CHAPTER 1
Satrapy of Judea
Jerusalem
Early spring
167 B.C.
General Apollonius dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and cantered down the line of Syrian soldiers who were drawn up into vast square formations. Many called out to him with greetings as they raised their sarissa pikes and beat their bronze shields. They were the veteran soldiers of the Egyptian campaign and had proven themselves tenfold. Each man had been bloodied, yet had risen above their enemies, crushing them under their heels in widespread devastation. The gods had blessed them. Each evening the men poured libations upon the ground in reverence, as their minds recalled the Ptolemaic armies sent their way, only to be skewered by the points of their spears. Apollonius was honoured to be in their company. They were his men. They were the noble veterans of the Chalkaspides or Brazenshields, the Chrysaspides or Goldenshields and the distinguished, feared Argyraspides known as the Silvershields.
The middle aged General glanced to his right at the southern end of the sprawling city of Jerusalem settled high upon the ridge, atop the Hinnom Valley. Apollonius took a moment to scan the city walls and then gazed at the spirals of grey smoke which drifted upward from the ramparts. He stared long and hard at the distant mountain which the Jewish Temple stood upon, nestled safely behind its high walls. Sections of the Temple Mount remained in disrepair, and Apollonius shrugged away a tinge of anxiety that fluttered within his mind. To take the city would not be an impossible obstacle, even if it had been overrun by swarms of armed peasants. His force of professionally trained soldiers, schooled in the art of Macedonian phalanges warfare, would swallow them alive like a great beast. The ranks of his phalangite foot troops would breach the walls and capture the Temple Mount, then punish the city for its betrayal.
Apollonius leaned forward in his saddle and felt the chill in the air bite his thighs as his mount thundered down the endless line of soldiers. When he finally found the king, he drew back upon the reins, stiffened his body, and clenched his teeth as the heavy war horse jolted to a halt while tossing its head.
Antiochus, seated upon the floor of his chariot with his legs dangling over the side, looked up and raised a goblet of wine to acknowledge his experienced general. All that was needed was a glance over his left shoulder and a slave standing nearby poured a second cup of wine, walked over to the general, and waited for him to dismount.
"My King, good day," Apollonius called out cheerfully as he dismounted and bowed his head. He noticed Viceroy Lysias and the commander of the cruel Phrygian mercenaries, Philip, standing rigidly behind the king. Both men glowered with cold, harsh stares at the arrival of the competitive and well-known general. "The men are ready, sire!" Apollonius said as Philip's face suddenly twitched with irritation. Then turning his scarred cheek away, Apollonius shook his head at the Jewish rebels gathered upon Jerusalem's walls.
"That can wait, Apollonius, the city is going nowhere. Come and drink." Antiochus lifted his gold cup to his lips and drank long and deep before sighing as he nodded, acknowledging the rich, dark taste of the wine.
Apollonius accepted the cup from the slave and strolled over to the king's chariot. He noticed Lysias and Philip held cups of their own. Apollonius grinned at their aggravation, then toasted the king and swallowed the dark liquid. For Apollonius, the wine was savoury with a spike of honey as it whet his appetite and soothed his tongue. He grunted in favour and took another long drink.
"Does your palette tell you where the grapes hail from?" Antiochus paused as he watched the general focus again on the strong aftertaste and then he finally surrendered with a shake of his head. Antiochus glanced down into the cup, gently swishing around what remained. "The grapes are picked from the vineyards which cover the slopes above Laodiceia. There is a winemaker there who dwells in the valley beyond, near the River Orontes. He is skilled with the touch of Dionysus' nectar. I do swear the man has entreated the Twelfth Olympian to dare acquire such a skill in making such deliciously fermented wine. He possesses a complex mastery which is impossible to find throughout the realm of my kingdom. Hmm ... wine fit for a king no doubt!"
Apollonius bowed again in a humble manner. "Your tongue knows both the luxury of wine and the lordship of men sire. You are blessed by the gods."
Antiochus chuckled lightly and raising his cup he proclaimed, "God-manifest I am." He sighed considering the divine notion and then laughed again with a rumble. "You do flatter me with your wit, Apollonius." The king drank some more. "You could take lessons from his mood, Philip. Your face of stone lacks all but cold, flat emotion; you need to bed a whore to see the colour return to your cheeks." The King laughed again, thumping his knee with an open palm and then grunted as he regained his composure. Philip shot Apollonius an awkward glance, and then humbly bowed with a smile to appease his ruler.
Antiochus toasted Philip with pleasure and shook his head with gaiety as if he were floating down the Orontes on his luxury barge enjoying the company of naked women. Yet, his mood quickly changed with an expression of discomfort that flickered with fear and trepidation. Then his face suddenly became flushed with heat, before cooling into an icy, thin glare. Antiochus hissed something under his breath as he continued to stare out at the exposed city while a thick darkness settled about him.
"Do you recall when we arrived here a year ago? The people rejoiced. I was their victor over the Egyptian," the King muttered, as if lost in thought. "Now, they have revolted thinking I was dead, Apollonius. They believed I, Antiochus Epiphanes, had died!" A twisted and mocking gaze filled his face. "They dared to rise up against their king! Their protector! Scouts reported that first they joined the tyrant Jason the Oniad, that returned exile pig from Ammon! Then they defied me further by imprisoning Menelaus the Tobiad, chosen by me as High Priest.
"Once Jason purported himself as High Priest, the people drove him away, locked the city gates, and continue to hold Menelaus hostage. The people are incited against me! Against me! A king and the conqueror of Egypt! I have lain to waste the cities and armies of my enemies only to arrive at the gates of my city to find the doors barred." Antiochus tossed the priceless golden cup upon the ground. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the chariot with his elbows planted upon his knees, his hands clenched into tight fists supporting his chin.
"Those were the days, weren't they, Apollonius?" Antiochus shook his head in recollection of some distant thought. "We shall return to them what they have desired to give to us." Antiochus stood and a gust of wind rippled the hem of the heavy tiger fur which he wore as a cloak. His full stature was taller then Apollonius and the warrior king crossed his broad arms as his wintered gaze fell to the damp earth beneath his feet.
"We will cut out their tongues and feed them to our dogs." Antiochus scratched his hooked nose and grimaced in a seething anger that heated his bones. "Their ears shall become feed for my swine and their heads shall...
