The shadow king, p.1
The Shadow King, page 1
Praise for
‘Makes you feel as though you are there’
BETTANY HUGHES, THE TIMES
‘Harry Sidebottom’s epic tale starts with a chilling assassination and goes on, and up, from there’
MARY BEARD
‘An amazing story of bloodlust, ruthless ambition and revenge’
KATE SAUNDERS, THE TIMES
‘An extraordinarily vivid take on the ancient world. Think of The Killing crossed with Andy McNab crossed with Mary Beard, and you’re there’
DAVID SEXTON, EVENING STANDARD
‘Ancient Rome has long been a favourite destination for writers of historical military fiction. Much the best of them is Harry Sidebottom’
SUNDAY TIMES
‘Swashbuckling as well as bloody, yet curiously plausible . . . a real gift for summoning up a sense of place’
TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
‘The best sort of red-blooded historical fiction – solidly based on a profound understanding of what it meant to be alive in a particular time and place’
ANDREW TAYLOR
‘Absorbing, rich in detail and brilliant’
THE TIMES
‘Sidebottom’s prose blazes with searing scholarship’
THE TIMES
‘Superior fiction, with depth, authenticity and a sense of place’
TLS
‘A storming triumph . . . wonderful fight scenes, deft literary touches and salty dialogue’
DAILY TELEGRAPH
‘He has the touch of an exceptionally gifted storyteller, drawing on prodigious learning’
TIMOTHY SEVERIN
To Lynne and Ernie Moss
CONTENTS
Maps
A List of Main Characters
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Historical Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A LIST OF MAIN CHARACTERS
Those in italics are fictional
Aeropus – Lord of Lyncestis, head of the Bacchiad house, father of Arrhabaeus, Heromenes, and Alexander Lyncestes, given to drink and flute-girls
Agathion – Tyrian slave-boy bought, and named (‘Good-fellow’), by Alexander Lyncestes
Alexander of Lyncestis – youngest son of Aeropus, ‘Xander to his family, Lyncestes to Alexander son of Philip, and to various Macedonians, Greeks and Persians he is The Shadow King
Alexander of Macedon – son of Philip II and Olympias, known to history as Alexander the Great
Amyntas (1) – son of Arrhabaeus, twin brother of Neoptolemus, pious nephew of Alexander of Lyncestis
Amyntas (2) – son of King Perdiccas III, nephew of Philip II, who set him aside to take the throne
Antigone – Macedonian slave girl, mistress of Philotas
Antigonus the one-eyed – senior Macedonian officer, commands the Greek allies at Gordion
Antipater – general of Philip and Alexander, father of Cassander, Iolaus, Electra, father-in-law of Alexander Lyncestes
Aristander – seer to Philip and Alexander
Aristotle – philosopher, and tutor to Alexander the Great and his foster-brothers at Mieza
Arrhabaeus (1) – taciturn son of Aeropus, brother of Heromenes and Alexander Lyncestes, father of the twins Neoptolemus and Amyntas
Arrhabaeus (2) – son of Alexander Lyncestes and Electra
Arrhidaeus – son of Philip II and Philine of Larissa, his mental deficiency rumoured to have been caused by poison administered by Olympias
Atarrhias – Macedonian veteran from Lyncestis in charge of camp servants
Attalus – Macedonian nobleman, uncle and adoptive father of Cleopatra (2), father-in-law of Philip II
Batis – Babylonian eunuch commanding city of Gaza for the Persians
Bessus – Persian kinsman of Darius III
Calas – Macedonian officer from former royal house of Elimea
Callisthenes – Greek court historian to Alexander the Great
Caranus – infant son of Philip II and Cleopatra (his reality is often doubted)
Cassander – sickly son of Antipater, detests Alexander the Great
Cleitus the Black – older Macedonian officer of traditional cast of mind
