[EB Antigonid/Macedonian AAR/Tale] Successors of the One-Eyed [Updated: 22/01/2014]

[Ownager]

Aaaaah riiiight, it all makes a lot more sense now.

Yea, I'm using levies because historically that's mostly what he had at this point, along with a mass of mercenaries, also it helps to keep costs down in-game. I'm now through conquering Epirus and Sparta, that you'll see in the next update, where are you?

Defeating Helenos Aikaides in Ambrakia.

[McScottish]

Taken from here, all rights to the owner/company.



Makedon Triumphant; Summer, 3rd year of the 128th Olympiad (266 BCE) to Autumn/Winter, 4th year of the 128th Olympiad (265 BC)

In these times you will hear many claim that the day the Greek poleis lost their fight for 'freedom' was the day that Alkyoneos, eldest son and heir of Antigonos, and my brother, expelled the council of Thermon and the Aetolian League and butchered the military genius Iphikrates as he fought to keep the tribal hill-dwellers of that region from succumbing to Makedonian arms as his own people had done. Following the fall of Thermon, more a sanctuary than an actual city and emptied of its bronze statues and dedications by overzealous Makedonians and Greek allies, many of the leading citizens and their families were enslaved, an action which was seen around the Hellenic world to signal the end of independence for the old city-states in Hellas.

This was not when it ended, no, because I was there when the last hope for the Greeks was felled. It was ridden over, trod on, and punctured by a thousand blades and left to drown in a lake of its own pompous and ever-so-superior blood.

At a place called Phyla, after waiting for weeks within the walls of Demetrios, my brother led a Makedonian and allied army into battle against the last major opposition mustered against the rule of his father and family line. He drove back the besiegers without so much as an arrow loosed, pursuing them to that region north-east of Athenai where Chremonides of Athens had amassed his forced and waited to begin the single battle that would decide the fate of both his venerable polis and the future of hegemony in all of Hellas. It was he who had began the fermentation of an uprising, he who had formed an anti-Makedonian alliance among the aged and decaying cities of a bygone age, and he who now bought together all those that would fight in the name of what they saw to be freedom but was simply another way to lose their lives.

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

Alkyoneos was much like his father, a student of the Makedonian way of war, his armies made of many phalangites to hold his centre while his horsemen and nimble mercenaries struck the death blow to his enemies. In the action that would later come to be known as the Battle of Phyla, a conflict that happened in the foothills of Mount Ankhesmus and would see what glory remained to the Athenians extinguished as a fire doused in water.

Chremonides was no fool, a strategos of many years experience and the leader of the resistance against Makedon for the last decade or more. It was to be his master-stroke to catch my brother and my kin between the lines of two armies and there annihilate us utterly, a plan that was set into motion by placing his son eldest Doros on the upper slopes of the hill with nearly twenty-thousand Athenians before marching from Athenai with another seventeen or so. Of course, hardly any of these were actual citizens, most hired spears and others bought from foreign climes by the lure of wealth. Opposing him would be my half-brother, with thirty-two thousand of his own warriors, the wealth and power of Antigonos bringing nearly nine-thousand allied Greeks, Thrakians and Thessalian poor to fight alongside his own Makedonian levy who numbered some twenty-one thousand of their own.

It was in the mind of Chremonides that we would form our line to face the approaching army from Athenai protecting our rear with a number of horsemen and lighter warriors, and that while we were engaged on one front they would then be able to exploit the other.

Never had he thought that we would turn about, the entire line of battle turning to face up the sloping ground, we Thessalians having been given the place of honour on the left flank of the line with the allied Greek cavalry now on the right flank instead. My brother placed us there as a position of honour, although I suspected we were to keep an eye on the Hellenes as well, after all who would stand by and watch their land be conquered by those they considered barbarians and not be moved? Just because they had never betrayed the Makedonians before did not mean they were incapable of it.

Alkmaion was still very much alive, his towering form of muscle, complete with the thighs of a man who rarely walked if he could ride, making its way up and down our lines as he redressed them back into a reasonable order. To either side of us the Greeks did the same, all of us calming our mounts and wondering what was to come next. I inhaled deeply of the cool mountain air, watching with a chest full of pride as Alkyoneos rode past with his hetairoi and shouted encouragement at those he saw by name. They were a fine example of mounted fighters, clad from head to toe in all the finery of Makedon, bearing their long lances in the upright position and riding so close that we could almost touch them had we reached out a hand to do so. It was a manoeuvre meant as a challenge to us, Thessalians and therefore riders to a man, and we all knew it.

