Summer 342 BC
A WILD BOAR WAS TERRORISING the farmers around Lake Loudias. It was huge, they said, four or five feet tall, with vicious curved tusks. A veritable monster, like something out of myth, it had a long white scar on its left shoulder. Philip decided it was a worthy quarry for a king.
When the monarch goes hunting normally it is a great occasion. Many courtiers and any visiting embassies, Hellene or barbarian, go along to admire his prowess, and hope to have his ear in the informality of the field. This time Philip was taking only his two most trusted generals; Antipater and Parmenion. Of course a king goes nowhere without Royal Pages. Our group, led by Pausanias, was on duty. Since the beating, I had treated Pausanias with a cold formality. Neoptolemus was less restrained. Although not insulting him to his face, my nephew made frequent jibes in his hearing about the general untrustworthiness of catamites. Two of the older boys had left to join the Companion Cavalry. They had been replaced by a couple of lowlanders. One of the new youngsters, also called Pausanias, was exceptionally good looking. As leader, Pausanias tried to have his namesake known as Pausanias the Little. It did not catch on. Instead Neoptolemus had dubbed him Kalos – Beautiful – Pausanias. To annoy the King’s favourite, like the rest, I usually called the newcomer just Kalos.
A breeze from the sea cooled the morning as we rode down from Aegae. The Pages were mounted, not to slow down the party. Amyntas was in charge of the hounds. The mixed pack, Laconian and Molossian, happy to be out, ran ahead, their tails waving like standards. Baggage horses brought up the rear, loaded with provisions, purse nets, stakes, javelins and boar-spears.
Swallows darted and banked above us, flaring gold in the sunshine. The plain was green and scented with thyme. Despite the day, my thoughts were dark. The hunting field is full of danger, not just from the quarry. Were I Pausanias, I would take care not to get between the boar and Neoptolemus or myself. A miscast javelin could bring anyone down. King Archelaus had died out hunting. His killer might have passed it off as an accident had he not tried to seize the throne. Like his predecessor and kinsman, Philip himself was only mortal.
When the sun was directly overhead, we came to a hamlet on the edge of the cultivated land north of Aloros. Two locals were waiting to guide us through the marsh to the beast’s lair. Philip said we would take our midday meal before proceeding.
As ever Pausanias was cupbearer to Philip. I served Antipater, and Neoptolemus poured wine for Parmenion. In an oriental court we would have tasted the wine for poison. But it was not a Macedonian custom. The three men sprawled on the grass, perfectly at ease with one another. Philip, the youngest, often said he could sleep soundly if either of the others was awake. In some ways these men were much alike; bearded, tough and tanned. In others they were very different. With his broad, ruddy cheeks and plain, white tunic, Antipater gave the impression of a moderately well-to-do smallholder. Parmenion, on the other hand, resplendent in purple, looked more regal than Philip. The King, like Antipater, was clad in white; now travel stained and dusty.
There was fresh wheat bread baked before dawn in the kitchens of the palace. The rest of the food was army rations: salt pork, cheese, onions, and wine. On campaign, Philip lived like an ordinary soldier.
‘Sit and eat, boys. We can help ourselves to more.’ Philip gestured to the pair of rustics. ‘You too.’ A Macedonian king must be amiable and accessible to his subjects. We seated ourselves round the great men. The hounds, too well trained to beg, crouched on their haunches and waited for scraps in an outer circle. I was glad of the food. After our early start, my stomach was growling.
‘You boys look as hungry as Menecrates at dinner last night,’ Parmenion said.
Menecrates was a famous doctor, who styled himself the King of Medicine. Not content with that, he had taken to referring to himself as Zeus, and even dressing as the god, because in his own estimation he had the power of life and death. Taking him at his word, when the food was brought in the night before, Philip had ordered only incense burnt before Menecrates.
‘Are you sure Aristotle is the right tutor for your son?’ Parmenion asked. ‘You were responsible for the destruction of his hometown.’
‘His father was doctor to mine.’ Philip’s good eye was shrewd. ‘No doubt he hopes good service might be rewarded with the refounding of Stagira.’
‘Philosophers are trouble at court,’ Parmenion continued, ‘remember Euphraeus.’
