“Yes,” agreed Antipatros, “but most of the Athenians are citizen hoplites, not professional soldiers.”
“The same kind of citizen hoplites that defeated the Persians more than once,” said Parmenio, eyeing the Athenian phalanxes.
Philip had shaken his head. “That was a long time ago, my friend. They’ve spent the generations in between getting soft.”
“Lawyers, all of them,” Antigonos repeated.
“Well,” said Parmenio, pointing to the other side of the line, “the Thebans aren’t soft, and their Sacred Band aren’t citizen-soldiers. They’re as professional as they come.”
“That’s why I’ve put the cavalry against them,” Philip had answered.
Alexandros, standing bareheaded beside his father, pulled himself up a little taller. He had never commanded the entire cavalry before, only smaller detachments. His father was showing enormous faith in him.
“You know what to do?” Philip asked him.
“Wait for your signal.”
“No matter what happens, you wait for my signal.”
“No matter what, I will wait.”
“Whether my side of the line advances or retreats, you wait for my signal.”
Alexandros nodded.
“If the earth should open up and swallow the whole army—”
“I will wait for your signal.”
“Good.” Philip laughed and reached out to tousle Alexandros’ hair. “Better get your helmet on, son. You’re going to need some protection for those pretty curls.”
Alexandros flushed as the generals laughed. As we rode back to our position in the line he complained, “He always gives with one hand and takes away with the other.”
“He’s put you in the most important position,” I said. “He’s showing great faith in you.”
“He’s put me in the spot where I’m most likely to get killed,” Alexandros grumbled.
I could not let that stand. “I thought your destiny was not to get killed until you’ve conquered the whole world.”
His grin told me that he understood the irony of the situation. “Yes, and now I know that there’s a lot more of it to conquer: Hindustan and Cathay and the gods know what else.”
That was an hour ago. Now we sat waiting for the order to charge, grooms standing beside us to help keep the horses steady, squires holding the lances we would use when we went into action. Nerves were screwed up tight, palms sweating, the very air crackling with that special electricity that comes when nearly a hundred thousand men are ready to do their utmost to slaughter one another.
The enemy stood their ground, content to wait for Philip to make the first move. They were defending their homeland; to get to Thebes and Athens we would have to get past them. If we beat them, there was nothing between us and the cities of the south. If they beat us Philip’s kingdom would collapse. This one battle would determine the outcome of the war.
The sun climbed higher. The two lines of armed men stood facing one another, sweating not entirely from the heat, waiting, waiting.
A single trumpet sounded. Like a single creature, Philip’s phalanxes on his far right began to march forward toward the Athenians. Not a charge, just a slow methodical march of some twenty thousand hoplites, shaking the ground with each step they took.
The Athenian line seemed to shudder. Then their spears came down to point at the advancing Macedonians. A battle between phalanxes often turned into a pushing match. The two lines would meet with a clashing of spears and roar of fury and each would try to push down the other. That was why Philip ordered his phalanxes sixteen men deep; the extra weight was often the difference between victory and defeat.
The Athenians were twelve men deep. They began to move forward, toward the advancing Macedonians, with an equally slow, measured tread.
From our horses we saw it all unfolding. Thunderbolt was quivering with excitement, eager to go. I stroked his neck and glanced at Alexandros. Even with his helmet on and his cheek flaps strapped on I could see that he, too, was eager to charge. But true to his promise he kept his place, even though the rest of the enemy line was now moving toward us, keeping pace with the Athenians. The Thebans were marching straight toward us, as methodical and inexorable as death itself.