“Watch them go lads, watch them go. A fine display of horsemanship, but little else, I've no doubts we can rub a little gravel into their smooth backsides and show them just how real cavalry fight.”

There were laughs and some jeers, the latter mostly from our Greeks, for it was known by all that Thessalia, known as Petthalía in my native tongue, was the finest place in all of Hellas for the rearing and riding of horses. While it is true that there are tales of a Great King of the Medes racing Persian steeds against our own and winning, I like to believe that it is all so much horse crap.

After all, where were all these fine horses and riders at the Battle of Gaugamela? Where were they when the Thessalians broke their flank? Nowhere!

I stray from the account at hand...

Forming the ranks and mustering what courage we had, the by now familiar tang of bile rising in my gullet, we advanced at a slow march over the rough terrain of the foothills. In the centre of the line the pezhetairoi stamped forth in their taxeis, their sarissas levelled at the height of a man's waist, constant training allowing them to flow around trees, rocks and outcrops as if they were not even there, a fine demonstration for infantry.

As every student of war knows, the pezhetairoi and their weapons as tall as a tree are to be used to hold the enemy in place while the hammer of the cavalry rolls them up like some rug of fur. Then, when they are broken and helpless, the battle is truly over.

Each second that passed seemed as a lifetime, the battlefield almost silent, no sound of birds or beasts and no soldier making a sound except for the yelling of orders and encouragement. I looked about from beneath the brim of my helmet and saw the pinched expressions and narrow-mouthed grimaces of those older and younger men around me, each one of them locked inside their own minds with thoughts of death and dealing death to their enemies. Before I could open my mouth to speak with the nearest man, a gangly rider from Atrax, a minor city near the more important settlement of Larissa, there was darting movement on the upland of the hill and my young eyes fixed themselves to a group of riders getting ever closer.

“Illyrians!” Yelled Alkmaion, his fist rising into the air as a signal for us to wheel about and prepare to charge. To our left the central line of our army had met that of the enemy, phalanx against phalanx, our own composed of recently conscripted Epirotes and a sprinkling of Makedonians, their own mostly hired men and those few Greeks that had adopted and trained in the Makedonian way of war. On both flanks the infantry fought, hoplitai fighting hoplitai and thureophoroi doing likewise to their opposites. Far to our left, on the other side of the field, a new type of mounted warrior that had been named 'Hetairoi Aspidophoroi' were chasing down the enemy light horse quite efficiently. These men were different, new, trained to fight like mounted infantrymen but also to use javelins from horseback, to soften your enemy before dispatching him. It was an idea not yet grasped by the Greeks but, as the years would show, my father Antigonos knew when times should change. This was part of what made him an exceptional leader.

The Illyrian horse we routed easily, our allies doing most of the work, we Thessalians keeping our chargers fresh for when they would be needed. It was amusing to watch the semi-civilised horsemen whooping and crying out as they were speared or cut down, their fleet horses good but not that good, the Greeks catching and butchering them without mercy. Where once I may have been dismayed by the sight, as I was when the Thrakians cut Alexandros Aiakides down, now, though still at such a young age, I merely waited with my kin in the shade of a copse of trees.

“Bah,” spat the man from Atrax, “this is no challenge.”

When I peered across the field once more, now strewn with unmoving corpses already being feasted on by the carrion birds, I could see that he was right. Alkyoneos had driven the enemy from their position, his men tired and bloodied but victorious. Trumpets sounded the order to reform the line, turning once more to face down the slope which we had just conquered. Survivors of the first Athenian army harried our rear, hunted down by the Aspidophoroi but troubled us little, they were of no concern.

Chremonides arrived, but he arrived far too late. At this point, without ever clambering up the slopes toward us, he could have turned around and marched back to Athenai...but he did not. No, he urged his warriors onward and upward to get at us and it was his fatal fault which would cost him not only the battle but also his life.

“Seems almighty Zeus had answered my prayers,” grunted the man I now thought of as 'Atrax', “look there, my young friend.”

A low collective growl issued from the throats of those around me, some spat and others shook their heads in disgust. Directly below us, struggling up the hill in our direction, were horsemen dressed exactly as we were. Let me say that not all Thessalians were friends to Makedon, in fact the once-powerful families of Pherae often sided with the enemies of Antigonos while others worked for pay against him. These were probably a mingling of both, people who were disloyal to the Tagus, our elected leader, the title which Antigonos currently held. In the eyes of other Thessalians they were simply so many traitors to be slain.