A pupil of Plato, Euphraeus had held great influence over Philip’s brother Perdiccas. He had tried to insist that no one could share in the royal feasts unless he knew how to practise geometry or philosophy. It had been much resented by the hard-drinking Macedonian barons. When Perdiccas was dead, Euphraeus had fled home to the island of Euboea.
‘That is why Aristotle will educate Alexander and the others in the countryside at Mieza.’
‘That, and it gets Alexander away from the influence of his mother,’ Antipater said.
Philip laughed. Were it not for his ruined eye, he was a handsome man. ‘And that too.’
‘Well, I did not like the look of Aristotle,’ Parmenion said. ‘Too pleased with himself, always has that superior smile on his face. The pack of philosophers teach the young to question the gods.’
‘No, Aristotle does not doubt the gods,’ Antipater said.
‘I had forgotten, Antipater, that you are now quite the man of letters.’ Parmenion’s tone was mocking, but not unkind. ‘The Deeds of Perdiccas in Illyria, an odd subject for a history considering how it ends.’
Philip answered before Antipater could speak. ‘Not odd at all. My brother met his fate at the hands of a great warrior.’ The King raised his cup, first to me, then to each of my nephews. ‘It is all the more to our credit that the gods eventually granted us victory.’
The graceful compliment left me cold.
‘How is your work going?’ the King asked.
Antipater pulled a face like a farmer asked why the harvest was late. ‘It would go quicker if you did not keep finding other tasks for me.’
‘On that line, there are things we must discuss.’
Both the generals laughed, Parmenion somewhat ruefully. He fished out a gold coin from the wallet on his belt, and tossed it over to Antipater.
‘Parmenion bet me you wanted nothing but the pleasure of our company.’ Antipater tucked the coin away.
‘The walls of the palace have too many ears,’ Philip said.
Parmenion waved his hand in a circular motion. ‘And the countryside does not?’
‘If I do not trust my Royal Pages,’ Philip said, ‘how will they learn to trust me?’
More fool, you, I thought.
‘For now the west is settled. The Illyrians are peaceful.’
Tell that to the Lyncestians who died last year on the path to Lake Lyke, I thought.
‘We have placed Olympias’ brother on the throne of Epirus.’
Antipater chuckled. ‘Of course he is well accustomed to serving you.’
Pausanias flushed and looked furious. The youth was jealous. So it was true – Philip had taken the Epirote prince as lover as well as hostage.
Philip ignored the interruption. ‘It is time we turned east and dealt with the tribes of Thrace. Next month I will open the campaign against the Odrysians ruled by Cersobleptes. His kingdom must be conquered.’
‘What about the Getae up towards the Danube?’ Parmenion asked.
‘Their King Cothelas has a daughter of marriageable age. Oaths and a wedding and some mules with panniers full of gold – it is more pleasurable to make an alliance in the marriage bed than on the battlefield.’
Antipater nodded. ‘The smaller tribes will come over to you. The Odrysians and the Getae are their neighbours. They fear them more than distant Macedonia.’
‘What about the Hellenes in the south?’ Parmenion said. ‘Athens depends on grain from the Black Sea. The nearer you get to the Hellespont, the greater the danger the Athenians will break the treaty.’
‘Some of their orators claim we were behind the failed attempt to burn their fleet in port,’ Antipater said.
‘They have no proof,’ Philip said. All three men smiled. An unvoiced admission of complicity. ‘I have written offering to give the island of Halonnesus to Athens, and proposing to extend our treaty with the Athenians to a common peace among all Hellenes.’
‘They will not be won over by one tiny island, and a peace that might benefit other cities,’ Parmenion said. ‘And there is the civil strife on Euboea. It is right on the doorstep of Athens.’
‘We must be allowed to aid those on Euboea who ask for our protection. It is just in the eyes of the gods.’ Philip beamed at his companion. ‘And that is why you, Parmenion, will go there with sufficient force. You will take mercenaries – all Hellenes, no barbarians, and no Macedonian troops. It might help allay Athenian fears.’
‘When do I go?’
‘As soon as we return from the hunt. You will take ship from Pydna. The mercenaries are already gathered there.’
‘And me?’ Antipater said.
Philip took off his ring, and handed it to the older man. ‘You will remain as Regent in Macedonia. Keep an eye on all the Hellenes. In the autumn go to Delphi, and preside over the Pythian Games in my name. Men gather from all Hellas, tongues are loose at a festival; nothing remains secret.’
