[EB AAR] The Legacy of Megas Alexandros

[Hesus de bodemloze]

Thanks! Haven't seen you around here for some time.

i have been busy with a lot of things, i still check from time to time so don' t worry.

your still doing a great job on your AAR. keep it up.

[Lysimachos]

i have been busy with a lot of things, i still check from time to time so don' t worry.

your still doing a great job on your AAR. keep it up.

I will, I will, right now I'm about to post one of my largest updates, so don't forget to have another look

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 29: The Hour of Steel and Blood

So this is the day, Sarpedon thinks. He watches the Taxiarchai commanding their regiments in formation, arranging the Phalanx, Syntagma for Syntagma. He is not used to wearing armor but his smiths and tailors have done greatly in composing a military outfit for him.
The silver-coated cuirass is finely crafted and highly ornamented. On the right it shows Apollon Argurotoxos - with the silver bow - in his personification as god of archery, armed with Hephaistos' bow slaying Python, the chtonic dragon. The left shows Apollon as Musagetes playing the Kithara, surrounded by his choir of Muses. Between them, upon the solar plexus, the sun disc is set in gold.
From his shoulders falls a bright red cloak and for his head he has chosen the two-plumed helmet of the Hetairoi.
Sarpedon is riding ahead of his sons and highest officers, inspecting the buildup of his battle line. He turns around, seemingly satisfied and looks over the plain in front of the host. To the south the Tigris is slowly flowing in eastern direction, before turning south where the land rises to the Zagros mountains. The terrain is flat except some small elevations and it becomes more marshy closer to the river itself.
"Omanes!" he calls for his oldest son. "Yes, my father?" The addressee responds, lashing his mount to catch up.
"You take the cavalry and proceed ahead of the main line. I don't want any surprises." Omanes straightens himself with the confidence of an adolescent who never had to experience failure. "Of course, my father, I won't disappoint you!"
Sarpedon nods and looks to his younger son. "Athenaios, you stay with your brother. Heed his command." He is turning away, but stops and faces his son again. "And sit upright!" he snaps in a low, yet sharp voice.
So this is the day. He was going to face his brother in battle. Ah! He should have known from the start that this narrow-minded Admiral wouldn't obey his orders. But did it really matter? What aces could remain in Antiochos' sleeve? A victory today and an easy victory against the rabble that his nephew gathered in the north and the kingdom would be his. Then, at last, it would have a prospect of being well-governed.

A strong, black Arabian steed carries a tall man, wrapped in a blueish-gray cloak, unshaven and with disorderly hair. His carelessness however doesn't conceal the grandeur of his nobility, his uncompromising assertiveness and the muscular physique. The warrior-king is riding again.
He is riding again and he has an army. He brought from Arabia as many troops as he could, who now form the core of the host, that has been bolstered with the Klerouchoi from Persis and Susiane and with local Psiloi. Not the best he could wish for, but the experience of his veterans and his own proficiency in leading them should be enough for any foe.
"My Basileus?" With him is Antiochis, his cousin Andromachos' son. The king looks back, raising his eyebrows to signal his attention. The young relative is insecurely gnawing on his lip, as if considering the words to chose.
"Basileus, if you don't mind me asking, how does it feel, riding to fight your own brother?"
Theos silently gazes into Antiochis' eyes until the younger uncomfortably turns his eyes away. Then the king speaks, slowly and considerate. "When the day of battle comes, there is not time for feelings. When the horns of war call for slaughter it is the hour of steel and blood and not emotion. Victorious is he who doesn't fear, doesn't doubt, doesn't hesitate. The soldier may hate and lust, but never the commander, even when the dance of swords carries his body. Remember that."
A voice raises nearby. "Sire! Cavalrymen ahead!" Antiochos' head wheels around and follows the pointing finger of the Hetairos. "There, below the trees."
"I see. Prepare for engagement. We will offer a skirmish." - "Yes, Basileus!"
Antiochos again faces the young man. "You take the lead of the Infantry. No hurry, no experiment. Just hold formation and proceed according to the plan." In Antiochis' eyes the surprise shows, suddenly being in command over thousands of men, but he soon finds back his countenance. "As you order, my king!"
Antiochos Theos has deployed his cavalry on the right wing, because on the left, to the south, the ground near the Tigris is too soft to support horses at a steady speed, posing a reasonable defence against any mounted flanking. Now the king takes his riders forward and battle is imminent.