“Thessalikoi!” Shouted Alkmaion, his sword appearing in his hand and held high, “for your King and your lands. Let us send these traitors to Hades.”

Trot....canter...canter...charge!

We struck them like a thunderbolt from the Heavens, forming a rhomboid on the move and hammering deep into their formation. It did not break, however, or even bend, these were Thessalians after all and not some Persian swine, but absorbed our attack and held us firm. In the distance our hoplitai and phalanx struggled against Chremonides and his hand-picked guard of Athenian youths, but from where I fought everything was so much closer and so much faster. We fought like men possessed of the daimon, swords rising and falling constantly, lances impaling men and horses alike, blood spurting to slap me across the face with all the force of an open palmed hand.

Left and right I struck, my muscles taut and enlarged, the training with my Agrianian mentor having made me both stronger and able to strike swiftly in battle. I tried to aim my blows at necks and limbs without armour, or, as hard as it is to write, at the horses on which my foes sat. As a Thessalian, and indeed as a person, the slaughter of horses repels me. In battle it is a necessary evil.

Long did the combat last, and neither side could seem to gain the advantage over the other, I saw at least ten of my brothers fall and received a cut in my arm that bled abundantly. All over my body were minor scrapes and bruises, slight cuts and blows that harmed me but not enough to take my life from me. My mount, my fine mount, received as many and remained stalwart as a rock.

Only after we became exhausted, my own limbs feeling like weighted iron and my throat dryer than the deserts of Aegypt, was there a slight pause in the killing. Our eyes locked to those of or enemy and a 'peace' of sorts descended on us, broken only by the intervention of Alkyoneos and his Companions who collided with the side of the enemy and, breaking their back, forced them from the fight and to take flight back toward Athenai.

“You fought well, brother,” praised Alkyoneos, now twenty-and-seven years old and finally unleashed by his father upon his enemies, “but by the Gods you look terrible.”

It was well intentioned humour, and sheathing my sword I responded in kind, “you look as fine yourself, my dear sibling. The colour of blood and the smell of sweat do fit you greatly.”

The battle was won, he had won, marching us up and down a sloping hillside to defeat two separate armies. Celebrations that night were fierce, so much wine and dance and singing that, had they been strong enough, the survivors of the battle would have been able to slit our throats as we slept. It is the lot of every victorious army to be in such a condition; drunk, lazy-eyed and far from fit to fight.

“My brother,” grinned Alkyoneos as he slid an arm about my now bare shoulders, “I have a favour to ask, one which I know you shall not like.” Taking another long swallow of wine he offered the skin to me, the evening light dimming rapidly on the field of Ares, “here...” I took it and almost choked as the strong liquid slipped down my throat and into my stomach, “Hah! Good at war, but not so good at drinking yet, ey?” We both laughed and I urged him to tell me, his face growing serious and his voice that of a much sober man, “I wish you to return to Thessaly. We need more horsemen, your people being...nearly the best, after my Companions of course. We need their support and we need their numbers. Would you do this for me?”

Was I truly a pawn? I wondered. I was being moved about the expanse of Hellas like one, used for the ends of my family. Yet I felt no implied insult, and what he asked made sense to my wine-addled mind.

“I will go, brother. For you.”

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

That winter as I headed to Pharsalos my brother entered Aetolia, to do battle with the Aetolian League and to crush the last of Greek resistance to Makedonian domination. Already, after the Battle of Phyla in fact, he had forced his way into Athenai and expelled all who would resist him. He would not, so he said, be the man who bought such a great city to ruin. Those that hated him were sent far away, or taken away in chains, all others were allowed to continue with their lives under the watchful eye of a Makedonian garrison.

In Aetolia, among those craggy hills and ragged landscape, he fought the enemy back to the sanctuary-city of Thermon and there massacred them utterly. Thirteen-thousand Aetolians of varying stature were clasped in bondage and sent hither and thither throughout the new domain that was my fathers, those that remained free to speak of it no doubt intent on revenge without the means to achieve it.

Thaleia, my Spartan companion, remained aloof of me. I would often watch he exercise,something stirring in my loins and my chest as I examined her movements and wished to run my fingers over that body hardened by such physical exertion over a period of many years. Brison of course became like an ousted lover, his lips pouting and his actions toward me those of an acquaintance rather than a close friend or someone even closer yet. When I tried to explain how things were no different between us he simply shrugged and looked to the floor, a jealous and somewhat bothersome attendant to have, no matter how beautiful I continued to believe he was.

