4

A King and His Army

Waldemar Heckel

The rivalry among Alexander’s commanders is clear from the very fact of the wars of the Successors, which reflect not only the natural reluctance of talented, ambitious men to subordinate themselves to their perceived equals or inferiors but also the fact that, during his lifetime, the king established a system of checks and balances, thus preventing the development of a clear hierarchy of command (Heckel 2002b).¹ The frictions within the army and at the court are discussed in more general terms by Gregor Weber (see ch. 5) and are illustrated by some of the best-known episodes in the Alexander historians: the affairs of Philotas, Cleitus, and Callisthenes (including the conspiracy of Hermolaus). Each case is different, but all have in common the tension between certain officers – along with their families or adherents – and the king, as well as that within the circle of command. To some scholars, these episodes are manifestations of deep-rooted resentment toward Alexander, going back to the time of Philip’s reign, but exacerbated by the king’s orientalizing policies; for one writer in particular they illustrate that Alexander was not only capable of, but actually engaged in, plotting against his own men.²

The fall of Philotas and Parmenion, the murder of Cleitus, and the affair of Callisthenes and the Pages have all been dealt with in the introductory narrative. The aim of this discussion is to consider the significance of these episodes for Alexander’s relationship with the army; for the officers and the court represented a layer of command and organization separating the king from the common soldier. Nevertheless, there was a bond between Alexander and the army that was both direct and genuine, and this was not due solely to the young king’s charisma, though it did play a part. Curtius Rufus remarks that:

The Macedonians have a natural tendency to venerate their royalty, but even taking that into account, the extent of their admiration, or their burning affection, for this particular king is difficult to describe. First of all, they thought his every enterprise had divine aid. Fortune was with him at every turn and so even his rashness had produced glorious results. His age gave added luster to all his achievements for, though hardly old enough for undertakings of such magnitude, he was well up to them. Then there are the things generally regarded as rather unimportant but which tend to find greater approval among soldiers, the fact that he exercised with his men, that he made his appearance and dress little different from an ordinary soldier’s, that he had the energy of a soldier. These characteristics, whether they were natural or consciously cultivated, had made him in the eyes of his men as much an object of affection as of awe (3.6.18–20).³

A state engaged in the conquest of a neighboring area usually sends out from its homeland an army considered capable of accomplishing the undertaking. When this aggressor state has legally constituted assemblies or councils, the separation of military and civil powers is usually clear and the leader of the army and the head of state are often not the same individuals. Even when the army was led by the state’s chief executive officer (or officers, as when both consuls of Rome were with the army), the civil government and, to some extent, the conduct of the war remained in the hands of the elected assemblies or a Senate with traditional auctoritas. Monarchy presents a different set of problems and solutions. Not all kings were military leaders, and these relied on generals to implement their foreign policies, often with great risk to the security of their rule. Others, like Alexander, were warriors and strategists of the first order, but they relied heavily on the skill, leadership, and, what is more, the loyalty of their commanders.

Alexander’s “partners in conquest” played no insignificant role in the shaping of world history, and their interactions with one another and their king provide a fascinating subtext to the well-known story of his subjugation of the east. Two aspects of the Macedonian politico-military system are vital to our understanding of these interrelationships. The first is the geographic (or territorial) basis on which the majority of the native troops and their leaders were recruited, which meant that the bond between troops andtaxis commanders was greater than that between the men and the general officers. The latter were, in effect, middle managers charged with implementing the king’s orders. As such, they were more expendable than the taxiarchs and ilarchs, and more prone to resent the fact that credit for victory inevitably went to the king.⁴ But it was this very perception of the king as author of an unbroken chain of victories that earned him the affection and admiration of the troops.

Secondly, Macedonian kings, from the time of Philip II, if not earlier, had learned to counterbalance territorial loyalties through the practice of raising the sons of the Macedonian aristocracy (many of them scions of the once independent, royal houses of Upper Macedonia) at the court in Pella. This institution, which joined somatophylakia (custodia corporis) and therapeia, “served the Macedonians as a kind of seminary for their officers and generals” (Curt. 8.6.6); for “such was the upbringing and training of those who would be great generals and leaders” (Curt. 5.1.42).⁵ It was a system which fostered at once loyalty and competition, leadership and obedience, and it served as a kind of West Point from which graduating officers took their places as leaders of units comprising neighbors and kinsmen accustomed over the generations to follow the aristocrats of their region. So, again, there was an exceptional bond between the officer and his men, a companionship of commander and king, and finally a strong and overriding love and respect on the part of the men for the monarchy. A large number of the important regional commanders, already at the outset of the expedition, were Alexander’s men, his friends and syntrophoi.