Omanes watches the king's right wing separate and leave the infantry behind, approaching in trot: the Hetairoi, the chosen companions, Lonchophoroi, protected by the Aspis and Prodromoi, not heavily armored, but mounted on exceptionally fast and agile horses.
Athenaios carefully voices his thoughts. "We should return now, brother. We are to far from the army, father would not want this."
Omanes laughs out loud and pulls his horse around, jerking his heels in its flanks. "No! This will be my victory! My glory!" The fire of passion is burning in his eyes and he turns towards the approaching enemies, unsheathes the Kopis and pushes it into the sky.

His brother's horsemen are swinging in and a smile of cold, superior confidence shows up on Antiochos' lips. "Those bloody fools," he mumbles before raising the voice: "Ready for charge!"
The wind carries the shout far and a many-voiced exclamation answers his call, the heavy cavalrymen speeding their horses, closing the lines shoulder by shoulder and couching the lances, while the Prodromoi, slight statured men on fast horses, prepare to hunt down Omanes' Hippakontistai.
Now the opponents' horses also accelerate to a tantivy. The horses are flying across the plain, hurling dust into the sky, the hard sound of their hooves hitting the ground unifying with the men's furious shouting and the mounts' nervous neighing in a thunderous cascade of noise.
The lines collide in an explosive cracking of steel against steel, which makes place for the cries of pain and the frightened sounds of the men's mounts.
Many have been unmounted in the powerful impact, riding without a saddle, and the cavalrymen's clash becomes a vicious melee - nothing left of the grandeur of mounted nobles - no! One thing already has been decided: This fight won't end as a skirmish, but when one side has ceased to stand.
The king is still on his horse, blazing his trail with the Kopis like the mower cuts the grain with his scythe. His vengeance comes upon his foes - cold and motionless, but unforgiving - and he is barely noticing who is falling under his blade.



The world turns silent around Omanes as he helplessly watches his brother collapse under a forceful blow. The Kopis slides from the young man's hand and he is grasping a Xyston, the fingers closing strongly around the trusty wooden shaft. The lance uplifted Omanes is stumbling across the fighting ground, towards the tall rider who just killed Athenaios with a slash off the cuff without even conceding him attention. Omanes is slowly, but irresistibly moving forward, the blood pounding in his temples, his eyes fixed on his aim. He is dropping his shield to grip the Xyston with both hands, preparing a powerful thrust. He is close, very close. An acute pain is hitting his left thigh. He has no time for pain and it is fading away, but the leg is giving in and the thrust misses. The Xyston's point is deflected by the king's muscled cuirass, its edge leaving a small cut on the inside of Antiochos' upper arm.
Omanes is on his knee, breathing heavily. He is preparing the next thrust, when his eyes meet Antiochos' gaze. The king's cold, piercing glance is perturbing, the calmness in the face of death even more so. Omanes is hesitating, before he raises the weapon.
But he has waited to long. A hand is grasping his hair, pulling his head backwards. He feels the shock of cold steel at his throat. He is gasping for air and he doesn't know why he can't breath. Then the pain is over, sensation has gone and his body is caving in, gushes of blood running from the deep cut in his throat in the rhythm of his heart's last beats.



Not many of Omanes' soldiers live to escape, chased away by Antiochos' Prodromoi, not enough to make a difference at another time. Already the scales have almost been tipped in the king's favor, when the wounded retire to the camp or after receiving basic treatment return to the right wing, for there is still a battle to be won.
Antiochos, now clearly superior in terms of cavalry, has chosen a conventional lineup. About two thirds of his infantry form the phalanx: to the left the Klerouchoi from Persis and Susiane and to the right the veteran Pezhetairoi, who fought under his command in the campaign to Hierosolyma and later in Arabia. Among them, the guard troops, the Argyraspides, hold the position of honor at the right edge of the Phalanx.
The last third of the king's infantry are Psiloi, light infantry. They are mostly Persians, armed with bows and varying quality of armor. Their numbers are complemented by slingers and a compartment of experienced Toxotai Kretikoi.
The main disadvantage of Antiochos' army is the lack of any heavy infantry or other mobile, but capable of melee, footsoldiers.
Across the field the king's brother has to rely heavily on his spearmen, now that he lost most of his cavalry, as he commands considerable numbers of well-armored Thorakitai and Thureophoroi as well as jewish and babylonian spearmen.

