HISTORY OF EMPIRE

THUS AT THE AGE OF TWENTY ALEXANDER INHERITED THE KINGDOM OF MACEDONIA, BESET AS IT WAS BY GREAT JEALOUSY, BITTER HATRED, AND DANGERS ON EVERY SIDE.

What did Alexander the Great inherit?

When did Alexander the Great became king of Macedonia?

What were the 4 kingdoms after Alexander the Great?

What happened to Macedonia after Alexander died?

The man who murdered Philip was named Pausanias, from a noble family in the Macedonian mountain district of Orestis. He had been welcomed to the court of Philip as a royal page and soon found favor in the king’s eyes because of his beauty. But as adolescence gave way to full manhood, Philip lost interest in his young lover and turned his attention to another youthful courtier, also named Pausanias. The first Pausanias was beside himself with jealousy and launched a smear campaign against his rival, whispering to everyone who would listen that the king’s new bedmate was a womanly hermaphrodite and shameless slut who would give his body to anyone. The second Pausanias, however, was a brave soldier and a man of honor who could not bear such slander. Soon afterward, when he and Philip were fighting on the front lines in one of the countless battles against the Illyrians, young Pausanias deliberately threw himself into the thick of the bloody fight to prove his courage and manliness at the cost of his own life. 

Unfortunately for the first Pausanias, his dead competitor was a friend of Attalus, one of Philip’s best generals and a leader of the advance force assigned to cross into Asia Minor to prepare the way for the king’s invasion of Persia. Attalus, as mentioned, was also the uncle of Philip’s recent bride, Cleopatra, and a powerful supporter of the king among the Macedonian nobility. When Attalus heard that his young friend Pausanias had sacrificed his life to prove his honor because of the rumors spread by the first Pausanias, he devised a suitably Macedonian revenge to punish the slanderer. 

Attalus invited the surviving Pausanias to dinner, entertaining the young man royally with food and drink. Macedonians normally added water to their wine at banquets, but Attalus kept refilling Pausanias’ goblet with unmixed wine until he passed out on the dinner couch. Attalus then sodomized the young man and invited all the dinner guests to do likewise. When they were finished, he handed Pausanias over to his mule drivers to be gang-raped in the stables by the lowliest servants in his household. 

When Pausanias recovered his senses the next day, he found that he was now an object of ridicule at the court. He rushed to Philip demanding justice against Attalus, but the king hesitated. He was genuinely disgusted by his general’s shameless behavior, but he had to consider the larger picture. Attalus was crucial to his plans for the Persian invasion and a key supporter whose family and friends in Macedonia might turn on the king if he punished the general. Therefore Philip put off the irate Pausanias with promises of future justice. In the meantime, he tried to soothe the young man’s anger with splendid gifts and a post of honor among his bodyguard. 

But Pausanias was not so easily mollified. He went about his duties and tried to ignore the laughter behind his back, all the while watching as Attalus received the king’s favor and was sent across the Aegean. The new bodyguard sought solace by attending lectures of the visiting Greek sophist Hermocrates. One day, when Hermocrates was discussing fame, Pausanias asked the philosopher how one might best achieve undying glory. Hermocrates replied that the surest way was to kill a famous man. That was all that Pausanias needed. His tormentor Attalus was beyond reach in Asia, but Philip, his former lover and the man who denied him justice, was close at hand. 

On the morning of the royal wedding of Alexander of Epirus and Philip’s daughter Cleopatra, Pausanias was ready. He had planned his escape with three sympathetic friends who were also members of the king’s bodyguard. A horse would be waiting in the trees just outside the theater. Thus when Pausanias slipped his dagger between Philip’s ribs and watched the king fall to the ground, he had every reason to expect he could flee to safety. The Athenians, in spite of their promises, would surely welcome the man who had slain their hated enemy. All of Greece would rise and proclaim his name, shrines would be built, and perhaps a golden statue would be dedicated at Delphi in his honor. He would truly live forever in the memory of all who loved freedom and justice. 

Pausanias was therefore surprised when things immediately began to go horribly wrong. His three friends, instead of helping him escape, lunged after him with swords drawn as he fled the theater. He had almost made it to his waiting horse when his foot became tangled in a vine and he fell to the ground. His pursuers were on him in an instant and quickly slew the bewildered Pausanias. He died beneath the trees at Vergina before he could speak a word. His body was hung on a cross like that of a slave so that all might gaze on him in shame. 

It is no surprise that historians from ancient times to the present have looked at the assassination of Philip and imagined various conspiracies that reach far beyond the simple vengeance of a wronged lover. Suspicion has centered primarily on Olympias, the mother of Alexander, rather than on Alexander himself, though many would grant that the king’s son had ample motive and opportunity. Philip was soon leaving for his campaign against Persia and had no plans to include his son in the glory the expedition would surely win. Alexander would serve at home as regent, perhaps for years, while Philip increased in power and won the riches of Asia by his sword. 

The reported actions of Olympias before and after the murder lend credence to the idea that she was involved in Philip’s death. She had been urging her brother to declare war on Philip ever since her divorce, only to see her disgrace overlooked when Philip offered the king of Epirus a royal princess as his bride. Some say she then lent young Pausanias a sympathetic ear as he complained of his gross mistreatment at the hands of Attalus. It was absolutely unthinkable, she assured him, that such injustice could go unpunished. When Pausanias revealed his plans to her, the story goes, she encouraged him and even provided the horse for his escape. After his death, stories circulated that she placed a golden crown on his head while he still hung on the cross. When his body was taken down a few days later, she allegedly cremated it over the remains of her husband and later erected a tomb for Pausanias next to that of Philip. 

Which, if any, of these reports are true is unknown, but we can be certain that in the months after Philip’s death Olympias struck against her enemies like a viper. When Alexander was away, she forced Philip’s young bride, Cleopatra, to commit suicide after forcing her to watch as her infant daughter was roasted alive. Alexander was reportedly shocked by his mother’s behavior, but he did not punish her. 

As for Alexander, we will never know if he was involved in Philip’s assassination or if he had knowledge of the plot and did nothing to stop it. Plutarch records a story that Pausanias came to him after his vile abuse at the hands of Attalus seeking sympathy and advice. Alexander listened to his complaints, but instead of offering assistance he merely quoted a passage from Euripides: “The giver of the bride, the groom, and the bride.” 

This cryptic line from Medea in which a wronged wife plots revenge against her husband, his new bride, and the bride’s father would have been taken by Pausanias as a suggestion to do away with Attalus, Philip, and Cleopatra. However, this episode, like so many in the aftermath of Philip’s death, may well have been invented after the fact. What we can be certain of is that, guilty or not, Alexander had everything to gain from his father’s murder.