Hence, despite the notoriety of a small number of “conspiracies” that occurred within Alexander’s reign, the king was remarkably secure in his position and the aspirations of his political enemies limited by the reality of what they were capable of achieving. These limits were imposed by the special bond and nature of the king’s hetairoi (especially those of his generation, his syntrophoi) and by the mood and composition of the army itself. In the expedition against Persia, Alexander was their commander, their guide, their shining example, in short, their hero. They had acknowledged him in 336 as their king – even though the practice amounted to the endorsement of a decision made by the nobility – and it would take a remarkable man indeed to supplant him, even if he were the worst of kings, which certainly he was not.⁶ Ability and charisma play their part in the relationship between the general and his men, but Alexander was more than a Robert E. Lee or an Erwin Rommel: through his veins flowed the very lifeblood of the Macedonian army, and there were few of his officers who did not understand or who underestimated the potency of the idea.

Once he had recovered sufficiently from his close call with death in the town of the Mallians, he was visited by his officers.⁷

Craterus, who had been charged with the task of conveying to him the entreaties of his friends, [remarked]: “Do you think that an enemy advance – even supposing they were now standing on our rampart – would cause us more anxiety than does our concern for your health, on which, as matters now stand, you set little value? No matter how powerful an army unite against us from the world over; no matter though it fill the entire earth with arms and men or pave the seas over with ships or bring strange monsters against us – you will make us invincible. But which of the gods can guarantee that this mainstay, this star of Macedon will long continue when you are so ready to expose yourself to obvious danger, unaware that you draw the lives of so many of your fellow-citizens into disaster? Who wants to survive you? Who is able to? Following your authority and your command, we have reached a place from which returning home without your leadership is impossible for any of us” (Curt. 9.6.6–9).

For all its dramatic touches, this is neither delusional hero-worship or sycophancy, but rather a realistic assessment of the importance of the king to the success and well-being of his army and its leaders. Though militarily capable of stepping into his shoes, the marshals were constitutionally⁸barred and restrained by the command structure from becoming second Alexanders. Thus like the common soldier who took his cue from his every nod, or judged the prospects of success or failure by the king’s mood or facial expression, his officers knew – and few were the times when the truth was even temporarily forgotten – that “without Alexander they were nothing.” The sentiments of the Macedonians are echoed in the words of Ambroise, in his history of the Third Crusade, where the troops tell Richard the Lionheart: “When you want to damage the Turks take a large company with you for our life is in your hands, for when the head of the body falls, the body cannot survive alone”⁹

It is in the light of this peculiar balance of king, commander, and common soldier, of regional and national interests, that we must consider the politics of Alexander’s officers, the workings of conspirators, and the counter-measures of the king and his supporters. Factions certainly existed, and their primary aim was the advancement of their own positions, either as a group or as individuals.¹⁰ But those who sought the death of the king, and these were but a few officers and “cadets,” deluded themselves if they thought they could gain the support of the troops. Hence, any conspiracy that actually succeeded in killing Alexander would undoubtedly have led to exactly the kind of contest for power that followed his death from “natural” causes in 323. The fact that the soldiery preferred an idiot to any of the marshals – no matter how much these played up or invented familial relationships with Philip and Alexander – speaks volumes. The popular Alexander tradition speaks of a “disciplinary unit” (ataktoi) made up of disgruntled supporters of the house of Parmenion. This should not surprise, for even the most isolated or fanatical individuals have their supporters. What does deserve emphasis is that there were very few men who, despite their personal affection for their officers, were willing to support them in an act of treason against the king. Even at the Hyphasis the reaction of the troops was secessio, which threatened only the plans (if these were, in fact, genuine¹¹) and not the person of the king. Nor can one justly speak of conspiracies initiated by the king or a genuine “loneliness of power.” The demands of leadership can isolate a ruler from his men, but in a world of lonely rulers Alexander was far less lonely than most. Who were the men who constituted serious threats to Alexander’s kingship and life? Attalus, of course, though most likely in an attempt to preempt the ruin he had brought upon himself. He knew well that Alexander would never forgive the (not too subtly) implied insult of his drunken remark (Satyrus ap.Athen. 13.557d-e; Plu. Alex. 9.6-7; Just. 9.7.12). But his only hope of safety lay in the mobilization of the Greek enemy against Macedon¹² – though, again, we cannot be sure of Diodorus’ claim (17.5.1) that he communicated with Demosthenes – and his elimination was sanctioned (if not carried out) by his own father-in-law, Parmenion. To what extent Amyntas son of Perdiccas III sought to revive his claims to the throne, or whether he was a front for the ambitions of others (namely the sons of Aëropus), is unclear. Philip had pushed him aside with the support of the army, and Alexander could confidently terminate his existence by invoking state security.