Cleopatra (1) – daughter of Philip II and Olympias
Cleopatra (2) – niece and adopted daughter of Attalus, wife of Philip II
Coenus – phalanx commander from Elimea, son-in-law of Parmenion, defender of Macedonian traditions
Copreus – Macedonian gaoler (perhaps of Thracian ancestry)
Craterus – from the former royal house of Orestis, dislikes Philotas, hates Hephaestion
Cynnane – daughter of Philip II and Audata the Illyrian
Darius III – Persian King of Kings
Demaratus of Corinth – old friend and envoy of Philip II
Demosthenes – Athenian orator, inveterate enemy of Philip II
Electra – daughter of Antipater, wife of Alexander Lyncestes (her real name is unknown)
Eumenes – Greek secretary to Alexander the Great
Eumaeus – Lyncestian veteran, serves Alexander of Lyncestis
Euphraeus – philosopher, pupil of Plato, once court philosopher in Macedon
Europa – infant daughter of Philip II and Cleopatra
Eurydice – mother of Philip II, from the Bacchiad house of Lyncestis
Harpalus – member of the former royal house of Elimea, lame and hunchbacked
Hector – son of Parmenion, a Royal Page
Hephaestion – foster-brother and lover of Alexander the Great, hates Craterus and Alexander Lyncestes
Heromenes – embittered son of Aeropus of Lyncestis, brother of Alexander Lyncestes, who calls him Horse-face
Iolaus – youngest son of Antipater, a Royal Page, lover of Medius of Thessaly
Leonnatus – kinsman and older friend of Alexander of Lyncestis
Leucippe – Tyrian slave-girl bought by Alexander Lyncestes
Machatas – head of the former royal house of Elimea, father of Harpalus
Medius of Thessaly – foster-brother of Alexander the Great, lover of Iolaus, son of Antipater, fond of a party
Memnon – ambitious Macedonian officer, who wants to be Strategos of Thrace
Memnon of Rhodes – Greek mercenary commander fighting for the Persians
Nearchus the Cretan – foster-brother of Alexander the Great
Neoptolemus – twin brother of Amyntas, the wilder nephew of Alexander of Lyncestis
Nicanor – son of Parmenion, brother of Philotas, commander of the Hypaspists
Olympias – wife of Philip II, mother of Alexander the Great, worshipper of Dionysus, said to be a witch, schemes against Alexander Lyncestes
Parmenion – general of Philip and Alexander, father of Philotas, Nicanor, and Hector
Pausanias – from Orestis, Royal Page, and sometime lover of Philip II
Pausanias Kalos – Royal Page, and lover of Philip II
Perdiccas – phalanx commander, member of former royal house of Orestis
Peucestas of Mieza – young Macedonian officer, who speaks Persian
Philip (1) – Philip II, Argead King of Macedon, father of Alexander, Arrhidaeus, Cleopatra, Cynnane, Thessalonice, Caranus and Europa
Philip (2) – son of Amyntas, phalanx commander from lowland Pieria
Philip (3) – son of Menelaus, Macedonian officer, takes over Thessalian cavalry at Gordion
Philip (4) – Greek doctor to Alexander the Great
Philotas – son of Parmenion, held to be arrogant, dislikes Craterus
Ptolemy – young Macedonian noble, rumoured to be an illegitimate son of Philip II
Rhascus – Thracian kinsman of Sitalkes
Roxane – daughter of a Bactrian chief, wife of Alexander the Great
Seuthes – Thracian, elder brother of Sitalkes
Sisines – Persian nobleman, suspected of being a spy
Sitalkes – Thracian, son of King Cersobleptes of the Odrysians
Timocleia – a Greek woman from Thebes
Zopyrion – ambitious Macedonian officer in Thrace
PROLOGUE
Summer 323 BC
I
, ALEXANDER OF LYNCESTIS, WILL die in the morning. Far from home, under a pitiless sun, in the gaze of Alexander the King and of all the Macedonians, my friends and companions will kill me.