One chill day an envoy arrived at the 'palace' of Pharsalos, or what passed for one in such a place as my homeland, a familiar figure that I embraced on his arrival. Hermon seemed older, though nonetheless as active as ever, his guard of Thrakians always trailing behind at a reasonable distance.

“Well,” I questioned as we stood on a balcony overlooking the city, “what news from my brother and father?”

“Both are well,” he replied with a half-smile, the lines on his face deeper than before, his hair beginning to grey at the temples and giving him a distinguished air, “your father returns to Pella to plan his next campaign, and to begin reforming the army. The state of it is not what Alexandros would have intended, nor would Phillipos, so he says. More horsemen are to be found, our phalanxes are to train harder and receive better equipment than what they currently possess, and with ample wealth flowing in from subjugated poleis across Greece he had decided to hire xenoi to instil as garrisons in his newly acquired cities and townships. Hopefully this shall free Makedonians enough that a standing army can be formed, formed from the farmer-warriors of Makedon. So he dreams, anyway.”

“And Alkyoneos?”

“He winters in Aetolia, there he shall remain for some time. It is said that he has the favour of the Oracle at Delphi and the power to gain personal audience as he wishes.”

“Truly?”

My face must have amused my friend because his face creased into a grin once more, “truly! They say he has vast influence over the Pythia and her 'court' at the temple of Apollo. I believe it myself, for she has already given a riddle to your brother for your father.”

Now I was interested, my eyebrows rising further than my hair and disappearing into my head.

“I will not bore you with the prediction, but it involves your cousin, Alexandros.”

“Alexandros the Traitor?”

“The very same,” agreed Hermon, although I saw the sour look on his face as he admitted it, “Alexandros is to be sent to Krete when a large enough army has been gathered. He is to conquer it, or at least subdue it enough to use as a recruiting ground, and remain their as governor.”

Clever, very clever. Using his persuasion over the Pythia, whatever and however it came about, my half-brother had successfully received word from the God himself that Alexandros should be sent to a remoter part of the Greek world, supposedly for the good of the kingdom, taking with him his clear mind for treachery and any influence he might have in the Makedonian court. It truly was a stroke of God-sent brilliance.

Little was said between us after that, both looking out over the city until he was forced to leave by that ever dangerous foe known as time. I assured him that everything was going well in Thessaly, and that by the following year I would have raised many of my countrymen to fight for Antigonos, their rightful and legitimate King.

Greece was subdued, times were changing, would my father choose to go east into Asia Minor? There to battle the might of the Seleukids on their own soil? Would he go south into Aegypt, challenging the spawn of Ptolemy son of Lagus for control of the original and first Alexandreia, complete with all the knowledge it contained?

It was possible that he might go north into the lands of the Dardani and the Thrakians, north to subdue barbarians and to secure fertile recruiting grounds for his armies with half-civilised fighters, fighters that many of the more civilised nations would shirk from. On the other hand he might head into the west, to Sikelia and the polis of Syracusae, or into Magna Graecia where the primitive Rhomaios were beginning to hold a firmer sway.

I could not guess, nor did I seek to, so I saw Hermon from the door of my chamber with a heavy heart and returned to the balcony. Brison crept out of the shadows silently, wrapping his arms about my waist and leaning his head against my shoulder, something I disbelieved that Thaleia would ever do without being forced.

“The world is changing, Brison,” I half-whispered, “Hellas belongs to my father now, and with it the strength of an entire Kingdom.”

My hands had began to shiver, from fear or being so close to another I did not know, until Brison slid his own fingers between my own and gave a long sigh, “then you must change with it, and with it grow stronger. I apologise for my behaviour these last months, I have been a fool.”

“The Gods bless you, Korinthian,” I chuckled, turning to face him and planting a kiss on his cheek, “we shall have enough of such worries. I feel it in my bones. Now I need rest...care to join me?”

That night I slept warm and content in a large chamber with a large bed, my body pressing closely against that of my servant and lover as we slept, and I made sure to enjoy it. It would be the last time such a thing was possible for me, the rigours of campaigning and horrors of war just over the horizon.