The battle lines stand ready, huge blocks of pikemen slowly closing in to the marching music of the Auletai. The Phalanx is the heart of a successor army, its most important part. The decision, however, will be made on the flanks and both generals know this and both have to take a risk in order to succeed.
The opening move in the struggle for the flanks comes from Antiochos. He has to move first, because he has to be quick, as his left flank is protected by not much more than the soft and not easily passable bankside terrain of the Tigris. His Hetairoi and Lonchophoroi encounter Sarpedon's Thureophoroi, who have been put here to hold the left, assisted by the remaining cavalry and the Peltasts, while the king's brother sends his heaviest troops, the Thorakitai, together with the Babylonians to attack on the river side.
The king, having suffered only a small cut in the preceding fight, is again leading his men at the front, while his brother is trying to retain the overview.

Antiochos knows the steadfastness and proficiency of the Thureophoroi, so he decides to fully exploit the enemies' lack of cavalry, by dividing his own heavy horsemen in three compartments, that repeatedly charge from different directions into the spearmen's defensive position, thus weakening them more and more without getting drawn into a lasting melee.
At the southern flank Sarpedon's Thorakitai and Iudaioi viciously attack the Klerouchoi, inflicting serious casualties to them, while the Babylonians are making their way even farther out to reach the back of Antiochos' formation, but they are not able to proceed fast and suffer greatly under concerted pounding by the Persian bowmen and slingers, while the king's Cretans get the upper hand in their ranged duel against Sarpedon's Syrians.
Finally, the Babylonians have come around the southern flank, but they see themselves unable to attack the back of the Phalanx, being threatened by the numerous Psiloi and the Prodromoi, who have been held in reserve, so they decide to rather flee into the dense sea of reed, abandoning what had been planned for them to avoid demise.
At this moment, Sarpedon's battle plans seem to be doomed: his own flanking maneuver severely weakened by the flight of the Babylonians, while the Thureophoroi and Peltastai no longer can resist the charges of Antiochos' heavy cavalry and the Argyraspides at the very right of the Phalanx get the better of their opponents, the gain of the Thorakitai in the south becoming in vain.
After the line starts crumbling, a determined strike of all reserves is enough to turn a close fight into total destruction.



Once again the king was victorious and his brother's army has suffered obliteration, but the traitor's body has not been found...

[Scutarii]

Nice battle, but I never had my doubts. Theodoros has 10 stars, Sarpedon a measly 0. Long live the rightful king!

[Lysimachos]

Nice battle, but I never had my doubts. Theodoros has 10 stars, Sarpedon a measly 0. Long live the rightful king!

Yeah, I know, in the hindsight he could have had more troops, but I didn't want to go fight the battle another time.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

it is indeed a big update.

[Theodotos I]

Make a couple of updates and I'll nominate this for the competition. We need more entrants.

[Lysimachos]

I'd like to, but right now I don't have access to my notes and screenshots, so I fear I won't be able to update this month. So the story takes a deep breath and me too, in order to come back in the new year with fresh and exciting new developments (that is a promise).

[Theodotos I]

As you say. You will be missed.

[Kátz]

As you say. You will be missed.

I second that.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

yes be sure to come back to us and finish this wonderful aar.

[Lysimachos]

Being missed is a nice feeling guys Thanks for that, but I don't intend to savor in it for long, so I'll now continue with the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 30: Gem of the Empire

"Strategos! Our scouts have returned." A young Dekarchos, a junior officer, is quickly riding up the hill, where Kallinikos is waiting, overlooking his small army marching south along the Dialas river that meets the Tigris not far north of Seleukeia.
The prince faces him and commands: "Report!" The horseman with force restrains his mount, which is uneasily obeying the pulling reins, neighing loudly while lifting its forelegs into the sky. "Strategos, the army has left Seleukeia and is marching in southeastern direction. Their baggage is not provided for a long time and the city is left behind with almost no garrison."
"Dismissed, Dekarchos." Kallinikos nods and turns to his staff. He shows a rare moment of resolution - perhaps because this decision has been made long before - and without hesitation he announces: "Gentlemen, we'll take our chance. Forced march to Seleukeia!"