The aspirations of the Lyncestians, if they sought anything more than revenge, were also clearly deluded; the king retained the services of Alexander Lyncestes¹³ and his nephew Amyntas son of Arrhabaeus, at least until the winter of 334/3, when the Lyncestian was arrested for treasonable communication with the Persian king. Amphoterus, the brother of Craterus, traveled to Parmenion’s camp, where the Lyncestian and his Thessalian troops were in winter quarters, in disguise – not out of fear of a general uprising of the troops, who had no reason to be provoked by his arrival, but to avoid tipping off the conspirator and allowing him to escape.¹⁴ Lyncestes’ troops were, at any rate, not Macedonians, and Parmenion once again supported his king in the affair. The arrest and eventual execution of Alexander Lyncestes concluded the purge of those who threatened Alexander’s title in 336. The troops, it seems, shed few tears for them,¹⁵ and the royal council (consilium amicorum or synedrion; on which see also Weber, ch. 5) voiced its opinion that the king should have rid himself of the third Lyncestian long ago.¹⁶

Discontent arose once more in 332/1, after Alexander’s visit to Siwah and his recognition as “Son of Amun,” but neither the men nor their leaders went beyond voicing dissatisfaction in private. Philotas son of Parmenion is supposed to have made his feelings known to his mistress, Antigone, a Greek woman captured at Damascus shortly after Issus (see n. 4 above). But what she heard and passed on to her friends reached Alexander in the form of hearsay, and Craterus’ attempt to gather damning evidence against his fellow commander points more to the rivalries within the system than to a serious threat to the king. Alexander, at any rate, excused his conduct.

In 330 Philotas, under torture, is said to have revealed that in Egypt Hegelochus son of Hippostratus (apparently a relative of Cleopatra-Eurydice and Attalus) had urged Parmenion to overthrow Alexander.¹⁷ That Philotas made such a confession can neither be proved nor disproved, but the story may well have been fabricated to justify Parmenion’s execution. Certainly, Hegelochus was no longer alive to refute the claim, and his family connection with Attalus rendered the charge plausible. There is certainly no basis for the claim that Curtius himself invented the story, for the details clearly go back to a primary source who knew something about the factions within the army – the details of which Curtius could hardly have concocted.¹⁸ But the mark of the Roman author can be found in the thinking he imputes to Parmenion:

With Darius still alive, Parmenion thought the plan premature, since killing Alexander would benefit the enemy, not themselves, whereas with Darius removed the reward of killing the king that would fall to his assassins would be Asia and all of the east (Curt. 6.11.29).

In the late republic and early empire such usurpations of power by generals were routine, but the idea of giving power to a non-member of the Argead house would not have occurred to the Macedonians. It would certainly have been incumbent upon Antipater to secure the throne for an Argead – even if this meant crowning the pathetic Arrhidaeus – and punish the regicides.¹⁹

Hence, the argument that the army would rally around Parmenion makes sense only in the short run. The military body, deprived of its head, would need to be extricated from the unfinished war in Asia. But Parmenion had no regal aspirations, and no claim to them. All this makes the question of Philotas’ behavior in 330 difficult to understand. At Phrada (Farah, in what is now Afghanistan), he was informed by a certain Cebalinus, whose brother had been coerced into joining a plot by his lover, Dimnus, of a threat to the king’s life. Philotas’ crime amounted to little more than failing to pass on the information. He claimed he had not taken it seriously – and, many historians have pointed out that the conspirators were virtual nonentities. This is true, for the most part, but the alleged involvement of Demetrius the Bodyguard is particularly disturbing. We do not know what motivated him to throw in his lot with the others – it is, in fact, his participation that lends credence to the existence of the plot – since his identity cannot be established.²⁰ His grievances may have been entirely personal. Like Pausanias, who assassinated Philip II, Demetrius may have been blind to the consequences of regicide for the army and the state. He may have belonged to a group of conservative Macedonians who opposed Alexander’s orientalism and wished to return home. That he ran the risk of execution, he knew well, and so he must have considered the attempt on the king’s life worth it. Nevertheless, here was a man of high standing, well placed to murder the king.²¹ Possibly, Philotas’ failure to report the incident was an attempt to protect Demetrius, though one would expect him to have warned the Bodyguard about the security leak. Under these circumstances, Philotas’ inaction amounted to a serious case of negligence; and certainly he neglected to factor in the hostility of his political rivals and their determination to bring him down.