Alexander performed the duties of a faithful son and buried Philip with all royal honors in a grand tomb at Vergina. Philip’s body was first placed on a pyre then cremated according to custom in front of the whole Macedonian army. When the fire had died down, attendants gathered Philip’s bones, washed them in wine, then wrapped them in a royal purple robe. The remains were placed in a stunning golden chest decorated on top with a sixteen-point star, along the sides with intricate blue glass rosettes, and on the bottom with the carved feet of a lion. This chest in turn was placed inside a stone sarcophagus in a magnificent tomb along with silver drinking vessels, armor, weapons, a golden wreath fit for Zeus himself, and many other priceless objects worthy of a Macedonian king. Above the entrance to the tomb was a colorful painting of a hunting scene, one of Philip’s favorite activities. Finally, in front of the tomb, Alexander ordered the construction of a small shrine for the worship of his father as a divine hero. In death, Philip had at last achieved what he had sought in life—a place among the gods. 

No sooner was Philip buried than Alexander began the fight to secure his throne. One of his first supporters was another Alexander, from Lyncestis in the western mountains of Macedonia. He enthusiastically hailed Alexander asking even before Philip’s body was cold and accompanied the prince into the palace, though this deed may have been motivated by self-preservation more than genuine affection. The two brothers of Alexander of Lyncestis were soon executed for suspicion of involvement in Philip’s murder and it is quite possible that their sibling wanted to distance himself from their actions in a very public way. 

But the new king’s most important early ally was wily old Antipater, one of Philip’s top generals. He had faithfully served Philip’s brother Perdiccas, then Philip, and now he saw his future dependent on securing the kingship for Alexander. He knew the key to Macedonian power was the army, so he accompanied the young man to an assembly of the troops. If Alexander could win their backing the throne would be his, but it would not be easy. Many of the soldiers were weary from serving in Philip’s endless wars far from their homes and families. Quite a few saw the murder of Philip as a convenient excuse to cancel the Persian campaign and return to their farms. All the men knew that Alexander would soon be challenged by the Greeks to the south and barbarians to the north, meaning months if not years of fighting if they gave him their loyalty. But in this crucial moment, Alexander rose to the occasion. His years of rhetorical study under the best Greek masters and his almost supernatural ability to inspire men shone forth as he wept with them over the death of their matchless general, his beloved father. He called on them to put fear aside and remember who they were—the greatest army the world had ever seen. Nothing was impossible for them. If they would but follow him he would lead them to riches and glory beyond their dreams. It must have been an incredible speech. These hardened veterans who longed for nothing more than home and hearth cheered their young king with all their hearts and promised to follow him wherever he might lead. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Alexander also promised to repeal all taxes for Macedonians. 

Now that he had the backing of the army, his next step was to win over or eliminate any potential rivals among the Macedonian nobility. Chief among these was Attalus, who along with Parmenion was still in Asia Minor preparing the way for the invasion of Persia. The two generals had crossed to Asia in the spring, just a few months before Philip’s murder, and had advanced with ten thousand troops along the coast as far as Ephesus before being driven back by Memnon, the Persian general who had once been a refugee in the Macedonian court. When they heard the news of Philip’s death, the two old warriors realized that young Alexander could not hope to hold the throne without their support. Attalus, who had recently married Parmenion’s daughter, held the loyalty of many Macedonian noble families, second only to Parmenion. Though Parmenion was cautious, Attalus immediately began making plans to overthrow Alexander. He even contacted Demosthenes and his party at Athens to gauge their loyalty to the new king and was not surprised to find they were eager to throw off the Macedonian yoke.

But Alexander was no novice at politics. Having been raised in the rough and tumble world of the Macedonian palace, he knew how to forge unexpected alliances and quietly do away with his enemies. Alexander realized that he needed the support and experience of most of Philip’s old generals if he was to rule his father’s empire and move against Persia. It was simply a matter of discerning who was willing to betray whom and at what price. Since Attalus had publicly insulted Alexander just a few months before at Philip’s wedding banquet and as he was the uncle of the bride who had replaced his mother and forced him into exile, there was never any question about which general’s head would be on the chopping block. Alexander sent his loyal friend Hecataeus to the Macedonian camp across the Aegean with orders to reach an understanding with Parmenion and see that Attalus never returned home. 

Parmenion, never anyone’s fool, realized that advancement for himself and his extended family lay with supporting Alexander. If that meant Attalus would have to be sacrificed, a son-in-law could always be replaced. Soon Attalus was dead, but the price Parmenion had extracted was high. In return for his backing, he would be second only to Alexander himself in the upcoming campaign against Persia. Moreover, his kinsmen would fill almost every key post in Alexander’s army. It was a bitter pill to swallow for a young man who yearned to purge the Macedonian forces of his father’s old cronies. He desperately wanted to come out from under the shadow of Philip and be his own man. But Alexander was a realist and recognized that, at least for now, he needed Parmenion. 

Alexander did not forget his boyhood friends who had been exiled by Philip after the Pixodarus affair. He sent for Ptolemy, Nearchus, Harpalus, and Erigyius to join him as he faced the struggles ahead. He knew he would need them in the days and years to come. And with one glaring exception, they would serve him loyally in his war against Persia.

Alexander’s next task was to subdue the rising rebellion among the Greek cities. Although they had sworn to support Philip and his heirs, the Greeks jumped at the chance to regain their independence. Macedonian garrisons were driven away, alliances forged, and secret messages sent to the Persians seeking gold to fund the uprising. No one was willing to recognize Alexander as the leader of the Hellenic league his father had founded. The Thessalians and Thebans turned on Alexander, the Spartans saw their chance to regain hegemony in southern Greece, and the Athenians, led by Demosthenes, declared a day of public thanksgiving and awarded a posthumous crown to Philip’s assassin. Demosthenes even stopped mourning for his beloved daughter who had died just a few days earlier. He wasted no time in portraying Alexander to the assembly as a young fool playing the king on his father’s throne. 

With affairs still unsettled in Macedonia, most new leaders would have stayed home and consolidated their hold on their native land instead of striking out against powerful enemies beyond their borders. But Alexander was not a typical king. He immediately left Pella with his army and headed south toward Thessaly. The Thessalian rebels had blocked the only road through the Vale of Tempe just south of Mount Olympus and forced the Macedonians to a halt. Instead of a suicidal charge against this well-protected position, Alexander set his engineer corps to work building a winding path on the far side of Mount Ossa overlooking the sea. Before the Thessalians knew what was happening, Alexander and his troops had outflanked them. With Macedonian swords at their throats, the towns of Thessaly swiftly recognized Alexander as their leader in his father’s place. They also agreed to pay taxes to the king and, most importantly, to join their superb cavalry to his army as auxiliaries. 