Do I deserve this fate? Am I a traitor? Th ose are questions for you to answer. I have tried to do the right thing, to remain true to the ways of my ancestors, to show courage. Once, when I was young, I prayed: If I must die, let me first do some great thing, that men hereafter shall remember me. I have done some extraordinary things, not all of them good, but that prayer, too, is now in your hands.
It is late, and my kinsman Leonnatus is waiting. I will finish now, and give him these rolls of papyri. He will keep his side of our pact, and find some safe place to preserve my story.
I will keep my side of the pact when I die in the morning. Unless . . . When Pandora opened the jar, and all the evils in the world flew out to torment mankind, Hope remained. Despite everything, even in this darkest of nights, Hope remains to torment me.
CHAPTER ONE
Winter 343 to 342 BC
T
RACKS IN THE SNOW.
Winter comes early in Upper Macedonia, and it comes first to the mountains of Lyncestis. A blind man could have followed the trail of the raiders. The snow was spattered with dung, pockmarked with the prints of boots and the hooves of sheep, trodden to slush in the centre of the path. They were heading west, to the pass up at Crystal Spring, and beyond to the safety of their tribal lands in Illyria.
Leonnatus halted the column, got down from his horse, and went ahead on foot with old Eumaeus to study the tracks. The rest of us dismounted to take the weight from the horses. Forty riders, swaddled in heavy cloaks, breath pluming in the cold air. It was an unimpressive gathering. No more than a dozen men of fighting age. The remainder were greybeards, doves as they are called, or mere youths, no older than me. Almost all the warriors were away in the lowlands serving in the army of King Philip.
I looked at the twins, my nephews. Amyntas, piety sharpened by fear, was mouthing a prayer to Heracles the Ancestor. Perhaps he was unaware that he was speaking aloud. Even his brother, Neoptolemus, usually so wild and carefree, looked tense as he fussed with the bridle of his mount. By an accident of birth, I was no older than the two of them. This was our fourteenth winter. Sometimes my father called me the runt of the litter. Not because I am short, but because I was so late born. My brothers were already grown men. In his cups my father had a cruel tongue.
Leonnatus returned. My father, the head of the Bacchiad House, the Lord of Lyncestis, should have been leading, but he too was away at the court of Philip. Had my mother not been too old she would have taken command. Leonnatus was only a couple of years my senior. Yet he was a close kinsman, from a collateral branch of the house, despite his inexperience, the men would follow him.
‘The droppings are fresh.’ Leonnatus drew himself up, and tipped his head to one side. Somehow I knew the posture was copied from someone else. ‘Eumaeus tells me there are no more than twenty Illyrians, none of them mounted. They are less than an hour ahead. We will catch them well before Crystal Spring. The approach to the pass is wide, at least a hundred and fifty paces across. The snow is not yet deep, the going there good. Ideal country for cavalry. We will outflank them, ride them down as they run.’
‘So much for Bilip conquering the Illyrians,’ one of the greybeards muttered in the thick Macedonian dialect that pronounced Ph as B.
Leonnatus swung round angrily. Broad shouldered and thickset, he was more impressive when he dropped the artificial pose and moved naturally. ‘This is nothing. Before Philip defeated their chieftains thousands of tribesmen would have been burning your homesteads, raping your wives and daughters, not a handful of outlaws rustling a flock of sheep.’ Although a scion of the Lyncestian dynasty, Leonnatus, had been a Royal Page for two years, and had recently been named as a foster-brother of Philip’s son, my namesake Alexander. It was unwise to forget that he was devoted to the Argead King of the lowlands in distant Pella.
Free speech is the birth right of every Macedonian. The lowest swineherd can speak openly to a king. Now, nobody contradicted Leonnatus. The truth of what he said was undeniable.
We remounted in silence. Vaulting onto the back of my horse – never easy in war-gear – I was careful that the heavy scabbard did not tangle my jump. A sword does not hang properly from a rope belt. In Lyncestis we kept the old ways. Instead of a sword-belt a man must wear a halter, like a horse, until he has killed an enemy.
