Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (28 page)

‘Show him through and pour something to drink for us.’

The man entered and introduced himself: his name was Evonymous, a native of Byzantium, but he lived near Neapolis, in Thrace. A great wise man of Stagira had entrusted him with a message to be delivered to Callisthenes, paying him for his trouble and guaranteeing that the recipient would give him more money.

‘I am Callisthenes,’ he said, reaching for his purse, ‘and here are two bright staters for your kindness. May I have the message now?’

The man handed over the missive, pocketed the money, drank a glass of wine and left.

The message read:

Callisthenes closed the letter, put out the lamp and lay down on his bed, trying to think of something that might send him to sleep.

The march began again a few days later and on the evening before their departure, all Alexander’s Companions and the commanders of the great divisions of the phalanx and the
hetairoi
cavalry received silver tack for their horses, after the Persian fashion, together with cloaks of purple cloth. No one dared refuse them, not even Cleitus the Black, but neither he nor Philotas made use of them. Stateira was sent back to Ecbatana with her ladies in waiting and from there she was to go to visit her father’s tomb in the rock at Persepolis. Alexander was very sorry to part from her.

‘Will you think of me?’ the girl asked him as her handmaids prepared her for the journey.

‘Always, even in the midst of battle, even when I am so far away that our familiar constellations will appear in the sky low down on the horizon. And you too must think of me, my sweet bride.’

‘Will you take Bagoas with you?’ Stateira asked with just the slightest hint of malice.

‘Yes,’ replied Alexander. ‘I find him amusing and he manages to pull me up even when I am oppressed by troubles and cares. He dances and sings enchantingly.’

‘And he is also very handsome,’ said Stateira. ‘His hips are perfect, the envy of even the most graceful of maids, and his skin is as smooth and soft as a rose petal. I suppose you can consider him as my gift to you because I was the one who gave him to my father.’

Alexander held her in a long embrace and then he helped her climb into her carriage, ‘If you should realize that you are pregnant, let me know immediately, wherever I may be, with the fastest messenger in the city. I have written to Harpalus, my treasurer, telling him to put all you need at your disposal.’

‘What I need is you,’ replied the girl, ‘but one cannot have everything. Be careful, do not always be the first to put your life in danger. I could never bear losing you,’ and she kissed him again on the lips, while the sun rose from behind the high peaks of the Hyrcanian Mountains.

At that moment there came the sound of thousands of hooves, the shouting of mule drivers and a great squeaking of wheels. Alexander turned and saw an interminable line of carriages similar to the one on which Stateira was about to set off, and this convoy was manoeuvring to tag on immediately after the last divisions of the army, escorted by armed Persian horsemen.

‘But . . . who are they?’ the King asked the Persian officer who was leading the escort.

‘Your concubines, my beloved husband,’ replied Stateira before the officer even managed to open his mouth. ‘Three hundred and sixty-five – one for each day of the year, each with her own entourage, naturally.’

‘My concubines? But I am off to war and—’

‘You cannot travel without them. Each of them is the daughter of a king who is our ally or of some powerful leader of the tribes of the steppes. You must not make enemies of them, for this would force them into an alliance with Bessus.’

‘No,’ replied Alexander with concern in his voice. ‘Certainly not.’

T
HE ARMY SET OFF
eastwards not long after, proceeding over rolling highlands covered with rich vegetation. The news that the entire Persian court, apart from Princess Stateira, was now following the expedition soon spread throughout all the divisions. The reactions ranged from sarcasm to worry and even derision in some cases. More than once Hephaestion found himself about to unsheathe his sword to defend his King’s honour, but Ptolemy and Seleucus had positioned themselves by his side and immediately calmed any challenges and fights that could easily have degenerated into much worse trouble.

After twenty days’ march, while the guides were about to head north towards Bactriana where Bessus had taken refuge, news came that Satibarzanes and Barsaentes, satraps of the provinces of Aria and Arachosia, had rebelled and were preparing an army to take the invaders from behind.

Alexander immediately called a war council and appeared at it dressed in Greek armour, but no one failed to notice that as well as the ring with the Argead star, he also wore one with the Persian royal seal.

‘Friends,’ he began, ‘you will have heard that our march must now change direction – we have to head south to quash the rebellion of Satibarzanes and Barsaentes. This is what we will do: while Craterus follows with the infantry, I will set off with the cavalry. Philotas, Hephaestion, Ptolemy, Lysimachus and Leonnatus will all follow me. Perdiccas and Seleucus will remain with Craterus. We will attack the rebels as quickly as we possibly can, before they realize that we have changed route, and we will wipe them out. Craterus will provide us with support as soon as he arrives, if we need it. If anyone has any better idea, please let me hear it now.’