Before the ink was dry on the treaty with Thessaly, Alexander was moving south to Thermopylae, where he convened the Amphictyonic Council and accepted the loyalty of the cities of central Greece. Thebes was next, surrounded by walls that had repelled invaders for centuries. The Thebans had chafed under Philip’s rule and more than any other Greek city had both the will and the manpower to stop his impudent son from taking on his father’s mantle. The men of the town had been preparing for the battle they knew lay months ahead after Alexander had secured his position to the north—but they were shocked a few days later when they awoke to find thousands of Macedonian troops in full battle gear surrounding their town. The Thebans now realized this boy king was no pampered prince but an ambitious warlord and clever strategist who marched his troops faster and harder than anyone had believed possible. Alexander stared at them from across his lines and the Thebans blinked. They knew they were not ready—at least not yet—to stand up to the Macedonians and so they surrendered and accepted Alexander as their sovereign. The Macedonian garrison was restored to the fortress on the edge of town, while Alexander continued his march south

When a horseman rode into Attica the next day proclaiming the submission of Thebes, the Athenians fell into a panic. Citizens in the countryside rushed into town seeking protection away from their isolated farms. No one had expected a Macedonian assault so soon and therefore the Athenians had neglected to repair the city walls. As the men tried to shore up the ramparts, they dispatched an embassy to Alexander to buy time. Among the envoys was a sheepish Demosthenes, who had every reason to believe the young king would not think well of his recent harsh words or his secret dealings with the Persian king. He was in such a panic that he turned back to the outskirts of Athens and went home to hide. But, like his father, Alexander wanted the Athenian navy intact for his invasion of Persia more than he wanted to see the Acropolis in flames. He , therefore, received the envoys kindly and assured them the Athenians had nothing to fear. 

Athens breathed a sigh of relief when Alexander and his army bypassed their city and instead headed south across the isthmus to the Peloponnesian peninsula. There Alexander summoned the League of Corinth to meet with him under the watchful eye of the Macedonian army. The nervous delegates quickly affirmed him as a leader for the life of all the Greeks. Next, in a colorful ploy worthy of the Athenian stage, Alexander brought before the delegates a messenger claiming to be from the Greek city of Ephesus on the western coast of Asia Minor. This impassioned actor pleaded with the representatives of free Greece to liberate his beleaguered city from the rule of the tyrannical Persian king. On cue, the league members rose in applause and vowed to help their oppressed countrymen across the sea. They then appointed Alexander as general plenipotentiary in command of the renewed Panhellenic expedition against Persia.

Alexander immediately presented the delegates with a complete list of men, money, and supplies they were to contribute to the upcoming campaign. The Athenians were obligated to make their fleet available to Alexander along with sailors and provisions. Other cities were required to provide soldiers and goods as the king saw fit. Conspicuous in their absence were the Spartans, who as usual had stayed home and refused to participate in the war. But Alexander, with  sufferance he would later regret, contented himself with appointing Macedonian regimes in the cities around Sparta’s mountainous borders. Like his father, he found the stubborn Spartans useful as proof of the voluntary nature of his alliance. If they caused trouble, he believed he could easily deal with them. 

With the formalities of the meeting complete, statesmen and scholars crowded around Alexander competing with one another to offer their congratulations to the young king. He accepted their enthusiastic if insincere praise with the good grace of a born politician, but he searched the crowd in vain for the one man he had most hoped to meet. This was Diogenes the Cynic, a philosopher in exile from the Greek colony of Sinope on the shores of the Black Sea. He had been banished from his home for defacing currency and had spent most of his life abroad in Athens and Corinth. Diogenes believed in living out his philosophical beliefs, usually to the amusement and disgust of others. He and his scruffy band of followers held that life should be conducted in accordance with nature to the point of performing bodily functions in public like dogs (hence the term cynic, from the Greek word for dog). His asceticism was sincere, however, and he actively worked to entice others to reject the conventions of society. At the time, he was living in a large jar on the outskirts of Corinth. Alexander went looking for him and found him there enjoying the beautiful day wearing only a loincloth. The king stood by waiting for recognition, but the philosopher only gazed at him with mild contempt. Alexander, in some discomfort, at last, asked if there was anything he could do for him. Diogenes replied that yes, indeed, he could move out of the way since he was blocking the sun. Alexander’s friends mocked the old philosopher as a fool and madman, but the young king wistfully responded: “If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes.” 

On the way home, Alexander made a detour through the mountains of central Greece to the sacred site of Delphi beneath Mount Parnassus. Like so many kings before him, he wished to consult the oracle regarding his upcoming military campaign. Unfortunately, he was informed that the priestess who spoke for Apollo was in seclusion and as a matter of religious principle was not available that day, even for the ruler of all Greece. Alexander promptly marched into her lodgings and began dragging her forcibly into the shrine. This grossly sacrilegious act had its intended effect, however, when the priestess cried out: “You are invincible!” This was all Alexander wanted to hear. He donated a modest amount for the upkeep of the temple, then gathered his troops and marched north to Macedonia. 

There was no time for Alexander to rest when he reached Pella. It was already late spring and the barbarians on his borders were raiding deep into Macedonian territory. The Greeks to the south were subdued for the moment, but the tribes to the north of his homeland threatened to destroy his kingdom as well as his dreams of a Persian invasion. If he did not establish control over the Balkans he could never hope to cross into Asia. He would have to teach the rebellious tribes a singular lesson. His father Philip had fought many skirmishes to the north, but Alexander planned a full-scale invasion of the lands along the Danube River. 

The young king undertook such a bold campaign for two reasons. First and foremost, his borders had to be secured before he could move against Persia. He had no idea how long the fighting in the east might last—years, perhaps—and he would not be able to return to Macedonia before he was finished. Alexander had to make such an impression on the Balkan tribes that they would not trouble his kingdom even if he was far away. The second reason for the northern campaign was that it would be excellent training for the Persian war. He and his army would climb mountains, cross rivers, face unknown perils, and overcome all manner of fearsome enemies together. His men would learn that they could trust him with their lives. 