A conspiracy at this point of the campaign should not come as a surprise. All heads of state run the risk of being targeted by malcontents, even the least threatening or competent.²² Nevertheless, some scholars have regarded Philotas as an innocent victim, subjected to a show trial in which a carefully orchestrated prosecution stirred up the emotions of the mob – so that the punitive measures that the king had already determined to take would seem to have been forced upon him by the popular will. The weaknesses of the theory that Philotas was “framed” have been discussed on several occasions by “another scholar,” and need not be repeated here. But, even if the conspiracy theorists are right, their case would provide eloquent testimony to the hold that Alexander had over the army and the futility of any act of rebellion. The trial of Philotas occurred at a time when the insurrections of Satibarzanes and Bessus made it clear that the campaign was destined to drag on and lead the troops into the solitudes of Central Asia. It occurred at a time when Alexander’s adoption of the trappings of Persian royalty appeared as a betrayal of the very principles for which Greeks and Macedonians had fought. Philotas, despite ample opportunity to speak in his own defense, was incapable of exploiting feelings of discontentment, unable to sway the opinion of the army. For them, all complaints against the king’s behavior or the burdens of campaigning were silenced by the horror of regicide.

Some scholars have compared Alexander to Hitler and Stalin (whom Richard Overy has called the “twin demons of the twentieth century”²³), an unfortunate choice, since a comparison of Hitler and Stalin themselves does not stand up to close scrutiny. As Overy points out, the most obvious parallels in the lives of these dictators involve characteristics and circumstances they shared with many other figures of their age.²⁴ It has become fashionable to categorize enemies of the west or of western ideologies as “evil” and to stereotype Idi Amin, Saddam Hussein, Kim Jong-il, and others as arch-villains through simplistic comparisons with Hitler or Stalin.²⁵ The detractors of Alexander have fallen into line.²⁶ But attempts to compare Philotas with one of the many victims of Stalin’s show trials miss the point entirely. Stalin had none of the legitimacy of a Macedonian king,²⁷ and was in constant fear of losing his position to rivals.²⁸ These were broken by unrelenting torture in the Lubianka prison until they confessed their fictitious crimes. Philotas, at his trial, did not implicate himself in the Dimnus conspiracy. Rather he openly proclaimed his innocence, admitting only his failure to take the news of Dimnus’ plot seriously. That was, indeed, his undoing, and the true nature of his crime. The dangers of such action (or rather inaction) were apparent to his listeners. In a time of crisis the mere hint of treason sufficed to convict a man and negligence was interpreted as approbation. The army reflected also upon the virtues of their king, whose hero cult they had themselves helped to create, contrasting them with the arrogance of the defendant. It is in the nature of humans, particularly in groups, to overlook even major crimes committed by those whom they idolize and yet to dwell upon the minor faults of those they despise.²⁹ No wonder that Alexander the Lyncestian lacked words to defend himself. If the army had been quick to condemn the negligence of Philotas, what hope was there of deflecting their hostility in a clear-cut case of treason?

The Cleitus episode can be dealt with quickly. This was a personal matter, although it played out in public in the form of a drunken quarrel, the sort of thing all too common among the Macedonians. It ended tragically in murder. In the course of the argument, Cleitus gave voice to his own dissatisfaction with Alexander’s conduct, but his concerns were shared by many of those at the banquet table, especially those of Cleitus’ generation. Lawrence Tritle (2003) has made a strong case for combat fatigue and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as contributing factors. If Alexander under the influence of alcohol displayed signs of paranoia, this is hardly surprising. The victim of the crime might have been any other Macedonian, accustomed to speaking frankly to his king, but there can be no doubt that Cleitus’ sense of honor – probably also his displeasure at being assigned the remote satrapy of Bactria – made him unlikely to suffer the king’s boastful remarks in silence. His anger was directed as much against the court sycophants as the king himself, and Alexander, for his part, had doubtless come to resent Cleitus’ repeated reminders of how he had saved his life at the Granicus. What matters, for our purpose, is that the army was quick to excuse Alexander’s conduct and was concerned about his mental state and suicidal tendencies.

Alexander’s drunken outburst in Maracanda is hardly unique in the annals of history, though its consequences were particularly tragic. Philip II himself attacked his own son with drawn sword, thus sullying his own wedding banquet, and similar scenes have been acted out in other societies, where the heavy consumption of alcohol mixes unhappily with machismo. In 1698 Johann Georg Korb, who was with the Austrian ambassador at the court of Peter the Great, recorded in his Diarium itineris in Moscoviam a confrontation between the Tsar and his military commander Alexis Shein. Peter had left the room after a heated engagement:

When he returned a short time later, his rage had increased to such an extent that he drew his sword out of its scabbard and, in front of the General-in-Chief, struck the table and threatened: “Thus shall I strike you and put an end to your command.” Foaming with righteous anger, he stepped up to Prince Romadanowsky and Mikitin Moseiwitsch; but as he sensed that they were excusing the general, he went into such a smouldering rage that, through repeated and undirected thrusts of the cold steel, he transported all the guests into a state of panic. Romodanowsky received a slight wound on his finger, another a cut to the head, and as he brought his sword backward he injured Mikitin Moseiwitsch on the hand.