Apollodoros is a quite small man and the years of comfortable service have done their part in forming his body in a rather grave fashion. His graying hair is slowly retreating from an uphill battle and gives room for a deserving presentation of Apollodoros' huge, almost cubical head, inside which most of his work, if any, is done.
Concerning his work, Apollodoros has just begun a break from the demanding task of acknowledging the next month's plans of watch, in order to savor some of his wife's famous cakes, when excited knocking arises at the door of his office, the office belonging to the commander of the city guard of Seleukeia.
Apollodoros is tempted to ignore the assumed supplicant, who dares to disturb his sacred break, but as he is not a dumb man and well knows that he seldom has to handle matters that tend to cause excited knocking, he allows the messenger into the office, but of course not without indicating his disapproval with the whole affair of disturbing him.
"Enter if it's important..." he shouts. A young and slender Babylonian enters the room shyly and Apollodoros recognizes him as one of the guard's runners and adds: "... or else you'll receive a fair share of whipping."
The commander leans back in his chair, that is groaning under the heavy weight's movement. "So, what is the matter?"
"An army is approaching the syrian gate. The officer of the watch requests order if the gate is to be closed, sir." Apollodoros heaves himself in an upright position, which induces the chair to emit another groan that is full of pain. "I reckon it is Seleukos Kallinikos?"
"We think so, sir."
He slowly nods. "Well, then, I guess, the choice has been made for us. He is here and the regent is not, so open the gates and give the prince a warm welcome. I will have to take care to inform our dear dignitaries."
The runner backs away, but before he turns to leave the office, he carefully asks: "So, there is no whipping?"
Apollodoros generously lifts his hands to show his renouncement. "No whipping!" Though, before the door closes behind the Babylonian, he shouts: "This time!", eager not to dilute his reputation among his subordinates.

The great iron gates open for the young prince's host. The sunlight is reflected by the tips of the soldiers lances and from the proud city's roofs, making it gleam brightly as the gem of the empire that it is. The people, who are living beneath this shimmer, bode farewell to the regent Sarpedon days ago, just as they now welcome the prince Seleukos Kallinikos and decorate his soldiers and horses with flowers, celebrating them as victors without a battle. The feud of the royal siblings has done little to touch them, until now, when thousands of husbands, brothers and sons have died at the shore of the Tigris, died not to defend their land and loved ones but for the will of their betters. The commoners don't know what the great ones argue about, what the nobles grind their blades for. They never do.

[Theodotos I]

He's back!

[Scutarii]

And he's still got it.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

Nice man. + rep

[Kátz]

This is a relief for our sore eyes!

[Companion Cavalry]

Great AAR
Can you post a screen of what the map looks like right now?

[Lysimachos]

So many comments! I feel flattered Thanks to all of you!
I'll see to post a map soon, but first follows the next chapter in short time. I've practically spend a whole afternoon on it, oh well.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 31: Crossroads


Kallinikos walks up the wide stairs to the Royal Palace, a city of its own inside the Metropolis. At the top steps he looks back down, before turning to Gorgias Dahaikos, who has become his right hand in the last few months.
"Replace all guards inside the palace. The gates are to be closed and a transitory curfew enacted. Then we will have to find out whom to trust."
Again he spins around and with a deep sigh heaving from his breast he looks up the marmoreal facade, in abundance decorated with frescoes and statues, overwhelming the viewer with the sheer multiplicity of its elaborate illustrations, a convincing symbol of power, of wealth and of prodigality.
The gilded gates show no less than six representations of Apollon, the mythical progenitor of the seleucid house: Phoibos, the god of light, Akesios, the healer, Smintheus, the mouse-catcher as defender against plagues, Argurotoxos, the one with the silver bow, as god of archery, Musagetes, as the leader of the nine Muses who bring inspiration to the mortals and Agyieus, the protector of homes. Around those are depictions of scenes from the god's life, so closely arranged that on the whole gates there is no flat spot left, big enough to lay an open hand upon it.
Now the gates open for the king's first born son.


