Ghost on the Throne - James S. Romm [86]
And what could inspire them to attack their own countrymen or to make war on Ptolemy, whom they had respected and heeded only two years earlier? Perdiccas had brought the joint kings with him as a reminder of their cause, but these hardly commanded reverence: the vacant Philip with his sharp-tongued teenage wife, the toddler Alexander with his babbling barbarian mother. It was a pathetically shaky platform on which Perdiccas rested his authority, yet it was the only source of legitimacy in the post-Alexander world. It would have to be enough, for Perdiccas was already here at the delta, accompanied by infantry, cavalry, siege equipment, and war elephants—enough armed force to take Ptolemy down, if he could only get across the Nile.
Fortunately, Perdiccas had superb training in river crossings, for these had been Alexander the Great’s choice stratagem. Alexander had brought his army across the Danube, the Oxus, and the Indus, three of the world’s largest rivers, and finally, in India, had pulled off a brilliant crossing of the Hydaspes despite a determined foe on the other side. For weeks Alexander had unbalanced this foe, the raja Porus, by moving in plain sight up and down the bank, making feints and sallies, all the while scouting for a crossing point that would be hidden from Porus’ view. When he finally made his move, he marched the army all night through torrential rains and deafening thunder, then led it through the roaring Hydaspes in the dark, with men and horses only barely keeping their heads above water—but got onto dry land and into formation before Porus’ forces arrived. Speed and secrecy, as in so many of Alexander’s operations, had secured victory.
Perdiccas too needed secrecy for his crossing of the Nile, but he did not have time for the cat-and-mouse games Alexander had played with Porus. His troops were becoming unsteady in their loyalty. Some had already defected to Ptolemy after Perdiccas tried, but failed, to draw off water from the Pelusiac Nile and render it more shallow. Others, he suspected, were passing along information to Ptolemy’s forces. When Perdiccas chose a crossing point, opposite a fort called Kamelonteichos, or Camels’ Rampart, he told no one of his destination. He could not trust his own men. He marched the army to this spot under cover of darkness, hoping he would get there unobserved.
At first light Perdiccas’ troops began fording the river but were only halfway across when, on the other bank, Ptolemy’s forces could be seen streaming toward the fort. The element of surprise had been lost during the night. There was no choice now but to slug it out with Ptolemy’s men, and with Ptolemy himself, who had entered the fort and was making ready to lead its defenders in person.
Perdiccas mounted a determined effort to capture the fort. His crack infantry troops, the Silver Shields, were sent up scaling ladders under barrages of spears and arrows. Elephants were brought forward to batter the mud-brick walls with their heads. Ptolemy apparently speared one of these beasts in the eyes and blinded it, then killed its driver, and began boldly knocking men off the ladders into the river below (though this account, like all tales of Ptolemy’s heroics, may be the invention of his propaganda machine). Perdiccas’ men hurled themselves at the fort for much of the day, but finally, toward evening, Perdiccas gave up. He