He aimed a far more deadly blow against the General-in-Chief, who would doubtless have been stretched out in his own blood at the hands of the Tsar, had not General Lefort – probably the only one who would have dared the deed – clutched the hand of the Tsar and pulled it back and thereby prevented a wound. But angered by the fact that there was someone who prevented the fulfillment of his justified rage, the Tsar turned and dealt the uninvited interloper a hard blow on the back.³⁰

The intervention nevertheless prevented Peter from murdering Shein as Alexander had killed Cleitus. Both episodes, however, bring into focus the fine line between familiarity and autocracy. In Peter’s case, his frequent drinking parties and buffoonery had eroded the traditional divide between tsar and subject, whereas Alexander, through his imitation of the Great King and his growing aloofness, had begun to stifle the liberties of the Macedonian hetairoi.³¹

It was this changing relationship between king and courtiers – and the orientalizing program contributed to it – that formed the backdrop to the so-called Conspiracy of the Pages. Like many conflicts, this plot had its immediate origins in a private grievance: Hermolaus son of Sopolis, one of the king’s Pages, was flogged for anticipating the king in a boar hunt and striking the animal first. Alexander was certainly within his rights; for it was the king’s prerogative to punish those of the paides basilikoi for disobeying orders, and we may assume that it was an unwritten (perhaps even unspoken) rule that the first attempt on the prey belonged to the king. The humiliation of the punishment brought to mind other complaints, and it may well be that the Pages had heard their fathers comment on the changing nature of the Macedonian kingship. But ideological differences generally take a back seat to personal injury and revenge is easily cloaked in moral indignation.³²

It is unfortunate that the Hermolaus affair followed so closely on the heels of Alexander’s attempted introduction of proskynesis. Although Hermolaus, at his trial, listed among the king’s offenses his wish to receive obeisance, the conspiracy had little if anything to do with proskynesis. It did, however, prove fatal for Callisthenes of Olynthus, who served both as official historian of the campaign and tutor of the Pages. As far as the army was concerned, Hermolaus and his fellow conspirators were guilty of treason and deserving of punishment. If Callisthenes had, in any way, influenced their thinking or taught them that tyrannicide was a noble act, he too merited execution. But again the underlying issues were of little concern to the common soldier, who looked only to the security of his commander and the maintenance of proper order. In this instance, and as the campaign progressed, it became increasingly clear that although he disliked the policy – indeed, he was hurt by it – he nevertheless loved the king. Like Craterus, who held dear the traditions of Macedonia, the common soldier remained philobasileus.³³

It was in the political world between the king and his army, in the sheltered environment of the royal tent, that the drama of the court played itself out. As Robin Lane Fox has noted, the experiment with proskynesis was conducted under very controlled circumstances, with a limited number of participants, all of them courtiers or officers – and surprisingly successful.³⁴ Of course, some of the more conservative leaders, like Craterus and Polyperchon, were absent from the camp at the time. It is an exaggeration to say that Callisthenes was responsible for scuttling the experiment. He did indeed make his objections known and incurred the king’s wrath, but it was probably the mockery of the process by high-ranking hetairoi (notably Leonnatus) that contributed most to the failure. Callisthenes’ self-righteousness would come back to haunt him; when the Pages led by Hermolaus son of Sopolis, plotted against the king, it was inevitable that Callisthenes should be suspected of inciting them. That he was guilty of “seditious teachings” is highly likely; but his complicity in the actual conspiracy cannot be proved. Unless the report that he died of obesity and a disease of lice is apologia, it appears that his case was indeed being postponed until a Greek court could decide.

The first serious clash between king and army occurred at the Hyphasis (Beas) river, when Alexander proposed to lead his troops against the Gangetic kingdom of the Nandas. For the first time, Alexander was guilty of misjudging the enemy and his chances of success. For the first time, he failed to use the motivational tools that form the arsenal of every good general. Some scholars have argued that his ambitious plans and recklessness were simply in keeping with his character and his heroic ethos – as if it were possible to look 2,400 years into the past and psychoanalyze any historical character, but especially an enigma such as Alexander. What we can do, and what has been done since ancient times, is evaluate the actions of the general. And what Alexander proposed at the Hyphasis, how he went about pitching the campaign to his men, and the way he failed to control public opinion suggest that his skills as a general were sadly lacking. But this is true only if we believe that Alexander genuinely wished to continue beyond the Hyphasis, and this defies credulity. The problems have been discussed elsewhere (see ch. 2; and Heckel 2003a; 2007: 120–5; Spann 1999). But what is interesting is that even in the most extreme situation, when the men were exhausted and their uniforms were literally rotted off their bodies, their spokesman, Coenus, could express the following sentiment:

May the gods keep disloyal thoughts from us! And, indeed, they do so. Your men are as willing as ever to go wherever you command, to fight, to face danger, to shed our blood in order to transmit your name to posterity. So, if you are going on, we shall follow or go before you wherever you wish, even though we be unarmed, naked and exhausted (Curt. 9.3.5).