The Metropolis' dignitaries are gathered around the prince, magistrates, priests, judges and officers, all of those responsible for the city's government and the royal bureaucracy. An uneasy atmosphere persists below the high ceiling, as the crowd of honorables suspects not to receive much honor this day.
Apollodoros, the commander of the city guard, as the highest ranking military position in Seleukeia, is a prominent guest, not to his enjoyment, though. The cold sweat makes his bald head gleam in the light and soaks his Chiton, leaving an unpleasant wetness on his back. He is just raising his voice, as Kallinikos impatiently cuts his word with an impatient movement of his hand.
"Would you mind telling me, Apollodoros, if you are now so glad and delighted to see me, why did you not use your position and the gravity of your word to do something about this current... unruliness, before it could do any harm?"
"You see, my lord, I... I rather continued to serve the Arche as such, than get myself killed and leave my important responsibilities orphaned, because as you know, our neighbors in their greediness and vassals in their mislead contumacy are waiting for every weakness, and so... so the tiny cogwheel that I am decided to continue its work to protect the empire as a whole, oh, yes, because if only one..."
His voice was going faster and higher with the progress of his speech until Seleukos Kallinikos disrupted it, because the sound of the hasty step of an approaching pair of boots grows nearer.
"Just leave it, you blatherer." The prince faces the newcomer, a royal companion, identifiable by the typical two-plumed helmet that he is carrying under his left arm and the Kopis by his side, as only the Hetairoi and the new palace guard are still allowed to carry arms inside the building.
"I welcome you, Hetairos. You bring a message for me?" The addressee quickly examines the people present in the hall and answers the welcome with a loud voice.
"I greet you, Strategos. I bring word from the divine Basileus, who has defeated the viperish Usurper Sarpedon and demands the city to prepare for the arrival of his victorious army."
With a smile on his face Kallinikos turns back to Apollodoros. "Now that you have communicated your opinion you surely are eager the learn my father's. And..." - his glance wanders over the faces around him - "... you certainly know, the Basileus is not as forgiving as I am."
An embarrassed silence lies upon the hall, until Kallinikos raises his voice again: "Hail to the Basileus!"


Antiochos enters the city in Triumph, the warrior-king who again has enlarged the empire at his arabian campaign and defeated the greater numbers of his brother's army with ease.
He is Theos - the god - before whom his rivals tremble, victor against Parnoi and Sakai and the mercenary generals of the Ptolemaioi. A glance of his eye is cold as ice and deadly as steel. And he who crushes his foes is returning in glory, eager to seek revenge.


Kallinikos is standing at the top of the steps to palace, waiting and watching the army marching through the city's streets, bordered with people who are welcoming their king and his army.
A man, who has arrived early this day, approaches Kallinikos. The name is Eustathios, he remembers and he is a Heterogenes - a descendant of both hellenic and persian heritage - like the Kleronomos Basileois himself.
"Strategos, as you know, I've been send by the Basileus to take care of the formalities of the ceremony. You, too, should be informed that a new protocol of court has been enacted, which includes the Proskynesis to honor the king."
Kallinikos frowns in bewilderment. "What are you talking about? Those are honors not fit towards another man!"
Eustathios answers motionlessly: "What you say is true, but we had to realize that he is not man, but divine and thus should receive the honors fitting a true god. According to your standing you will be required to give the king a respectful kiss on the cheek, my lord."
The young man confusedly shakes his head and again looks down, where his father approaches at the head of his army. The world is changing fast around him in these days, he thinks, but how fast it really is, he doesn't know yet...


Finally, Antiochos II arrives at the palace. He doesn't wear his almost humble armor anymore, because now he has to look like a god to be received as one. A new armor has been made, just for this day, a glaring dream of gold. The motives that have been chosen to ornament it are intertwining patterns, as it doesn't fit a god to adorn himself with someone else's deeds.
Slowly he takes step after step. He is a tall man, seeming even larger due to the high helmet's crest, and constant exercise has given him a muscular athlete's body. It really doesn't take much to believe in his divinity, Kallinikos notices, struck with awe.
Mesmerized he walks forward to meet his father, who takes down the helmet and without a noticeable motion on his face looks down to his son, to receive a shy kiss on his well-shaved cheek.
The bearded son takes two steps back, clearing the way. His father's eyes rest on him and at this moment Kallinikos is more certain than ever that it takes a greater man than him to fill his father's shoes and sorrow fills his heart.
"My son." The king's deep masculine voice leaks to his dazed senses. "How long has it been? Five years? You are a grown man now." A faint smile shows on Antiochos' face for a moment before it vanishes again and the king proceeds on his path.
"Thank you, my king," mumbles the prince without really listening and follows few steps behind, through the gilded gates.