Alexander and his troops left Amphipolis and marched east into Thrace along the Aegean coast. He crossed the river Nestos just west of the Greek city of Abdera, once home to the philosopher Democritus, who had first proposed that all matter was composed of indestructible particles called atoms. Alexander knew his theories well, but there was no time to visit the city as he turned his army north into the high mountains and made his way through alpine valleys to the garrison town of Philippopolis at the head of the Hebros River valley. His father had established the outpost several years earlier as a frontier post to defend the northern approaches to his kingdom. It was inhabited by two thousand Greek, Macedonian, and Thracian settlers who were as rough and wild as the land around them. Visitors had given it the nickname Poneropolis (“Crook Town”) and counted themselves lucky to escape with their lives. 

Alexander almost certainly recruited some of these outlaws into his ranks as he headed toward the great wall of Mount Haemus stretching across the northern horizon. As hazardous as Philippopolis might be, it was still Macedonian territory. But among the peaks of Mount Haemus were the Triballi, some of the fiercest warriors in Europe. Somewhere in a narrow defile through these peaks, perhaps at the modern Shipka Pass, Alexander’s scouts came upon the Triballi warriors. They had occupied the only crossing point of the mountains for a hundred miles and blockaded it with carts. Alexander came forward and studied the situation. The approach to the pass was steep and wide enough for only a few dozen men abreast. The Triballi had a tremendous advantage as they held the high ground, but Alexander saw an even greater danger. The mountain tribesmen had positioned the carts so that they could be sent crashing down the path into his soldiers to crush the men and break his line. It was Alexander’s first great test of command—and he faced it with an ingenious daring that would become the hallmark of his generalship.

He ordered his men to advance up the trail in standard formation, but to be ready at a moment’s notice to open the line to let through any carts that came crashing toward them. If that was not possible, they were to fall to the ground and link shields in front to form a ramp so that the speeding carts would roll onto the shields at full speed and fly up over them. The men were terrified they would be ground to a pulp beneath the carts, but they advanced nonetheless. As soon as the first vehicles came hurtling down the path, some of the well-trained Macedonians moved to the side to allow them through while others locked shields and braced themselves for impact. The carts reached the line and hit the shield wall with tremendous force, but they sailed over the men and crashed to pieces on impact. Alexander meanwhile moved to the left with his best men and advanced up the pass while his archers launched a volley at the astonished but undeterred Triballi. The tribesmen were brave, but they were poorly armed and badly organized. As Alexander and his men reached the head of the pass, the Triballi cast aside their weapons and ran down the northern side of the mountain as fast as they could. Over a thousand warriors were slain and large amounts of treasure seized, while many of their women and children were captured for the slave markets. They, along with the booty, were sent back to the Aegean coast as a sign to all that this was a king who could lead his army to victory.

From the top of the pass, Alexander gazed over forests and rolling hills into the Danube valley below. His army marched down from the mountains and soon arrived at a small river called the Lyginus, three days away from the Danube. The Triballi king Syrmus had heard of Alexander’s advance and sent many of the women and children of his tribe to safety on a large island called Peuce (“pine tree”) in the middle of the Danube. Allied tribes had already gathered there and were soon joined by Syrmus himself, reasoning that his person was too valuable to risk in battle. But the mass of the Triballi warriors cleverly moved around behind Alexander as he left the Lyginus River and took up a defensive position in a thickly wooded grove. In such a location, they were safe from massed assault by Alexander’s infantry or cavalry. They intended to make the Macedonian king abandons his military advantage of a disciplined line of troops and fight them man-to-man amid the rocks and trees in true barbarian style. 

When Alexander’s scouts reported that most of the Triballi were now behind him, he did not hesitate to turn his army around and return to the Lyginus. When he arrived, he saw immediately what the Triballi wanted but had no intention of falling into their trap. He lined up his infantry in deep formation with their long sarissa spears aimed square at the woods in front of them. Then he ordered Parmenion’s son Philotas to lead the cavalry wing on the right while the rest of the horsemen formed up on the left. Alexander himself took the position in the front ranks at the center of the infantry. The Triballi expected a charge, but instead, the king sent his archers and slingers forward to provoke the Triballi into leaving their wooded shelter. Soon the Triballi warriors were so indignant that they were being picked off by auxiliaries that their tempers got the better of them and they rushed out onto the open ground in front of Alexander’s lines screaming for blood. It was then that the king put his plan into action and sent both his infantry and cavalry forward. The spearmen skewered the Triballi at close quarters while the horsemen moved in from the sides. The Triballi, like so many sheep, were herded into such a tight mass that the Macedonian cavalry used their horses as weapons as much as their javelins, pushing the tribesmen down and trampling them beneath their hooves. The brave but foolish Triballi, at last, broke and ran back into the woods, but only a handful escaped in the approaching darkness. Three thousand barbarian warriors perished defending their homeland that day, while Ptolemy reports that only about fifty Macedonians died in the battle. 

Three days later Alexander was standing beside the Danube River. Since the Greek poet Hesiod in the eighth century B.C. the Mediterranean world had known that the distant Danube—which the Greeks called by the Thracian name Ister— was one of the great rivers of the world. To the Greeks, it was a mysterious waterway arising somewhere in the Alps and descending through dark forests and the lands of savage tribes to the Black Sea. Among those nations who lived along its banks were Celts, Germans, Dacians, Scythians, and Thracians, including the Getae on the northern bank opposite Alexander. As a keen student of the Greek historian Herodotus, Alexander knew that the Getae were unusual in the ancient world for their belief in a single god and the happy immortality of the soul. To these tribesmen, a slain warrior did not descend into a dismal Greek underworld as a pale shade but went to live with the divine Salmoxis, master of thunder and lightning. Every five years they would toss a victim chosen by lot onto the spear points of their soldiers to take messages to their god. If the man died quickly, the sacrifice was considered a success—but if he did not perish in a timely manner they would choose another victim in his place.

The Greeks had long traded with the tribes of the Danube valley for grain, fur, and slaves. Over a century earlier, the barbarians of these northern lands had even seen a mighty southern army on their borders. Darius, the Great King of Persia had led his forces to the Danube and crossed the river on a lengthy pontoon bridge to fight the Scythians above the Black Sea. Now young Alexander stood by the same river and considered the scene before him. The Triballi and their allies occupied a fortified island with steep banks in the middle of the wide river. On the northern banks were the warriors of the Getae, many thousands strong, taunting the Macedonian soldiers they knew could never reach them. Some of Alexander’s supply ships had arrived at his camp having sailed up from the Black Sea coast, but they were not enough to carry an army. It seemed as if Alexander could go no farther. 