These are not the words of mutineers but of men who are begging their king to consider their plight. They continued to call upon Alexander as “their king, their father, their lord” (Curt. 9.3.16). Now we need not take everything that Curtius puts in his speeches as genuine, but it is clear that each speech supplies the sentiments required by the situation – what Thucydides called ta deonta. Even in Arrian’s version of Coenus’ speech, where the emphasis is on age, exhaustion, and the unwillingness of the soldiers to go on, the emphasis is still on the hope that Alexander will take pity on those who have done so much to win him glory. But, as I have argued elsewhere,³⁵ Alexander (unless we are prepared to question his leadership skills and his intelligence) was merely attempting to lay the responsibility for turning back on the men. He gave them sufficient reasons for refusing his request to advance, and they responded as he hoped they would.

Little needs to be said about the absurdity that Alexander was deliberately exposed to danger in the town of the Mallians by troops who no longer wished to follow him. Even less convincing is the idea that the march through the Gedrosia was a form of punishment. Indeed, if anything, the shared experience of the Gedrosian march created an even stronger bond between the king and his men. History may pass harsh judgments on the execution of Antony’s Parthian or Napoleon’s Russian campaigns, but the bond between commander and soldier was never stronger. Napoleon had more to fear from the politicians at home than from the rank and file. So too Alexander’s army was allowed to frolic in Carmania, while the king turned his mind to the abuses of his provincial governors. But the Gedrosian ordeal was an affirmation of shared trust, exemplified by Alexander’s refusal to accept a gift of water while his men suffered from thirst (Arr. 6.26.1-3). Would such a man actually have led his men to ignominious destruction on the banks of the Ganges?

The Opis mutiny, in its own strange way, confirmed rather than questioned Alexander’s power over the army. The underlying issue was, as so often before, the king’s orientalism. The men resented the incorporation of barbarians into the army, and the rabble-rousers told him to wage war with his new recruits, and with his father Amun. But it was the king’s apparent rejection of them – his claim not to need their services – that devastated them. Suddenly they were content to see the leaders of the sedition executed for proffering bad advice, perhaps even for verbally abusing the king, as if they had not all taken part. They no longer thought of wounded pride or the justice of their case: instead they begged forgiveness, like children who had angered a parent and sought reassurance. Curtius’ comments underscore the mood of Alexander’s troops and their relationship with their king:

Who would have believed that a gathering fiercely hostile moments before could be paralyzed with sudden panic at the sight of men being dragged off for punishment whose actions had been no worse than the others? They were terror-stricken, whether from respect for the title of king, for which people living in a monarchy have a divine reverence, or from respect for Alexander personally; or perhaps it was because of the confidence with which he so forcefully exerted his authority. At all events they were the very model of submissiveness: when, towards evening, they learned of their comrades’ execution, so far from being infuriated at the punishment, they did everything to express individually their increased loyalty and devotion.³⁶

The reaffirmation of this bond was as important to the commander as it was for his men. As a boy, Alexander read a speech attributed by Xenophon to Clearchus, the conclusion of which proclaimed:

I will follow you and endure what has to be. This is because it is you I think of as being my country and my friends and my allies; when I am with you I think I shall have honor wherever I may be; but apart from you I don’t think I shall be able either to do good to a friend or harm an enemy. So you can make up your minds that I am going to go wherever you go (Xen. Anab. 1.3; trans. R. Warner 1972).

Perhaps he understood that Clearchus was being disingenuous – if not, his tutors probably told him so – but he learned nevertheless that this is what troops want to hear, that this is what they believe and what keeps them loyal. It is, like strategy, tactics, and personal leadership, an essential component of the art of command.

¹ This discussion is meant to supplement rather than supersede Heckel 2003b.

² Badian 2000a.

³ Here and elsewhere I have used the Penguin translation of Curtius by J. C. Yardley (Yardley and Heckel 1984).

⁴ “. . . as a young man will often talk freely in vaunting and martial strain to his mistress and in his cups, Philotas used to tell her [Antigone] that the greatest achievements were performed by himself and his father, and would call Alexander a stripling who through their efforts enjoyed the title of ruler” (Plu. Alex. 48.5, trans. B. Perrin 1986). Compare Curt. 8.1.28–9: “Then Cleitus . . . turned to the men reclining below him and recited a passage from Euripides so that the king could catch the tone without fully hearing the words. The gist of the passage was that the Greeks had established a bad practice in inscribing their trophies with only their kings’ names, for the kings were thus appropriating to them¬selves glory that was won by the blood of others.” This is not a far cry from Homer’s Iliad, where Achilles upbraids Agamemnon: “The heat and burden of the fighting fall on me, but when it comes to dealing out the spoils, it is you that takes the lion’s share, leaving me to return to my ships, exhausted from battle, with some pathetic portion to call my own” (1.165–8; trans. E. V. Rieu 1950).