Antiochos went to the throne room to hold court and receive homage from the nobles and the leading men of the city. Kallinikos is standing at his right hand side, silently watching the courtiers, the bootlickers bowing or kneeling in front of the king, kissing his garments or blowing a kiss, each according to his status. It was an unaccustomed sight and certainly one that was hard to accustom to.
After the last of the sheepish supplicants has given his obeisance, Antiochos ordered to bring wine and waved his son to come closer.
"I have learned my part. It is much more demanding for a man to betray a god than another man and even more to do so with the soldier's consent. Never admit someone as your equal and never let the people think there could be a way different to yours. But now," he knits his brows, "I feel like I miss a certain face in this room. I guess someone has to be fetched from Babylon..."


Ikadion Anthemusias is worried and this unfamiliar state of mind is decidedly derogatory to his famous wits. A large group of armed men has - in a manner of speaking - invited him to the royal palace in Seleukeia and the precipitous departure which had been necessary - or at least is this what the more or less friendly visitors made him convinced of - hindered him from taking his usual precautions before visiting the Metropolis.
Now he is waiting - standing, due to the lack of seating-accommodations - in a rather gloomy and small room inside the palace, far away from the parts where visitors usually were brought. If this was not enough in itself, a hunk of a man was standing next to the door and watching every step that he, like a tiger in a cage, was taking.
Right at the moment when the door opens again, Ikadion has to realize the fun part of his abidance is over.
At once he recognizes the two newcomers and he falls on his knees to adequately honor his host, the king, who is accompanied only by his eldest son. "Oh, godlike Basileus, my eyes are delighted and my heart is overjoyed about the honor of your presence!" His hand reaches out to touch the hem of Antiochos' plain though finely woven Chiton, but the king pushes Ikadion's hand away.
"Just stop it!" he barks. "I have no sense to listen to the play of your snake-tongue, Babylonios. We have some earnest talk to do."
From the corner of his eye Ikadion notices Kallinikos positioning himself near the window, folding his arms, but his attention is ultimately caught by the Kopis that is girded at the king's waist. Filled with fear he decides to remain on his knees, but before he regains control over himself something escapes his mouth. "You certainly are nothing like your brother."
Pain strikes him as suddenly the king's hand grips into his curly hair and his head is jerked backwards. "You can bet on that," Antiochos hisses close to the Babylonian's ear. "But better don't gamble with me. I've slain hundreds of greater men than you are and I won't hesitate to waste you now and here. Where - is - he?" With the last word Ikadion feels the cold steel of the king's sword touching his throat and he trembles with fear, having never been tested with danger.
"He is fleeing to Aigytos! Your brother has taken up correspondence with Ptolemaios after the war ended and invested a lot of his wealth there." He can't hold himself back and starts to sob. "Please, don't kill me, I have no part in this, I swear!"
Antiochos watches him with disdain. He releases the hair and Ikadion collapses on the ground, shivering. "Guard, put this wimp under arrest. I'll later see what to do with him."
The king turns to his son, a dark shadow in his expression. "So it is decided. My son, I will make you a King by my side. You will rule with full authority and responsibility during my absence."
An grip cold as ice closes around Kallinikos' heart as he comes to the awareness of the weight that has been put on his shoulders in this very moment.

[Lysimachos]

Here is a screenshot of the map in 251 BC. It has been taken before the battle on the Tigris, but it's still the same year.



Edit: Here's a note I'd like to leave now:
If there is anything you don't understand (greek terms, special background information, etc.) please feel free to ask. I can't explain everything in the text of the AAR because it would lose the focus on the story, but I'd like to share everything that is not made clear by the text itself or at least provide a link where more information can be found.

Edit: And yet another thing:
Regarding the length of the updates, do you prefer something like chapter 30 or more like chapter 31? I have the suspicion my longer updates always take considerably longer to generate comments than the shorter ones