It was then that Alexander was seized with a longing, a pothos, in Greek, to cross the river into lands no Macedonian had ever trod. Darius had led a Persian army north of the Danube—why not Alexander? To cross the river was something even his father, Philip, had never dreamed of. Such a daring adventure would inspire his army for the campaign against Persia and make a suitable impression on the troublesome Greeks. But how could he move his army to the other side? There were not enough boats to transport them or time to build a bridge, and it was much too far to swim.

Fortunately for the king, he had read the story of Xenophon and the ten thousand Greek mercenaries who had fought in Mesopotamia seventy years earlier. Faced with a similar predicament on the Euphrates River, Xenophon devised an ingenious solution: “The soldiers took their tent covers and filled them with hay, then folded the edges together and sewed them so that the water could not dampen the stuffing. On these, they crossed the river.”

Alexander’s men were dubious, but they trusted their king and began to sew. With the addition of the few ships from Macedonia and the confiscation of every dugout canoe they could find, over five thousand infantry and cavalry set off across the river that night. 

\The Macedonian army reached the northern bank of the river safely and rested in a tall wheat field until daybreak. Alexander then ordered his men to advance silently toward the Getae camp. He placed his infantry in front with their spears turned sideways to smooth down the grain for those following behind. When they emerged onto the untilled ground in front of the Getae camp, Alexander led the cavalry on the right-wing while Nicanor, another son of Parmenion commanded the infantry. The Getae were caught completely off guard. They were amazed that Alexander had crossed the Danube in one night without even building a bridge, as their ancestors said the Great King of Persia had once done. They now faced a solid wall of Macedonian spears advancing toward them while the enemy cavalry struck them from the side. They soon broke and ran to their nearest town, a short way up the river, but Alexander was on their heels all the way. The Getae then packed as many of their women and children as they could carry on horses and rode for the endless grasslands to the north. Alexander reached the settlement and looted everything of value—surely including much fine Thracian goldwork—and burned the town to the ground.

After sending the booty back across the river, Alexander conducted what would become a regular ritual on his Persian expedition. He sacrificed to Zeus the Soter (“savior”—the same Greek word Christians would later use for Christ), to his ancestor Hercules, and to the local god personifying the Danube, who had allowed him safe passage across his waters. He had no desire to chase the Getae refugees further because his point had been made. Word would quickly spread from the Alps to the Crimea that the new Macedonian king was not to be trifled with. His northern border secure, Alexander returned the same day to his camp on the southern bank of the Danube. 

Once Alexander was back at his camp, Syrmus, king of the Triballi, sent ambassadors to him to sue for peace. We don’t know the exact terms, but they must have included a contingent of soldiers for Alexander’s army because ancient sources tell us that the Triballi troops marched with Alexander into Asia. Records show at least one of these Thracian warriors from the Danube settled permanently in a town the Macedonian king would establish on the banks of the Oxus River in Central Asia. Other embassies arrived at this time from local tribes seeking peace, but the most memorable visit was from a tribe of Celts. Over the years Alexander would receive many notable delegations, but this early encounter on the Danube proved to be one of the most remarkable in the king’s career. 

The Celts had long lived in Gaul and Germany near the Alps, where they herded cattle, collected heads from fallen enemies, and gained an impressive reputation as some of the toughest warriors in the world. Just a few generations before Alexander they had begun to move out of their forest homeland into Britain, Ireland, northern Italy, and the upper valley of the Danube. Alexander’s friend Ptolemy, who was present at the meeting, records that this group of Celts arrived after a long journey from a settlement near the Adriatic Sea. He was most impressed by their height, as they stood at least a head above the Macedonians, but he also says they swaggered into camp as if Alexander should be the one honored by their visit. They came seeking friendship with the king and to exchange pledges of peace. The Macedonian king received them warmly and with great curiosity, as his teacher, Aristotle had frequently mentioned them in his lectures on virtue. Aristotle had taught that bravery in a man was an admirable quality, but that an excess of boldness was undesirable. As an example of such behavior, he had put forward the Celts, who would allegedly attack the waves of the ocean itself. As Alexander shared a drink with his visitors, he asked them what they most feared, hoping they would say him. But the leader of the Celtic embassy looked squarely into the eyes of the king and replied that they feared nothing—except, he said with a laugh, that the sky might fall on their heads. But for the sake of diplomacy, he did add that they valued the friendship of a man like Alexander more than anything. After the Celts had left his camp to begin their long march home, Alexander turned to Ptolemy and declared that the Celts were unbelievable braggarts. 

From the Danube, Alexander struck southwest over the mountains toward the highlands ruled by Langarus, king of the Agrianians. Alexander had known Langarus for years and planned to let his men rest in the territory of his old friend before returning to Macedonia. His army had marched hundreds of miles and fought several difficult battles in just a few weeks, so their proud general was pleased to grant his soldiers a respite. He spent the first few days renewing ties with Langarus and recruiting some of his best warriors into his army, tough mountain troops who would become a key element of his forces in Asia. It was one of the earliest instances of Alexander integrating non-Greek or non Macedonian soldiers into his ranks—a farsighted policy that would nonetheless cause endless troubles between the king and his officers during the Persian campaign. 

But there was to be no rest for the weary. A messenger soon rode into camp bearing the news that the Illyrians were in revolt, led by Cleitus, son of Bardylis, the old adversary of Philip. Glaucias, king of the Taulantians on the Adriatic coast, had joined Cleitus as had the Autariatae tribe to the north. This was devastating news for Alexander since an alliance of hostile Illyrian tribes could delay his invasion of Asia and even threaten the survival of his kingdom. The Illyrians were not as well organized as the Macedonians, but they were brave and numerous. 

Alexander knew he had to act at once even though his men were exhausted. He quickly gathered intelligence about the uprising and discovered that the Autariatae, who were previously unknown to him, was the least of his threats. Langarus dismissed them as a minor tribe and offered to lead some of his own Ukrainians against them while Alexander handled Cleitus. The Macedonian king was so grateful that he promised Langarus his half-sister Cyna in marriage when he returned. This popular daughter of Philip and his early wife Audra had been married to one of the alleged conspirators against Philip, but with this first husband now exterminated Cyna was once again a pawn in the endless game of royal marriage alliances. 

Langarus would die before he could claim his bride, but at the time he was so grateful at the prospect of joining the Macedonian royal family that he followed Alexander’s orders with enthusiasm and devastated the Autariatae. By then Alexander was already deep into Illyrian territory near the walled town of Belgium, headquarters of Cleitus. Alexander had raced to the town to prevent Glaucias and his Taulantians from joining up with Cleitus. The Macedonians arrived so suddenly that they interrupted a gruesome sacrifice in progress outside the walls. Alexander’s men were no strangers to blood and gore, but they were sickened to see the remains of three black rams, three young boys, and three girls on the altars of the local god. Human sacrifice was rare in the Mediterranean world, but it was still practiced in the mountains and forests of Europe.