[Boustrophedon]

I just started reading this and before I knew who the author was, I thought to myself: this reminds me so much of McScottish' work... Should have figured this excellent new project was from your pen Nice to know I will have something to read when I find myself cruising the AAR forums hehe.

A terribly overworked Santa will drop some rep under the tree

[McScottish]

I just started reading this and before I knew who the author was, I thought to myself: this reminds me so much of McScottish' work... Should have figured this excellent new project was from your pen Nice to know I will have something to read when I find myself cruising the AAR forums hehe.

A terribly overworked Santa will drop some rep under the tree

Pah-hah! Never knew my 'work' was that distinguishable. Nonetheless, as always, I can only say my utmost thanks and am very grateful to you for the compliments.

[Ownager]

I have read almost every EB AAR in circulation, and yours go into more details than the Legacy of Megas Alexandros and The indomitable Nile.

[McScottish]

I have read almost every EB AAR in circulation, and yours go into more details than the Legacy of Megas Alexandros and The indomitable Nile.

I'm not sure...is that good or bad? And in what way(s)?

I remember reading both before, and they are exceptional AARs. Nonetheless, if you are indeed being positive, I do appreciate it.

[Ownager]

Definitely positive. While I don't understand how that can be construed as a negative comment.
The good- Your stories are very focused on individual characters, they go deeply into their lives and role playing them. You are also well written and understand the emotional situations very well. You make every battle an epic struggle. Every death a terrible loss. Every man a real individual.
The bad- There is almost nothing bad in this, except one thing. While you zoom into the individuals, you sometimes miss the big picture. For example, I might zoom into a unit and continue to watch it through the whole battle, but then I would miss the big picture, the battle. While I can understand that this is your style and I enjoy reading it, why not some propaganda? Some explanations of the greatness of Makedon and her peoples? That would be great!
The ugly- What the hell could be ugly in this?

[McScottish]

Definitely positive. While I don't understand how that can be construed as a negative comment.
The good- Your stories are very focused on individual characters, they go deeply into their lives and role playing them. You are also well written and understand the emotional situations very well. You make every battle an epic struggle. Every death a terrible loss. Every man a real individual.
The bad- There is almost nothing bad in this, except one thing. While you zoom into the individuals, you sometimes miss the big picture. For example, I might zoom into a unit and continue to watch it through the whole battle, but then I would miss the big picture, the battle. While I can understand that this is your style and I enjoy reading it, why not some propaganda? Some explanations of the greatness of Makedon and her peoples? That would be great!
The ugly- What the hell could be ugly in this?

Pretty much voided your 'negative' criticism (its all good!) with your first paragraph, by that I mean you explained exactly why my view is so narrow. Think of yourself on a battlefield, think of how much you would see as an individual, with the dust and the blood and the excrement. This is why, and also because it is 1st person writing, I miss so much of the 'bigger picture'. I know exactly what's going on in the battle, I make sure of it and take many screenshots, but its the tale of one man (boy) and that's the reason why its like this.

While I can understand that this is your style and I enjoy reading it, why not some propaganda? Some explanations of the greatness of Makedon and her peoples? That would be great!

This sounds cool, but I'm not entirely sure what/how you mean? Probably sounds silly, but could you explain it for me.

[Ownager]

Instead of focusing on one boy all the time, (Which you do very well)you could also 'pan out' a bit, and also speak about the entire kingdom as a whole. Maybe not as an individual experiencing these events, but more as a these events affecting the world. Zooming on every single individual reaction is a tedious task, and It pains me to ask more of you, but like in Legacy of Megas Alexandros and The Indomitable Nile, if you were to speak of the world and how you affect it, (for example, in TIN, Ptolemaioi marches to aid the Seleukeids in an attempt to stop the Eastern nomads from taking over the Greek state of Seleukos. In the same way, if you were to add how every faction around the world was affecting your kingdom, it would add another dimension.) like the character thinking of Gaul and how they might be potential allies,or wondering if the Carthaginians would be helpful allies or deadly foes, then you add foreshadowing, even though the game is usually crazy, in he he sense that fit never aligns itself to your wishes. Plus, it would be a wonderful coincidence if you actually managed to ally with Carthage, or execute any of the plans the character wished to do when he becomes King. (If) I do notice how you spoke of other steps the King might execute, by going to Magna Graecia and other things. However, bringing in whatever news you can about Gauls, Sweboz, Lusotannan, Ptolemaioi and other factions who might not be an mediate threat, helps flesh out the world, and the Kingdoms situation.