They all took a drink, and turned to practicalities: logistics, the division of forces, and the need for light infantry in the wild ranges of Thrace. So the fate of kingdoms and cities, of many tens of thousands, was decided by three men over lunch.
Philip made offerings to Heracles the Hunter and Artemis, goddess of the chase, before we set off. Somehow I knew his piety was not feigned. For all his deep cunning, this was a man who respected the gods.
The locals took us through small fields moated by ditches. Aspens were growing up along the ditches, but this flat landscape obviously had recently been reclaimed from the marsh. Gulls screamed overhead. Someone said they came inland before a storm out in the gulf. So far the sky remained cloudless.
After a time we came to an open sward, backed by a thick bank of reeds, and our guides said we must proceed on foot. The hunting gear was unloaded, and the horses tethered. Kalos and the other new boy were left to look after them. With the hounds leashed, we walked into the untamed marshland.
The path was muddy and sucked at our boots as we laboured along burdened by all the unwieldy impedimenta needed for the chase. The tall reeds shut out the view. It was hot and close, without a breath of wind. Clouds of gnats hung round our heads, whining into our eyes and ears. A fetid stench of decay filled the air.
The locals said we were close to the lair, and Philip slipped his favourite Laconian bitch. She quartered the ground, nose down, tail erect. When she picked up the scent, she made no sound, but looked back. At a word, she trotted ahead, and we followed in single file.
Soon there were signs of the boar: hoof prints in the soft ground, broken branches in the undergrowth. Where there were trees, often the bark was scarred by its tusks. The damage was ominously high on the trunks. Weighed down by a bulky roll of netting, and unarmed except for the sword in its scabbard, at every step I expected the beast to burst through the reeds. The runt of the litter, my father had called me. I would prove myself a true son of Lyncestis, a better man than him. Fear would not master me.
Following the line, the hound came to a wooded hillock. Boars make their dens in such places; shaded and well watered, warm in the winter, cool in the summer. The bitch stopped and barked, just once, not to provoke the boar. Philip tied her with the others, and told us to get everything ready. There is an art to setting nets. The belly of the net must be set forward, the supporting stakes well placed, so the beast can see through and not see the trap when it charges. We fixed the outside cords to trees. A boar can easily uproot thorn bushes or scrub. Beyond the nets, we blocked the open ground with brushwood, so the beast would not run out to the sides.
‘Philip, you wait here, Parmenion and I will flush it out,’ Antipater said.
‘And have my Pages think that I would send my two oldest Companions into the most danger, while I look to my own safety? No, you two stay behind the nets. You can compete for the honour of the kill.’
‘The King can never hunt with just boys.’ Antipater was firm. ‘It is against our customs. At least one Companion must always go with him. It will be me.’
Accepting this, Philip told Amyntas and another Page, and both the guides, to attend Parmenion. The hounds were put on slip leashes, and the weapons passed out. I took a boar-spear, and the leads of a pair of big Molossian dogs.
Philip addressed those who would accompany him. ‘Antipater and I will lead. You boys keep well spaced. If he turns, and we are too close together, someone will get gored. Release the hounds on my command, and raise a shout. Should he double back, and get past your spear, throw yourself flat, grip the earth with your fingers. His tusks curve up, to savage you he needs to get them under your body. You will not be much hurt if he only tramples you. If anyone goes down, the nearest must go to his aid, draw the beast towards himself. Are you ready?’
We skirted the base of the knoll. It was slow going, splashing through stagnant pools, and stumbling over fallen boughs. Keeping my feet took all my attention, leaving no room to dwell on the proximity of a ferocious, man-killing animal. Eventually, satisfied that we had put the lair between us and Parmenion, Philip gave the order to spread out in a line, facing back the way we had come.
I found myself near the centre. Philip was on my left, Antipater beyond him. Neoptolemus was to my right.
‘Slip the hounds!’
They went bounding up and vanished into the timber.
‘Alalalalai!’ We yelled the war cry.
As we went up the slope, the trees were bigger, more widely spaced. The day had turned overcast, almost gloomy.
A furious burst of barking somewhere up ahead.
Lame from an old war wound, Philip was slow. Neoptolemus to my right was drawing slightly ahead.
