Son of the Moon by Jennifer Macaire

Author:Jennifer Macaire
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Subject
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2017-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I stayed in the tent with Axiom, Brazza, and Chiron, pacing up and down while the rain battered the roof, and the wind and thunder deafened us. The lamp swung back and forth. Shadows reared and subsided, our eyes were deep, black pools of worry. Chiron cried angrily and slept fitfully.

Craterus had been left behind with his cavalry, the phalanx, and the Indian army with Taxiles and Meroes. His orders were simply to stand. Not to attempt any crossing until he was sure there was no way he could be pushed back by Porus’s army. If he saw that Alexander’s army needed help, and he could make it across, he was to deploy the boat-bridge. If Alexander’s army started to win, he was to cross right away, swimming the horses and crossing the men on the bridge in order to give chase to the retreating army. If he saw Alexander losing, he was to take me, Roxanne, and the rest of the civilians and retreat to Taxila. Then we were to return to our respective countries, except for me. I would be accompanied by Craterus to the Valley of Nysa.

I didn’t see Alexander’s part of the fight, but I know exactly what happened. Between his words, the storm, and the sounds of the battle there was woven a tale out of the night. The story of the Battle of Porus.

Arrian starts his story this way:

“It was a dark and stormy night …”

A bolt of lightning crashed into the valley, hitting a tall tree, electrocuting three of the cavalry horses tied beneath it. There was a brief moment of panic, but it quickly subsided as the men concentrated their efforts on setting up the floating bridge across the raging river.

The storm slashed downwards with such strength that the men could hardly see a hand’s breadth in front of them. Torches were put out instantly in the deluge and, anyway, Alexander had ordered complete darkness. Only the flaming tree offered a flickering red light. The smoke showed the driving rain. The river lit by flashes of lightning churned heavy and wild as a living thing.

The boats were recalcitrant, bucking and twisting. However, the men had lots of practice and soon the bridge was completed. The infantry walked across, with the cavalry swimming their horses in the lee of the bridge. It offered shelter, at least from logs or branches sweeping down upon them. Two hours later most of the men had made it to the shore, but Alexander, who had been among the first to cross on his valiant Bucephalus, discovered that they had been misled, and instead of arriving on the opposite shore, they had hit an island. Forty feet of swiftly flowing river stood between them and the opposite shore. Alexander went first. It was too late to bring over the bridge, they would have to wade or swim. He hoped that it wasn’t too deep.

Bucephalus plunged in, snorting and shaking his great head. Soon the water was up to his belly, swirling around his legs.

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