⁵ For the menial nature of their service to the king see Curt. 8.6.2 (munia haud multum servilibus ministeriis abhorrentia).

⁶ Hence, although Alexander may have feared the power of Parmenion after Philotas’ execution, the likelihood of a rebellion by the troops under his command was probably not great. One need only think of the reaction of Adea-Eurydice’s Macedonians who, when they learned that Olympias was with the opposing army, immediately defected (D.S. 19.11.2); and similarly the very appearance of the legitimate king Antiochus III foiled the rebellion of Molon (Plb. 5.54.1).

⁷ The troops were taken by surprise by the king’s rashness and, once they saw that he was placing himself in grave danger, they unwittingly overloaded the ladders, which broke under the strain. It is fatuous to use this catastrophe as an indication of the army’s reluctance to support their king after the Hyphasis incident.

⁸ Macedon did not, of course, have a written constitution, but there were strong traditions, ceremo¬nies, and obligations connected with the governing of the state that needed to be adhered to. See, e.g., Hammond 1989b: 21–4, 166–77.

⁹ Quoted by Gillingham 1999: 181 (emphasis added). Cf. the Confederate troops who, in times of heavy fighting were wont to shout “General Lee to the rear!” (Freeman 1993: 385–6).

¹⁰ Consider the cynical remarks of Oliver Goldsmith: “He [Polydamas] was one of Parmenio’s most intimate friends, if we may give that name to courtiers, who study only their own fortunes” (1825: ii. 129).

¹¹ Spann 1999; Heckel 2003a.

¹² A similar act of desperation was attempted in 324 by Harpalus.

¹³ It is generally (and probably correctly) assumed that he was saved through the efforts of his father- in-law, Antipater, and by the fact that he was the first to hail Alexander as king.

¹⁴ Craterus and his phalanx battalion were probably in Parmenion’s camp. He is not mentioned in the accounts of Alexander’s campaigns over the winter of 334/3.

¹⁵ In Curtius’ speech by Hermolaus, Alexander is reproached with the death of Alexander Lyncestes (8.7.4). This has a dramatic purpose in that it allows Alexander in his point-by-point refutation of Hermolaus’ remarks to emphasize how he had been lenient with the Lyncestian far too long and to his own detriment.

¹⁶ Arr. 1.25.5. Plu. Mor. 327c says that the Macedonians were looking toward Amyntas IV and the Lyncestians, but we do not actually know much about the aspirations of the latter (see Hammond and Griffith 15–16). Had their bloodline truly entitled them to consideration for the kingship, the actions of Antipater, who was Alexander Lyncestes’ father-in-law, become harder to explain. Perhaps he feared Arrhabaeus and Heromenes. Habicht 1977 identifies Arrhabaeus, the father of Cassander, with the son of Alexander Lyncestes and Antipater’s daughter. We do not know, however, when the marriage took place or how many children this unnamed daughter produced. One would be tempted, however, to estimate the relative importance of the two families by the name of the first son, if there was, in fact, an older brother of this Arrhabaeus. Aeropus, the other father-in-law, appears to have been no longer alive (for no one mentions his execution or exile) – no one, that is, except perhaps Polyaen. Strat. 4.2.3, who says that Philip, on the eve of Chaeroneia, punished two hegemones, Aeropus and Damasippus, with exile for disobeying his orders and bringing a female harpist into the camp. Now Philip was said to have executed a Page named Archedamus for disobeying his orders (Ael. VH14.48), but the banish¬ment of officers for what was the equivalent of “curfew violation” strikes me as excessive. Hence, I am inclined to believe that it was the status and identity of the offender that mattered more than the nature of the offense. Philip may have used the opportunity to rid himself of an unwelcome presence (see Heckel 5). This is speculative, at best, and one would dearly like to know something about the identity of his “colleague,” Damasippus.

¹⁷ For Hegelochus’ “conspiracy” see Curt. 6.11.22–9; Heckel 1992: 6–12.

¹⁸ Hegelochus is alleged to have remarked that Alexander pardoned his father’s killer, which must be a reference to Alexander the Lyncestian (Curt. 6.11.26). The remark also emphasizes the tension between the factions of Parmenion and Antipater.

