pikes Centre” he muttered, and the signaller beside him took up the message - blowing two short and then one long blast on the his sawn off trumpet. The pike men had been expecting just such an order an the two mercenary regiments, one Macedonian, one Greek, moved quickly into position.

“Archers stay with me!” he called - there were a handful of truly experienced and useful archers with his army, and he did not want to throw them away.

Now the enemy Prodromi were racing out - seeking to drive away the native auxilia who held the flanks of his army. Alexander Teos smiled as they held there ground - exactly as he had ordered them to do, and flung a hail of darts into the Seleucids ranks. They could barely miss the large targets a mount and rider presented and even as the horsemen who had survived this rain of death hit home the flexible auxilia were enveloping them, hamstringing horses and pulling riders from their saddles.

A roar and a crash as the two opposing pike blocks hit drew his attention back to the centre of the field. His smug grin turned to a broad grin of satisfaction as the Greeks and Macedonians began driving the Seleucids back slowly.

But then he saw the flaw. The left hand Seleucid pike block was unengaged, and, as a shrill trumpet call reached him, abandoned its tight packed formation and began racing round the flanks of the Greeks.

No need to panic yet, Alexander Teos smiled as he saw the auxilia on the left had finished the job of butchering the prodromi and even now there commander, Akhtunut, was leading a counter charge against the loose formation of pikemen.

He had earned himself a commendation, perhaps a purse of silver - given publicly of course, would show his appreciation for this very proper show of initiative.

Beside him one of his bodyguard gave a gasp of horror. Alexander Teos turned to him, meaning to ask him what he meant by voicing womanlike fears, but instead he found himself following his gaze to the other side of the pike block.

The enemy general, Demetrius, was leading his heavy cavalry, his companions, around the flank of the Macedonians. The auxilia on this flank were understandably not showing initiative in the face of these heavily armoured riders but retreating and showering them with javelins. A few fell but nothing like enough to stop them from wheeling and crashing into the sides of the Macedonians.

Their reaction was predictable and within moments the Seleucid general was driving on into the Greeks.

As the sandstorm blew in over his head, obscuring his vision of the battle, Alexander cursed violently and led his bodyguards down into the valley.

The sandstorm was clearing even as the ground beneath Alexander Teos’ horse began to level out. He pulled away the scarf he had wrapped around his face and began to examine the battle.

Chaos, was his first thought, utter chaos, men were running everywhere without order, broken weapons horses and men were strewn liberally across the field, but gradually his experienced eye began to make sense of the scene.

His pike men had broken, but even now were reforming, and the hordes of native auxilia were had taken, and were taking, a fearsome toll of the Seleucid Levies, who in their packed formations were easy prey.

But where was the enemy general, where was this Demetrius? Alexander Teos frowned, this battle was a mess - a band of horsemen drew his eye, galloping across the front of the Seleucid lines as they attempted to reform under another hail of arrows, and out in front of them waving his sword, obviously shouting orders, exhorting his men, that could only be the enemy general.

A terribly naive idea when in range of enemy archers. He twisted in the saddle and called over the leader of the bowmen who, as he had ordered were still nearby,

“That one, there,” He said indicating Demetrius. The captain nodded and ran back to his men and with well honed efficiency they drew back the strings on their bows and sent a deadly hail of darts into the air. Alexander Teos smiled as the Seleucid general tumbled from the saddle, and tried to suppress a laugh as a cloud of dust rose up to obscure where he had hit the floor, his horse galloping on without him whilst his men desperately reined up trying not to trample their leaders corpse.

For a moment their he’d thought things were going to go badly, but now he could see exactly how this battle was going to pan out, or rather the rout was going to pan out.

Yes the Mountain Lion had brought down his quarry, and all that remained now was to feast.



“By my fathers grave…” Aristarchus started to curse but stopped short as he gazed down at the scene of carnage on the plain below him.

Cleitos’ army was drawn up before the bridge, two lines of infantry with the cavalry behind, but that did not tell the whole story. The Parthians, with slingers and horse archers were raining death down on the front line - already one regiment had nearly disappeared and a second had many large gaps in the ranks.

Behind the Parthian lines Aristarchus could see camp followers running to and fro between the army and the camp carrying…. Baskets? The realisation hit home like a goblet of cold water over his face as he realised his error. Arrow quivers. Either the army had to fall back, in which case the last defensible position was the Walls of Selukia itself, his capital, or an attack to drive the Parthians back had to be mounted.

Yet now he was here with the garrison of Antioch numbers favoured himself and Cleitos nearly 3 to 1, and many of the Parthians were lightly armoured archers who would have to fall back before an assault or be destroyed. He made his decision.