The road followed a stream. The water slid past, glossy and black. The way curved between folded slopes of ridges, most timbered in beech and oak, some bare. Where the view opened the peaks of the mountains were dark, sharp and black against the sky. Clouds were beginning to build over the summits. Soon it would snow again. It was only Audounaios, the first month of winter, but within days the pass would be blocked.
Above the headwaters of the stream, where the deciduous trees had given way to pine and juniper, was the tiny plateau of Three Ways. The main track ran west towards the pass. Another headed south to the Macedonian canton of Orestis. The Illyrians knew we were coming. They had taken the narrow goat path north, which clambered over the great, humped rock to Lake Lyke. That was the end of the hope of an easy victory, of riding them down in the open. But our honour would not let us turn back.
Leonnatus left five of the doves, the oldest and most infirm, with the horses. We formed up on foot into a rough column five wide. As befitted my status – a member of the House of Lyncestis should always be among the promachoi, the front-fighters – I went to stand beside Leonnatus. But he called eight of the men of fighting age to his side. You do not argue with the war leader in the field, but sensing my hurt pride, he put a hand on my shoulder.
‘Alexander, in close country an ambush falls as often on the tail as the head. They are the places of greatest danger. Take your nephews, and the other four men in their prime, and command the rearguard.’
Swelling with pride, I stationed myself at the right of the final rank, the unshielded side.
Before we moved out, Leonnatus sent Eumaeus ahead as a scout. Although well past the strength of his youth, Eumaeus had been a mighty warrior, and no one was a finer hunter or woodsman.
We had gone no distance when the slopes closed in, and my pride deserted me. Ahead I could see nothing but the nodding horsehair plumes of helmets. On either side the trunks of huge, ancient pines blocked the view. The clatter of our gear echoed back. The air smelt of new sweat and old leather and the sickly resin of the trees. Any number of barbarians could be hiding a few paces away. Fear rose in my chest, like a sharp shard of stone.
I had waited all my life for this; the blood rite to manhood. Now it was approaching, with the inevitability of dusk, I wished I was somewhere else. Even back with the children in the Hall at Lebaea, watching my mother oversee her women at the looms, warm and safe.
As we trudged up the path, I could not take my eyes off the slope to the right. There was little undergrowth, and the snow had not yet penetrated the foliage. But the pines were massive. Two grown men could not link their arms round their trunks. Vision was limited to a stone’s throw. Nothing moved. No wind sighed through the trees. There were no birds. I clenched my jaws to stop my teeth chattering. It was not the cold. Sweat was running down between my shoulder blades. Not all youths pass the test. There were doves in the party who still wore the rope halter.
A glimpse of movement. Too quick to identify. Some thirty paces upslope. I did not cry out. It would be shameful to yell if it was no more than a deer or rabbit. There it was again. Pale tan, camouflaged against the bare earth, moving parallel to the column. Leonnatus called a halt to catch our breath. The men talked quietly to each other, their voices tight. It started to snow. The first flakes small, twisting, but falling straight down.
The lynx padded out from behind the gnarled bole of a tree. It was a mature adult, full bearded. Its dappled body was some four feet long, with powerful shoulders and haunches. Its ears swept back in magnificent black tufts. The beast stopped, and looked at me. Its pale green eyes, luminous in the shade, regarded me. The murmuring of the men faded. No one else had noticed the visitation. Then, without haste, the lynx continued on its way, and was gone.
‘Alexander!’ The voice of Neoptolemus snapped me back. The men were hefting spears and shields, the column preparing to get underway.
The old women say that if you look into the eyes of a lynx it will steal your sight, and you will live out your life as a blind man, begging for crusts. It was a story for nurses to frighten children, to keep them out of the woods. Lyncestis is the land of the lynx. It is the sigil of our house. Some deity had sent the sign to remind me of my duty. The words of Homer came into my mind: Indeed, these are no ignoble men, these kings of ours, who feed upon the fat sheep, and drink the exquisite sweet wine, since there is strength of valour in them, since they fight in the forefront.