More disturbing to Alexander was the perilous situation in which he now found himself. Pallium was heavily fortified and could be taken only by a lengthy siege, while the hills around the town were held by the Illyrians. To make matters worse, he received news that the army of Glaucias had just arrived in the valley. 

The Macedonians had managed to pen Cleitus inside the walls of the town, but if they made any move against the soldiers in the valley surrounding them, the men in the town would surely rush out and attack them from behind. On the other hand, if they stormed the walls of Pallium, Glaucias would pounce on them. Alexander had already sent Philotas with a cavalry contingent to forage for supplies at nearby farms, but he had been forced to rescue them personally when they were caught by nightfall. It was an impossible situation for Alexander. He couldn’t take the town nor could he attack the surrounding enemy. His escape was now cut off and his food was running low. Cleitus and Glaucias must have been delighted to trap the young Macedonian king in such a dangerous position. All they had to do was close the vise to crush Alexander once and for all. But now Alexander once again showed his genius for unconventional warfare. The king knew he was outnumbered and had no chance of escape or taking the city. Faced by this hopeless predicament, he decided to put on a parade. Early in the morning, the Illyrians in the surrounding hills saw the king draw up his infantry into tight formation over a hundred lines deep. Each Macedonian foot soldier held his eighteen-foot sarissa before him. They had been ordered to move in complete silence, so that on signal each raised his spear to the sky without a sound.

 To those watching it was as if a forest had suddenly sprung from the field in front of the town. With incredible precision borne from endless practice, the infantry swung their sarissas to the front as one, then to the right, then the left. At Alexander’s command, they marched straight ahead without a word, then wheeled to each side in perfect formation. The Illyrians were fascinated by this display. They themselves fought in the old way, with reckless bravery their only rule. But these Macedonians moved together like a machine, with such beauty it was a wonder to behold. The enemy practically cheered as Alexander’s men moved briskly toward their lines, then practiced intricate patterns, concluding with a wedge-shaped phalanx aimed straight ahead. It was then that the Macedonians, at Alexander’s signal, struck their shields against their spears and raised a battle cry that would have woken the dead. The Illyrians were so completely caught off guard by this brilliant piece of psychological warfare that they ran away in terror, clearing the way for Alexander’s army to escape. It was, nonetheless, a hard-fought march out of the valley. The Illyrians quickly recovered their senses and struck back against the Macedonians. They blocked their escape on a small hill along the road until Alexander sent his cavalry to drive them away. The Macedonians had no sooner arrived at the river crossing at the end of the valley when they saw thousands of Illyrian warriors heading down from the hills toward the ford.

 Alexander lined up his archers in midriver to cover his retreating men as best they could, then ordered his artillery to set up quickly on the far side of the river and aim their catapults at the approaching horsemen from maximum range. The missiles hit the first of the horsemen from such a distance that Glaucias and his cavalry ground to a halt. They had heard of catapults in siege warfare, but few before Alexander had used them against the enemy on the field of battle. This unconventional maneuver sprung from the young king’s imagination at a desperate moment, bought enough time for the rest of the Macedonian army to make it across the river to safety without losing a single man. If Alexander had been any other general, he would have thanked the gods for his miraculous escape and retreated back to Macedonia as swiftly as possible. But the king was not one to withdraw from a fight without victory. Three days later, when Cleitus and Glaucias were confident that the Macedonians were far away, Alexander quietly moved back across the river under cover of darkness. A scout had told him the enemy was deployed just as he suspected—no defensive walls, no trenches, and no sentries—believing they had seen the last of the Macedonians.

 Alexander and his men moved into the Illyrian camp and killed the first of the enemy as they slept, then attacked the panic-stricken barbarians with such swiftness that they threw aside their weapons and ran from the city, the survivors escaping into the mountains. Cleitus set fire to the town and fled with Glaucias and his Taulantians, never to be heard from again. Just when Alexander dared to hope that he could, at last, begin his invasion of Asia, news arrived from the south that the Greek states had once again risen against him. Since he had been campaigning for weeks beyond the borders of civilization, it seemed the perfect opportunity for the disgruntled cities of Greece to rebel. As they reasoned, an inexperienced boy just short of his twenty-first birthday could not prevail against the barbaric tribes of the north. Even if Alexander was still alive, his long absence had given the Greeks plenty of time to seethe in discontent. And as usual, the Persians were on hand with plenty of gold to pay off the Greeks and thwart any Macedonian plans for an Asian campaign. The Athenian orator Demosthenes was once again at the fore in stirring up trouble for Alexander. That summer he climbed to the speaker’s platform at the Athenian assembly and declared that Alexander and the entire Macedonian army had been annihilated by the Triballi on the Danube. He even produced a supposed veteran of the battle wrapped in bloody bandages who declared that he himself had seen Alexander fall. The Athenians rose to cheer the rebirth of Greek independence. News spread quickly throughout the land that the young tyrant was dead, for as Arrian wisely observes, “As often happens in such cases when there are no certain facts, people believe the truth to be whatever it is they most desire.” No Greek city was more anxious to rebel than Thebes. Only three years earlier the Thebans had watched in horror as their army had been crushed by Philip and Alexander at Chaeronea.

 Then they had twice endured the humiliation of surrender and the posting of a Macedonian garrison on the Cadmeia citadel overlooking their town. Thebes, the fabled city of Oedipus and conqueror of Sparta had been reduced to a provincial outpost of the Macedonian empire. It was too much for the citizens to bear. Although they had lost many of their best men at Chaeronea, they were still a proud people with an ancient military tradition. According to myths passed down from their ancestors, they had sprung from dragon’s teeth sown in the earth. They were now determined to prove they could still bite. The spark that lit the flames of rebellion came when a small group of Theban exiles driven out several years earlier by Philip snuck back into town with the aim of inciting an uprising. The Macedonian garrison at Thebes had become so confident in its invulnerability that the men had taken regularly to wandering the streets of Thebes beyond the protected walls of the Camera, no doubt in search of wine and women. One night the exiles ambushed two of these soldiers, Amyntas and Timolaus, and brazenly killed them. The murderers then came before the Theban assembly and boasted of their deed, urging the citizens of their town to join them by evoking that most cherished of Greek ideals: Eleuthera—freedom. The Thebans enthusiastically took up the call and rushed to the Camera. The stronghold was an oval-shaped hill on the southern end of the town fast against the city wall. There was no way for the citizens to storm the fortress, but they could isolate the Macedonian defenders. They quickly dug trenches and built palisades to deny the occupiers supplies and reinforcements, then the assembly sent messages to friendly Greek cities asking for help. Horsemen sped to Arcadia, Argos, and Elis, all in the distant Peloponnese.