“Polymidas, ride fast to Cleitos, inform him that he is to support my attack with all his regiments at once. Thucydides, find Captain Lysander, tell him to support me with the Prodromi, then find Conon and tell him the pike are to follow acroos the bridge as soon as it is clear - understood?”

The two companions nodded, repeated the orders so there could be no misunderstanding and then as Aristarchus made a hand gesture disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Aristarchus turned back to the men behind him and laughing cried out “100 talents for the Parthian Kings head, if you can get their before me!” He dug his heels into his horses flanks and together closely followed by his bodyguards galloped for the bridge and the Parthian army.


Half an hour, thought Aristarchus, it must have been half an hour at least. Ahead of him the line of Seleucid warriors buckled again, as the Parthian Cataphracts tried again to break through relying on the mass of there chargers alone - but once more Seleucid valour was there equal as thet were met by Lances, Javelins and swords of Aristarchus’ cavalry.

Yet it was not to the front where Aristarchus concerns lay, he glanced behind, with growing agitation as the cries of men redoubled and screams of pain sounded over the clash of arms with renewed vigor. The Parthians were trying with desperate courage to cut him off from the bridge, and what was worse they were succeeding.

And still the banners he could make out over the heads of his men, on the far side of the river were still. A few moments before one of the infantry regiments had begun moving forward hesitantly, one file leading off, the rest following in its wake - but now they had all halted as one, clearly responding to orders from above.

Why did Cleitos not attack? Why did he delay? Aristarchus could guess the truth but would not allow himself to, and his chain of thought was broken by a roar in front of him, the Parthians giving voice seemingly all as one,

“The King of the Foe! He is here!” So they had seen him, and the knowledge would add fresh impetus to their attack as the Parthian nobles sought glory by felling him in combat.

Almost detachedly Aristarchus watched as a mighty champion of the foe, his armour edged in gold, and the handle of his deadly mace bejewelled smashed down a companion with contemptuous ease, and then reversed his swing to strike a second companion across the back of his head.

Aristarchus caught himself admiring the technique that had allowed the parthian to strike such a blow without even looking at the second companion even as he realised that the champion aim was to clear a path to himself - and having done that was now powering his charger towards him.

“Defend the King, to the King” cried a desperate voice nearby, and as Aristarchus lifted his sword to parry a blow he felt certain must snap his flimsy seeming sword in two a lance struck the Parthian squarely on the side of the head, breaking off a foot from the point and remaining firmly embedded.

As the rider fell his horse crashed into Aristarchus’ and the two beasts shrill cries of pain mingled with his own of shock as they all collapsed in a mass of man, armour and beast.

Instantly strong hands were pulling him free and raising him to his feet, a companion swiftly dismounted and pushed a still dazed Aristarchus into the saddle,

Someone he vaguely recognised as a promising new companion was shouting in his face,

“You must ride to safety my lord, You must ride now!” Aristarchus shook his head, trying to clear the confusion that filled it, and as he began to come back to himself he wondered why the youngster in front of him looked so despondent, before himself picking out the despairing cries from the all-encompassing din of battle,

“They have gained the bridge, They have gained the bridge.” Over and over it was chanted, like some priests mantra before a sacrifice.

“There is nothing for it now,” whispered Aristarchus, even though no one could hear, “we must look to our front and we must fight.”

Almost immediately in front of him the line burst open, a companion and his horse both being born down bodily beneath the weight of a dozen Parthians who had somehow found the cohesion to form a wedge, and whose leader now held his lance double handed above his head and bore down on Aristarchus,

“TO THE KING” cried companions and cataphracts together as they raced towards him.

He dodged the first by the simple expedient of ducking and pulling the rein ferociously to the left, but his horse did not turn far enough or quick enough and a amce blow from a following cataphract struck him directly on the arm, smashing bone and filling Aristarchus whole body with pain. A companion rode directly into Aristarchus’ assailant, making no provision for his own safety, just trying to force the Parthian away.

A second companion was at Aristarchus’ side trying desperately to pull his horse away as he dumbly held his left arm, staring in horror at the crazy angle it now presented. Suddenly The companion was gone, flung from his horse by a Parthian lance and Aristarchus was face to face with a new threat, realising belatedly he had left his sword somewhere in the mud when his first horse collapsed, and the only one he could see now was in the hands of the Parthian who was swinging it at his head.

**********************************************************


Thats all Folks! With both "Sons of Antiochus" I was following dead it seems a good place to end it. For those who care Cleitos reign so far has been an absolute disaster, 6 out of 12 regions lost, treasury at -6500 and losing about 1200 a turn, and the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming catapharct.

I'll be writing something else soon, so unless you want more of the same please tell me what you didn't like and what you think needs changing.