The cornel wood shaft of my spear was smoothed by the sweat of previous hunters. The long iron spearhead and projecting wings, all razor sharp, gave a certain reassurance. I kept pace with Philip, moving carefully, half turned, spear in both hands, left leading.
The barking was louder. Then something large crashed through the undergrowth, and a hound howled in pain.
‘Alalalalai!’ We bellowed at the top of our voices.
Suddenly the boar emerged from a tangle of briars. The hounds jumbled out after, yapping and darting, just out of its reach.
The boar stood, tail twitching. Its head swinging this way and that, snout dipping, tearing up clods of earth and roots in its fury. Perhaps, long schooled in the hunt, it had learnt that the entangling nets waited if it fled away from the hounds and the noise of the beaters.
A Molossian rushed at its flank. The boar, nimble for all its bulk, swung round. A toss of its head, and the dog went tumbling, a hideous red gash in its side. The other hounds retreated.
And then the boar saw the line of puny men. Without hesitation, the hounds forgotten, it charged the nearest. Accelerating quickly, it thundered down the slope straight at Philip.
The King crouched, braced himself, spear poised. Frozen, I watched the muscles flexing in the smooth flank of the boar. Men were shouting. Antipater was running to his friend. Then it was over. A terrible impact and Philip staggered back a couple of paces. Somehow the King kept his feet as the beast ran itself onto the wicked point. Two or three massive convulsions, and the boar collapsed. Blood was surging from where Philip’s spear was lodged deep in its chest.
Men were cheering. Antipater had cast aside his weapon to hug Philip. Up in the wood a few of the hounds were still barking.
Dead, it looked no bigger than other boars. Not the gigantic creature of myth. Its tusks were short. Its left shoulder was unmarked. Not a boar, but a sow.
Everyone was moving to congratulate the King. A movement upslope, at the edge of my vision. Those hounds still giving tongue in the wood. Turning, I saw the new threat.
Massive, slope-shouldered, with a bristling ridge down its back, it pushed half out of its cover. A jagged, white scar showed on its dark flank. Here was the primeval beast that had put terror in the hearts of the villagers.
Its piggy little eyes, shone with malevolence, as it regarded the two unarmed men standing over the body of its mate. In the beat of a heart, it had made its bestial calculations. No thought of flight, it wanted revenge.
Antipater was nothing to me, and Philip had beaten me like a child.
The boar pawed the ground, gathering itself.
But I had sworn an oath: so long as I am alive, and see the light of day.
The beast hurled itself forward.
With a wordless cry of warning, I ran into the path of the boar.
The ground trembled under its onset. Hefting the spear, I tried to get into the correct stance – trying to remember everything Eumaeus had taught me – left foot in front, left hand over it, right hand and foot together, legs bent, no further apart than wrestling. The boar was on me before I was set. At the last moment, it jinked its head to one side. Instinctively, my left hand, guiding the spear, started to follow. Somehow I dragged it back. The beast straightened. It was not a clean strike. The spearhead punched in below the throat, but at a glancing angle. The impetus drove me backwards, boots slipping. The boar’s jaws were snapping at the shaft. And then the spear snapped. As I went down, I felt a terrible pain in my thigh. Then a crushing weight as the beast landed on top of me.
It was impossible to breathe. The boar was thrashing. Hot blood was stinging my eyes, running into my mouth. As if from a great distance men were shouting. The beast tried to rise, a foot hit me hard in the ribs. Then the awful weight descended again, and was still.
‘Is he alive?’
They heaved the corpse off me. I gulped the air, but it felt as if someone had driven a dagger into my chest. Then that was nothing to the agony in my thigh. I pressed my hands to the wound.
‘Let me look.’
As my hands were pulled away from the wound, for a moment there was nothing to see except a thin, white line. Then the line gapped into a hideous red tear.
‘Give me the wine.’
A searing pain as the cut was washed. I bit back a cry.
‘Nasty, but, when clean and dry, we can stitch it,’ Philip said. ‘If it does not go bad, you will live. Something to show with pride.’
‘From now he can recline with the men at dinner,’ Antipater said. ‘Killed his man, killed his boar, not fitting he remains a Page, but too young for the army.’
‘You are right,’ Philip’s one eye gazed down into my face. ‘We owe you our thanks. In recognition, I declare you a foster-brother of my son, Alexander. You will be educated with him at Mieza.’