[McScottish]

I take your points, good ideas too. I probably will, but I'll still have to do it from the boys point-of-view, it is his story after all - and that is what first-person writing is. Good criticism, and I thank you for it. I'll see what I can do.

[Ownager]

I'm glad you could make sense out of my jumble of positives and negatives. I am honored to be acknowledged by a writer like you. May you live forever!

[McScottish]

I am honored to be acknowledged by a writer like you. May you live forever!

The honour is mine.

[Ownager]

Have you read the Proud Blood of Germania? Its a beautiful AAR from which I brought out the line "May you live forever!"

[McScottish]

Have you read the Proud Blood of Germania? Its a beautiful AAR from which I brought out the line "May you live forever!"

I have, and I agree that is is an excellent AAR. Though I must say that that line was also in 300, which to a Spartan is not such a good thing.

[Ownager]

Aghhh. 300. The wretched story of Leonidas and his 300 guards. Why did the Spartans even break their phalanx? Why did Leonidas not let the hunchback fight? Let the Spartans cower. I believe they are overrated in game.

[McScottish]

Ripples on a Pond, Part I; Autumn/Winter, 1st year of the 129th Olympiad (264 BCE) to Spring, 3rd year of the 129th Olympiad (261 BC)

A wise man once said that idleness has its uses, and from my time in Pharsalos I can only agree with those words of a sophist. During my time in that city, one of the very few of any importance in Thessaly, I visited the gymnasion often and grew stronger, I trained with my Agrianian mentor, I slept in a warm bed or a cool chamber with my favourite companion, and I got to watch a Spartan beauty train alongside the men and know that every man there was enjoying the view. Some, those more prudish and traditionalist, would shake their heads and sight, but I could tell that this was all a mask.

What I found most thrilling, however, much to the amusement of Brison and my semi-civilised teacher, were the envoys and ambassadors that would pass through on their way north or south or east or west and stop briefly in the city to take some wine and eat some stew before travelling on. In this way I was able to learn more of the outside world. It did seem odd to me that I had never thought of it before, never thought of just what ripples the resurrection of a powerful Makedonia may have on the world outside the confines of Hellas, but in my period of idle peace that I could hardly think of anything else.

Since returning to Pella over two years ago, sending Alkyoneos in his wake, our father had began to reform the army that had served Philipos and Alexandros so loyally in their lifetimes. Militias of farmers and farmhands were trained hard, turned from mere part-time fighters into a professional army that could be assembled in good time and ready for war mere days after the last straggler had arrived at the point of assembly. These, as they always had, would form the backbone of his new army and serve as the foot-companions always had. Among them would be a taxeis known as the Argyraspides – the silver-shields – each man a veteran of the boy-kings campaigns in Asia and beyond the borders of the Hindu Kush, not one man below forty and each a warrior born and bred to the spear and the shedding of blood. Horsemen were now the prized wing of the army, as they had been when Alexandros reigned, the Companions ranks swelling with the sons of the most noble Makedonian families, allied cavalry of the Hellenes always at hand, Thessalians always willing to serve their elected Tagus, and barbarians never shy of volunteering their services for wealth and heads.

An Epirote named Koroneios had been ordered by Antigonos to build a fortress near the border with Dardania, the land in former times of the savage Dardanoi, a tribe said to be related to the Thrakians that surrounded them, and from this stronghold to go north and promising wealth straight from the treasury to any and all that would serve in Makedonia and Hellas as garrisons and loyal soldiers to the Antigonid line. Many they were that answered the call – Keltoi, Thrakians, Getai, even Skythes driven inland from the wide open plains by some greater threat.

While my father roused the Makedonian army and marched north-east into the lands of the Odrysai, intent on conquering that fertile recruiting ground for himself, as well as securing it between he and the Greeks of Byzantion, these newcomers into our lands were trusted with defending our people and serving faithfully the will of Makedon. Antigonos was not blind, there were still Makedonians and Hellenes enough to overpower any sort of 'invasion' by these paid killers, but the less he had to pressure them with threats and the like the better he thought.

So, yes, the outside world!

To the north the resurfacing of the Makedonian monster had caused quite a disturbance, the Getai, our allies...for now, ruling over most of the lands of Thrake with a first of iron and an unbreakable will. The Skordiski, barbarians among barbarians, refused to submit to the Getai, as did the piratical Dalmatoi, though all feared Makedon in the south. Gallopers reported huge Getai war-bands gathering just over the mountain passes in Dardania, clearly threatened by our resurgence, though they did not move but waited.

