The Battle of Granicus- a creative account from the point of view of a Macedonian soldier

The Battle of Granicus
written by Claire and edited by Kay, group 1

I watched through the sea of infantry in absolute horror as our King, Alexander, dismissed General Parmenion with a confident smile on his lips. My comrade and I exchanged looks. The first battle of our conquest of Persia was soon to begin, a battle where so many of us could die.  I quickly memorized my comrade’s twinkling blue eyes, so full of energy and life, life that could leave him so soon.

Alexander paused, turning towards our army and giving a reassuring smile that didn’t seem to reach his troubled gaze. The beginning of the battle was creeping ever closer. I stepped hesitantly forwards, the River Granicus stretching out in front of me, an obstacle separated us from the enemy army now, but in a few short moments would keep us safe no longer.

Thousands upon thousands of Persians were lined up on the far bank. They were dressed in shining armour, with swords and pikes raised threateningly. Behind them, the archer’s taut bowstrings were quivering with tension, all arrows pointing towards Alexander. I gulped, suddenly afraid, until the rallying battle cry of Alexander struck through the air, bringing me to my senses and sending adrenaline surging through me. My feet hit the ground with determined thumps (although they were nothing compared to the rushing river, whinnying horses and pounding stomps of the rest of the army), as we marched forward.

All at once, the whole army halted. Tension built. I resisted the urge to turn and flee: but I had to stay loyal to my country and bring revenge upon the Persians. I could feel my heart beating: da-dum-da-dum, quicker and quicker and quicker, seconds growing into minutes in a deafening, stifling silence. Nobody dared to utter a single word in fear of breaking the blanket of suffocating silence; start the battle from which both sides would surely suffer heavy losses.

I looked down at the large shield in my hand, checking that it was in place. A few strands of my curly coffee-coloured hair came loose: I promptly ignored them and straightened up. Sweat poured down my body as the sun beat down on me, but it was washed away as I waded into the apathetic river. My armour grew hot and uncomfortable, until it felt nearly as heavy as the insistent current that pushed against me and threatened to sweep me away.

I took a deep breath, sucking yet more dust into my dry lungs. I struggled not to cough, or to bend over to drink some of the cool river water beneath me. Instead, I focused of praying to the Gods about the battle to come.
‘Pallas Athena, guide me with your wisdom. Ares the warrior, give me strength to persevere. Nike, help my country to be victorious against the Persians.
If only my prayer had been answered.

Soon the first to follow Alexander into the river had reached to edge. A steep bank separated them from the Persians, but they were soon scrambling up and over it to begin the conflict. The clang of weapons followed by screaming and the pungent smell of blood filled the air. I was pushed from behind, and stumbled towards the bank, where spears and flying arrows were piercing man after man as they attempted to scale the bank and reach the flat land. Red blood flowed down into the river, staining its clear waters a permanent ruby colour.

All of a sudden, the river ended and it was my turn to scramble up the bank. I managed to reach the top without being injured. With a shout to hide the fear growing up inside me, I thrust my spear forwards. It clanged off a Persians soldiers shield and bounced back, causing me to lost my grip on it. Unarmed and vulnerable, I looked up at the Persian. He stared back at me, a face of indifference. I watched, helpless, as his spear came down on top of me. I was forced to the ground, forgotten and trampled over like a dead insect.

I did not blame the Persian for the searing pain that ensued, nor did I blame Zeus and his fellow Olympians. There was no hatred in my mind as I wavered between the world and unconsciousness, only shock.

The battle continued as my last breath escaped my lips, and I felt my soul detach from my body. My wife, who had taken the hand of Thanantos a year ago, appeared in front of me, beckoning. I drifted up into the clouds. The sounds of the battle faded away as I took her hand gently, plating upon it a small kiss. A tear snaked its way down her cheek as she turned to speak to me.
“My dear Philip, it is time for you to join me”
I glanced at the raging battle below me, and the dark hooded figure of Thanantos before me. Taking his hand also, I floated away.