 Unfortunately for the Thebans, their history of belligerence had made bitter enemies of their neighboring states. Even the Peloponnesians were not eager to lend a hand. Only the Arcadians sent reinforcements, but these made camp thirty miles away near Corinth to wait on events. The messengers had no better luck at Athens, where Demosthenes—in typical fashion-led a rousing vote in support of the brave Theban rebels then did nothing. Meanwhile, at Thebes, the commander of the Macedonian garrison watched from the Cadmeia as the townspeople built double siege walls completely around him. They even constructed palisades beyond the southern walls of the town to prevent escape. The commander ordered his soldiers to make what preparations they could, but without reinforcements, there was little they could do except waiting. Alexander, however, had not been idle. As soon as he had heard of the uprising at Thebes, he struck camp in Illyria and began racing south. By themselves, the Thebans were a powerful force, but if they were allowed to join with the Peloponnesian infantry and the Athenian navy—all backed by Persia— they could create a formidable alliance. So, with no time to waste, he marched his men from Pellium day and night with little rest along the impossible mountain trails of central Greece until at last, they emerged onto the plains of western Thessaly. From there they advanced south through the pass at Thermopylae and across Boeotia to the outskirts of Thebes. At almost twenty miles a day through some of the most grueling terrain in Europe, it was a singular achievement. And since in ancient times a rapid army could outpace the news of its approach, the Macedonians arrived at the gates of Thebes before the rebels even knew they were on the way. What happened next depends on which Greek historian you believe.

 Our two primary sources for the assault on Thebes—Arrian, and Diodorus—paint two equally compelling pictures of Alexander’s actions at the town. They agree on the basic facts, but the motives that drove the king and the degree to which he sanctioned what would become a watershed event in Greek history couldn’t be more different in their accounts. Both authors describe how Alexander made camp near the northern end of the city walls to give the Thebans time to reconsider their revolt. The king did not want a war if it could be prevented—not because he loved Thebes, but because every day he spent in Greece only diminished his chances for success in Asia. If possible, Alexander would have preferred the Thebans surrender and be forgiven. If they had done so, he probably would have been content with the execution or exile of a few ringleaders and promises of better behavior in the future from the rest. But the Thebans would have none of it. Their assembly approved a unanimous resolution declaring they would fight. Alexander had thousands of Macedonian and allied soldiers surrounding Thebes including, as Arrian emphasizes, contingents from Plataea, Orchomenus, and Thespiae—three nearby cities that had suffered severely at the hands of the Theban army in the past. These soldiers had grown up with stories of their towns burned, their territory confiscated, and their mothers violated by vicious Theban soldiers. Alexander may have wanted peace, but many who joined him at Thebes yearned for revenge. As the hours passed, Alexander waited for a sign of submission from Thebes. Instead, the citizens rushed out of the gates with their cavalry and a sizeable force of light-armed troops to surprise the Macedonians. The move succeeded because Alexander was not expecting the outnumbered Thebans to attack him first.

 They managed to kill a few of his advance guards before fleeing back behind the city walls. With his frustration mounting, the next day Alexander moved his camp south of the city near the road to Athens. This location was also closer to his troops blockaded within the Camera. He sent another herald to the walls to announce that he was still willing to forgive the Thebans even though they had killed some of his men. No doubt hoping to divide the citizens, he proclaimed that any citizen of the town who wished could surrender to him and join in the peace that was his gift to all Greeks. Instead, the Thebans began to shout from their towers that anyone in Alexander’s army who wished to join them and the Great King in fleeing from the tyranny of Alexander was welcome inside the city. Arrian omits this episode and blames what happened next on one of Alexander’s officers, but Diodorus records a version that in many ways is more believable. He says that something inside Alexander snapped when he heard the Thebans call him a tyrant, especially as they invoked the Great King of Persia as a liberator of Greece. Alexander knew from reading Plato’s Republic that tyranny was the basest form of government, even more, disreputable in the eyes of that aristocratic philosopher than democracy. The king flew into a towering rage and declared he would make an example of Thebes. As Diodorus says, “He decided to utterly destroy the city. By this deliberate act of terror, he hoped to take the heart out of anyone who might rise against him in the future.”

 With this goal firmly in mind, Alexander called in his engineers to prepare siege engines and laid his plans to wipe Thebes off the map of Greece. But according to Arrian, what happened was the fault of a captain of the guard named Perdiccas. This officer was one of Alexander’s most loyal followers and hailed from a noble family in the Macedonian highlands of Orestis. He had fought bravely with Alexander in Illyria and in the future would become one of the most important Macedonian leaders, but now he was simply an eager young soldier who wanted to impress his king. Perdiccas was camped close to the enemy palisades on the southeast of the city. He saw an opportunity to rush the gate with his troops and did so without consulting Alexander. Before anyone knew what was happening, Perdiccas and his men were inside the walls with another Macedonian battalion close behind them. At that point, Alexander had no choice but to commit his army to an assault that had already begun. Whichever version of the story is true, the fight for Thebes was brutal. The king ordered the Agrianians and the archers from Crete inside the palisade but kept his infantry in reserve. The impetuous Perdiccas meanwhile had pushed deep into the city and had been grievously wounded. His troops dragged him to safety and the doctors saved his life with difficulty, but his men continued the attack near the temple of Hercules just below the Camera. There they surrounded a large contingent of Thebans, believing they had the citizens trapped, but with a shout, the soldiers of Thebes turned on the invaders. Alexander’s men were caught off guard and panicked in the unfamiliar streets so that almost seventy of his archers were slain within minutes. Alexander watched as the frightened auxiliaries rushed out of the city. He knew he had to do something fast. He lined up his veteran Macedonians and with their deadly sarissa formation attacked the pursuing Thebans. It was now the turn of the Thebans to panic as they faced those fearsome spears.

 They ran back to the gates of the city in such a disorganized mob that the last ones through forgot to bar the gates. Alexander burst into Thebes and his men spread throughout the town. Like the fall of any city in war, the result was uncommon bravery mixed with butchery and horror. In the narrow streets of Thebes, the sounds of screams and clashing metal filled the air. Some of Alexander’s men made it to the Camera and freed the Macedonian soldiers trapped inside, but most fought house by house through the town. The Thebans urged one another to resist with all their might, remembering the fate that awaited their families if they failed. Alexander marveled at the spirit of the citizens as they stood their ground, but he was still determined to make them pay dearly for their betrayal. Arrian says it was the fellow Greeks from cities near Thebes who slaughtered the women and children without mercy, but the Macedonians surely killed their share. Houses were plundered, wives and daughters raped, old men were slain in their beds, and even citizens who had sought refuge in the temples were cut down as they clasped the altars of the gods. 

