The Thebans apparently read this as weakness.

The next day, their herald came out on the walls and called out in a voice of bronze, ‘Hellenes! Thebes stands with the King of Kings against the tyrant! Many times before, the King of Kings has aided Greece to throw off the yoke of tyranny and keep their cities free. Let us stand together, war down the tyrant, and be free together! But if the tyrant Alexander will give us Antipater and Philotas, as prisoners, men who are responsible for outrages against the Polis of Thebes, we will let him march away in peace.’

Philotas was Nicanor’s brother, and he was thousands of stades away, fighting the Persians in Asia.

I wasn’t anywhere near Alexander when the herald came out, but people tell me he went as white as parchment, and that when the man was done speaking, he spat.

No one likes to be called a tyrant. Least of all a tyrant. That was the same day we discovered that Olympias had killed Amyntas and Cleopatra’s children and that poor Cleopatra had hanged herself with one of her own dresses.

Macedon, eh? Olympias held the children face down in the coals of a brazier and literally burned their faces off. One at a time.

I didn’t need Thaïs to tell me what was in the letters from Alexander to Olympias.

But that didn’t make the cowardly Thebans right. Alexander had many failings. But we brought peace to the Greeks, and we made them ten times as rich and prosperous and lawful as ever before. We ended their petty squabbles, and how many women were raped, how many children burned in the endless cycle of wars? How many died when Athens and Sparta danced?

Thebes never had an empire. Thebes never thought beyond the narrow confines of the plain of Boeotia. Of the great cities, only Thebes allied with Persia – over and over. When Thebes defeated Sparta, they did nothingto pick up the reins of Sparta’s overseas commitments – and the cities of Ionia, liberated by Athens and supported by Sparta, went right back to Persia. Thebes raped Plataea – the first city of Greece ever destroyedby other Greeks. Thebes had a calendar of sins going back to ancient times, and Thebans were the most selfish, grasping and mercenary of all the Greeks.

I never shed any tears for Thebes. Don’t you, either.

After the herald’s answer, we opened siege lines. The Thebans were cocky, and to be fair, their hoplites were superb. Epaminondas wasn’t so long in his grave that their tradition of victory was dead. They raided our lines with panache, took prisoners, put three lines of palisades around the Cadmea to wall the Macedonian garrison off from any support – they were active, brave and professional.

Our siege train arrived, and we set it up. We had engineers – military mathematicians whose work consisted of evaluating defences and planning – scientifically – to reduce them. Calixthenes was the best man – he was young, dark-haired, weedy and small, and he looked like a child in a breastplate, but he was brilliant both at sighting his engines and at predicting enemy counter-measures.

The third day, they released a cavalry sortie, and I captured half of it. It was one of my best actions – one of those actions that make you feel like a god.

When I came on duty, just after sunrise, I set a pair of ambushes well back from the two gates where they might sortie. My ambushes were both subtle – bah, I’m bragging. But I put men in hayricks near one, and in a dry watercourse by the other, with orders to let anyone who emerged go right past them.

Both gates had a small cavalry force at hand, whose sole job was to fake an engagement and then get routed.

The main body of Theban horse galloped out of the Plataean gate a little after dawn and raced for our foragers in their distant fields. My ‘small force’ of cavalry pretended to attempt to engage them, and then fled before contact, and the Thebans gave chase, pursuing my handful of desperate victims across farm fields, across a dry watercourse . . .

Into the main body of the Hetaeroi. We charged them down a low hill and broke them in one charge, and then we hunted them all the way back to their gates, and the Agrianians who had been hiding in hayricks emerged and picked beaten men off tired horses as they fled.

More than fifty of their cavalry broke the other way – towards Athens.

Poseidon was fresh, and the power was on me. I gave chase with anyone who was following me.

One by one, we caught them and captured them, or killed them – ten, twenty, thirty.

Darkness fell, and we were still running them down. None of us had horses to change.

Horses started to die. You can ride a horse to death, if you go long enough and you are sufficiently stupid – or desperate.

They were.

Poseidon ran on. He was magnificent – like a god himself. I overtook man after man, and these their vaunted best horsemen – and they would either beg for quarter, or make a cut at me with a sword or a spear, and I’d ride them down. One man, I remember well, I caught, and all I had to do was grab a fistful of his chiton and pull on Poseidon’s reins – Poseidon checked, and I pulled him right over his horse’s rump. I left him for slower men to take, and rode on.

Most of their horses foundered all together – ten or twelve in a bunch, the poor animals blowing blood out of their noses where their hearts, shattered by too long a run, had forced it.

They might have run into the woods on Parnassus and avoided me easily enough, but they stood like deer caught in torches and surrendered.

But one man rode on, and I stayed with him. He had the best horse. He was only a blur ahead, and we were riding in moonlight, and Poseidon had been moving for twelve hours, and I became afraid for him. I was not galloping, or even cantering – in fact, I moved at a walk and then a trot, and I got down as frequently as I dared to give him a rest.

I needn’t have worried. He was like a horse of the gods, and as we climbed Parnassus, he seemed to become more powerful, larger, faster . . .

I caught my foe at the top of the pass. He turned his horse, raised his sword and charged me.

I wanted his horse. Poseidon felt my weight shift, and he danced a little to the left, and the darkness betrayed us, and we were down – just like that – and a branch hit me on the head as I fell.

I came to and had no idea how much time had passed.

But I had a vast feeling of fear – of impending danger.

Poseidon gave a scream – not a neigh, but a long, loud call.

I got a foot under me, tripped over a root behind me and fell back so fast that the sword meant to cut me missed entirely. The will of the gods – no doing of mine. I fell backwards into the gully that caught the run-off from the narrow track, and hit my head again, and the earth trembled as in an earthquake.

On the other hand, the pain helped steady me, and I could see my enemy against the moon. He cursed.

I tried to get to my feet. The point of my hip felt as if I’d taken a spear or an arrow. It would support my weight, but I wasn’t going to execute any brilliant throws from pankration.

I started to climb the gully. I could hear Poseidon, and I aimed my climb at him. He had both my spare javelins, and I assumed that with a javelin in hand I could stand off my attacker.

He moved along the top of the gully and laughed grimly. I could hear his horse – breathing like an ironsmith’s bellows. He had his sword in his hand.

‘Come up, lackey of the tyrant, and I’ll gut you,’ he said.

I didn’t bother talking.

He came right to the top of the gully.

I whistled.

Poseidon kicked him, and he gave a cry and fell, clutching his thigh. I took his sword and cut his throat.

Glorious, eh?

He had a magnificent horse – a bay I called Ajax. Big as an elephant. His sons are still in my stable – mixed with Poseidon’s sons.