¹⁹ Alexander was criticized by contemporaries (and by modern scholars) for not producing an heir before he left Macedonia. Ironically, if he had taken a (Macedonian) son with him to Asia, this prince might have become a puppet for a mutinous general.

²⁰ See Heckel 108 [2].

²¹ Those who decry the fate of Philotas or assume that the Dimnus conspiracy was a fabrication appear to be untroubled by the execution of Demetrius. Since we know that Dimnus was one of the hetairoi and from Chalaestra, he was clearly of some importance, and influential enough to win the support of Demetrius.

²² There were two attempts on the life of President Gerald Ford, neither motivated by political fac¬tions. Like Demetrius’ colleagues, Ford’s would-be assassins were relative nonentities: only Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme’s connections to Charles Manson gave her a measure of notoriety. Anarchist Sara Jane Moore won her fifteen minutes of fame, and a lifetime behind bars, by actually firing her gun.

²³ Overy 2004: xxxi.

²⁴ Family life, brutal corporal punishment, periods of imprisonment, hostility to religion and intel¬lectuals, etc.

²⁵ Despite the body count attributed to Idi Amin, it would, indeed, be hard to find anyone who genu¬inely deserved comparison in terms of cruelty to his own people (least of all that other “man of steel,” Temujin), though Pol Pot might be a strong candidate. Certainly he suits Overy’s description of leaders who were responsible for “the construction of a social utopia on a mountain of corpses” (2004: xxxiv).

²⁶ See, e.g., Hanson 2001: 89–90. For a much needed antidote, see the sensible comments of Rogers 2004: 280–3. I am, in general, of the opinion that valuable insights into ancient history can be gained from historical analogies (provided these are not pushed too far), but Hitler and Stalin have become icons whose very names are synonymous with unspeakable evil and calculated mass murder. To invoke these names is tantamount to applying an inappropriate adjective to the subject of the discussion. I am reminded of the words of Demetrius (De eloc. 304): “Often objects which are themselves full of charm lose their attractiveness owing to the choice of words. Cleitarchus, for instance, when describing the wasp, an insect like a bee, says: ‘It lays waste the hill-country, and dashes into the hollow oaks.’ This might have served for a description of some wild ox, or of the Erymanthian boar, rather than a species of bee. The result is that the passage is both repellent and frigid” (FGrH 137 T10, trans. W. R. Roberts in Robinson 1953).

²⁷ Lenin himself had expressed serious concerns about his leadership and his fitness to lead the state. In recent years a number of excellent studies of Stalin have appeared: in addition to Overy 2004, see Sebag-Montefiore 2003; Rayfield 2004; Service 2004.

²⁸ The power struggle at Alexander’s court, within his inner circle, involved the subordinate positions. No one was, to put it colloquially, “after Alexander’s job.”

²⁹ Thus Curt. 6.11.1–7 attributes to a certain Bolon a speech reminding the men that Philotas had ejected them from their assigned quarters to make room for his own slaves. A similar act of arrogance is attributed by Antiphanes to Amyntas son of Andromenes (Curt. 7.1.15–17). For the blindness of hero-worshipers we need only look at the disbelief that greeted charges against Michael Jackson or Martha Stewart, or the reaction of the African-American community to the indictment of O. J. Simpson. On the political level, consider the failure to hold Henry Kissinger accountable for crimes against humanity (see Hitchens 2001).

³⁰ Leingärtner 1968: 79. The Diarium itineris in Moscoviam (1698) has been translated into several languages. The English version of Count MacDonnel (1863; repr 1968) is awkward and dated. Since the Latin text was unavailable to me at the time of writing, I have supplied my own translation of Leingartner’s German version.

³¹ Curt. 8.4.30 typically exaggerates when he speaks of “the suspension of free speech following Cleitus’ murder.” If this had been the case, Meleager suffered no more than the king’s ill-will when he spoke his mind in India (8.12.17). For Curtius’ inconsistency, compare Darius’ treatment of Charidemus (3.2.17–19) with his subsequent comment that “Nobody’s life should be forfeit for making stupid recommendations” (3.8.6).

³² One might compare the nature of the offense that motivated Harmodius and Aristogeiton to con¬spire against the Athenian “tyrants” (Arist. AP 18.2; Thuc. 6.56.1). In more prosaic terms, the perceived importance of a situation may be likened to the modern saying, “A recession is when your neighbor is out of work; a depression is when you yourself are out of work.”

³³ See also Lane Fox 1973: 325.

³⁴ Lane Fox 1973: 323: “The plan could hardly have been tried more reasonably and despite the indignation of Romans, philosophers and others since who have missed its Persian background, Alexander came out of it all remarkably well.”

³⁵ See Heckel 2003a; 2007: 120–5.

³⁶ Curt. 10.3.1–4; trans. J. C. Yardley.