Over six thousand Thebans perished that day, while at least thirty thousand captives were taken. It was a holocaust, unlike anything the Greek world had ever seen. Other cities had been sacked in war, but never before had one of the great towns of Greece fallen so suddenly and so completely. It was as if the old stories of the sack of Troy had come to life. Alexander made a pretext of letting the League of Corinth decide what was to be done with the ruins of Thebes, but it was only a show. The declaration that the city would be razed, the lands surrounding the town distributed to allies, and the Theban survivors sold into slavery was a foregone conclusion. The vast amount of money generated at the slave auctions went directly to the Macedonian treasury. The only citizens Alexander spared were the priests and priestesses, those who had shown unwavering friendship to Macedonia, and— since Alexander had a particular appreciation for Greek verse—the descendants of the Theban poet Pindar. One story of Alexander’s mercy in the midst of such horror may have a basis in fact, given as he was to acts of kindness to women. According to Plutarch, when a band of Thracian marauders broke into a large Theban house during the battle, they met a young widow named Timocleia, known throughout the town for her piety. While his soldiers plundered her property, their leader raped her, then asked if she had any hidden treasure. She confessed that, yes, she did have riches hidden in her garden. 

The Thracian captain followed her to a well in which she told him she had cast her valuables at the beginning of the siege. As the greedy man bent over the open well, Timocleia came up behind him and pushed him in. She then threw heavy stones on the trapped man until he was crushed. When the rest of the Thracians discovered what had happened, they bound her and led her to Alexander to be punished. The captive woman appeared before the king with a calm demeanor and surprising dignity. Alexander asked her who she was and she boldly replied that she was the wife of the Theban commander who had fought his father at the battle of Chaeronea. Alexander was so impressed by Timocleia that he let her depart the town in freedom along with her children. When the news of the destruction of Thebes spread throughout Greece, the cities that had risen against Alexander rushed to explain that they had always, in fact, been on his side

The Arcadians who had sent a contingent of soldiers as far as Corinth voted to execute the leaders who had instigated the action. Other towns sent embassies to Alexander begging his forgiveness and assuring him of their undying loyalty to Macedonia. All of Greece suddenly remembered that they had never really cared for Thebes. Indeed, hadn’t the Thebans supported the hated Persians during the great war for Greek survival in the previous century? Certainly they deserved whatever evils had befallen them. Like Philip, Alexander had heard it all before and knew how to play his part in this tiresome drama. He graciously forgave the Greeks and promised he would take no vengeance on them—with the exception of Athens. When the first messengers from Thebes arrived in Attica, the Athenians were celebrating the mysteries of the goddess Demeter at the nearby town of Eleusis. The goddess guaranteed that the warm sun and fruits of the earth would return again after the coming winter, but to the Athenians it must have seemed as if darkness were about to descend forever. They had not actually sent troops in support of Thebes, but how many times could they expect Alexander to forgive them for plotting against him? They abandoned the religious festival at once and streamed back into the walls of Athens with all the possessions they could carry.

 This time surely the king would unleash his Macedonians on them and destroy their city once and for all. The aged Athenian statesmen Demades proposed that the Athenians send an embassy to Alexander congratulating him on his safe return from the barbarian lands of the north and his magnificent victory over Thebes. This the assembly did immediately, but Alexander sent them back to Athens with a message that he was willing to overlook their disloyalty only if they would send to his camp ten of his longtime enemies, including the chief troublemaker Demosthenes. To the conservative party leader Phocion, this seemed perfectly reasonable. He was a respected military veteran who had once been a student of Plato’s. He also detested Demosthenes and would be thrilled to see his longtime adversary crucified by the Macedonians. He rose before the assembly and called on his fellow citizens to remember the story of the Athenian heroes Leos and Hyacinthus, who had sacrificed their own willing daughters to save the state when it faced destruction. Turning to Demosthenes, he declared that these mere girls had gladly gone to their deaths to save their city—wouldn’t any true Athenian patriot do likewise? In spite of Phocion, the supporters of Demosthenes still controlled the assembly and threw the old general off the platform. Demosthenes then climbed the stone steps and addressed his fellow citizens in a carefully prepared speech. It was not without reason that he was considered the best orator of the age. By the end of his address, he had won the crowd to his side. Demades, heavily bribed by Demosthenes’ party, then proposed that they send a second embassy to Alexander begging him to reconsider and spare the Athenian leaders. Since the king still needed the Athenian navy for his Persian invasion, this time Alexander relented with the condition that they surrender only the general Charidemus to him. This was a clever ploy, since he was not a native-born Athenian and could be safely sacrificed by all parties. Charidemus knew which way the wind was blowing and immediately sailed off to join the Persians. Honor satisfied, Alexander agreed to leave the Athenians in peace. From Thebes, Alexander and his men marched home to Macedonia.

 It was now late autumn and there was much to be done before his army could cross to Asia in the spring. The king reluctantly recalled Parmenion from Asia Minor to be his second in command on the expedition as the price of the old general’s support. Philip’s other elder statesman, Antipater, was made regent in Macedonia to rule in the king’s place and keep the Greeks in line while he was at war across the Aegean. Both men advised Alexander to marry and produce an heir before he departed for what could be a very long and dangerous campaign. It was sound advice and in accord with Macedonian tradition, but the king had no interest in domestic life. He was only twenty-one and, with the confidence of youth, believed he had more than enough time to worry about family matters in the future. He also had no patience to wait for a wife to become pregnant and bear a son. Marriage would mean delaying the Asian expedition for at least another year, which was unthinkable to Alexander. To entertain his troops and ready them for the upcoming war, the king held athletic contests and festivals at Dion beneath the snows of Mount Olympus. A decade earlier Alexander had tamed Bucephalas at this holy site.

 Now, the mighty stallion still at his side, he hosted games of every kind for his men and presented splendid prizes to the winners. For nine days he sacrificed lavishly to Zeus, father of the gods, and to the nine muses who would inspire bards to sing of great deeds to come. An enormous tent was erected to hold a hundred dining couches for Alexander’s guests. The whole army dined like kings for days and drank wine every night like true Macedonian warriors on the eve of battle. They would need all the courage they could muster—before them lay the awesome power of the Persian Empire.