After pleas from Magna Graecia had been ignored by my father, too intent on procuring savage fighters and lands for his cause, it was now far too late. Their liberty was shattered by the Rhomaios 'legiones', these barbarians possessing Taras and Kroton, Rhegion and the territories of all their surrounding neighbours. I remember looking upon the envoy of these fools, watching carefully as he spoke with the governor of Pharsalos and boasted that they had just recently gained victory in 'Pannonia', wherever that was!

He was a crude man, his manners roughshod and his attempt at Greek speech almost unintelligible. With his smooth face, short hair and large nose, I was glad to see him leave. It was known to me that my father had many times tried to make allies out of these dirt-eaters, but they had refused each time.

In the east, as it had been since the death of Alexandros, the lines of Séleukos and Ptolemy entwined themselves in conflict. Satrapies revolted in the east, sensing weakness in their masters, and all the while the Egyptians ground down the Seleukid forces in Gaza and Syria. Like two boxers hammering at one another they were, one swinging and missing, the other doing the same, until one made a vital hit and their opponent became unsteady on his feet. This was the Seleukid Empire, wobbling and uneven, another hit enough to flatten them, but not yet out of the fight completely. Their armies were still strong, their will even stronger, and if the rebellious satraps could be subdued then I had no doubt in my mind that Aegypt would be next.

Being loyal allies of the Seleukids, it was only right that at some point my father should help.

Beyond these lands I still knew little, the heralds of two separate tribes of the same people resting in Pharsalos after visiting my brother – the acting regent – in Aetolia. They were, it was claimed, part of the Keltoi who lived to the far north of Massalia but from two tribes at war with one another in those inhospitable and tree-heavy lands. One, the so-called 'Aedui', had the upper hand against their enemies of the 'Arverni' but both sought coin or at least an alliance with Makedon which they did not receive.

The world, as it was, was open to us now. Our soldiers settled in Hellas, Krete, Thrake and on the Aegean Islands between Makedon and Mytilene. Most were given kleroi – small allotments of land, farmsteads or more – to settle in these lands, as well as to act as barriers against enemy aggressors or rebellious foes. This was especially so in Hellas, my father having taken a dislike toward the Greeks much like his nephew Alexandros, many Makedonian settlers now living on land formerly owned by extinct or exiled Greek families. Attike and Lakonia were particularly nice, so I was told.

By the time spring had ended that year Antigonos, now only one year away from the age of sixty years, was the ruler of the extinguished Odrysian Kingdom. There he would stay, in Tylis, to patrol and fortify his latest conquest, making it not into a Makedonian state but a client one ruled over by a puppet king, before marching on Byzantion with his victorious army. The governorship of Korinthos was given to a Makedonian nobleman after the peaceful death of Krateros the winter before and all across our lands the people toiled, the army fought and for the first time since I had left my mother I knew peace.

I was now three-and-twenty years of age, considered a man by that account, yet never having felt the intimate embrace of a woman – or man for that matter – I could not help but feel less of a man. I had fought battles, I had ridden into war, yet I had never drunk myself into darkness or let myself rut like those nobles around me did almost every night. Such is the custom in Makedon and Thessaly, two lands not so different from the other.

Yes, the world was open. It was open, and on the wind, like a sparkling glimmer of golden sand whipped up from the south, I heard rumours of an 'expedition' to Aegypt.

Was there any truth to this hearsay?

Gods help me, but I desired to find out soon enough.

[Cavalier]

I recently read through the story and I found it immensely enjoyable. I especially appreciate your writing style, as well as the first person view you've got going. I also enjoy how you mix in greek names and titles. It makes it seem more authentic.

Keep up the good work!

[McScottish]

I recently read through the story and I found it immensely enjoyable. I especially appreciate your writing style, as well as the first person view you've got going. I also enjoy how you mix in greek names and titles. It makes it seem more authentic.

Keep up the good work!

My thanks to you, Cavalier. Coming from you that is high praise indeed! I too believe it makes it more authentic, hence why I use them.

[Ownager]

Unfortunately, poor old Principe doesn't understand Greek. Is there some sort of Greek translator you use?

[McScottish]

Unfortunately, poor old Principe doesn't understand Greek. Is there some sort of Greek translator you use?

Nope. Should be pretty straight forward really, and if not you can always look the names up on Google or some such.