No one spoke, no one laughed or joked or made any wisecrack as they normally did. There was a strained atmosphere of discontent and embarrassment. Everyone had heard how the King had treated Cleitus at Zadracarta when he had criticized him for his clothes. Everyone was thinking, without saying anything, about how much work was involved in escorting the enormous entourage of concubines, servants and eunuchs who slowed up the march pointlessly. Everyone had tales to tell of continual episodes of friction and mutual intolerance between Macedonian and Persian troops.

Alexander searched their faces one by one, for expressions of friendship or of understanding, but they all lowered their eyes, almost ashamed to make any display of the positive feelings they had nourished for him over so many years.

‘You don’t seem very enthusiastic,’ he said in a deliberately humble tone. ‘Have I perhaps treated you badly? Have I disappointed you in some way? Come now, speak!’

Hephaestion piped up, ‘They’re too frightened to say it, but they’re afraid. Look at them! Now they are rich and they hope to enjoy life, they’re afraid. They are critical of you because you dress too luxuriantly, because you have this following of Persian soldiers and all those girls, but they would like to do the same things, perhaps comfortably billeted in some fine palace located between here and the Phoenician coast. They have forgotten the promises they made to follow you wherever, even to the ends of the earth. Isn’t that so, men? Isn’t that it? Come along, say something . . . or has the proverbial cat got your tongues?’

‘That’s enough, Hephaestion,’ Craterus said. ‘I am ready to give my life for the King, here, right now, and all our companions are ready to do the same thing. It is not only a matter of clothes or concubines: the men need to know when this war will finish. They need to know where it will end and how much time is required to reach that point. They cannot continue discovering day by day, at the very last moment, that there is to be yet another stage, and then another again. Northwards . . . no, southwards . . . or perhaps we shall head westwards now? They need to see something familiar in you, Alexander, to know that you are still their King. They are willing to follow you, but they can no longer live in such conditions of uncertainty, living day by day without hope, without any sort of security.’

Alexander nodded without saying anything, as though taking in a situation that he could not even have imagined just a month previously. Hephaestion spoke once more at that point: ‘But what have you all told your men? You, Philotas, you are now commander-in-chief of the cavalry, what have you told your
hetairoi?
Are you still telling them that Alexander would never have succeeded in doing anything without the help of you and your father? That he has become spineless? That every night his only concern is to watch his concubines parade naked before him and to choose the one who will look after his dick? That he no longer reads, that he’s no longer worried about his men and their fate?’

‘These are all lies!’ shouted Philotas, his temper flaring. ‘I never said anything of the kind!’

‘Whatever,’ replied Hephaestion, ‘but these are the rumours one hears and they were already doing the rounds in Cilicia after the Battle of Issus, and in Egypt following our return from the Oasis of Ammon.’

‘It’s all untrue! Lies! Bring me the person who said these words, find just one person to support openly what I have been accused of, if you have the courage. Yesterday came news that my brother Nicanor was wounded at Zadracarta, struck by an arrow during a patrol on the Hyrcanian mountains, and no physician has as yet been able to cure him: I ask you now if anyone has bothered to ask after him? Has it occurred to anyone that my father, having already lost his youngest son, now runs the risk of losing another one? Have any of you heard me ask for leave to stay with him and help him?’

‘You are commander-in-chief of the cavalry and this role is important enough in itself to make you forget all about poor Nicanor,’ Hephaestion retorted sarcastically.

Philotas stood up and made a move as though about to attack Alexander’s friend, but Ptolemy blocked him and then turned to look Hephaestion straight in the eyes, ‘Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘It is not right to speak of Philotas in this way. Nicanor is dying, I had news just a short time ago from a messenger, before this council started. He might already be . . .’

A grave silence fell over the council tent and for one endless moment all that could be heard was the whistling of the wind across the highland – the disconcerting voice of an infinite solitude – together with the flapping of the royal standard against its flagpole. Philotas covered his face with his hands; Hephaestion had lowered his eyes and knew not what to say now. Seleucus and Ptolemy exchanged worried looks, each looking in vain in the other’s eyes for some idea of how to unblock the unbearable tension. Peritas, who had curled up at Alexander’s feet, lifted his nose towards his master and whined. It was as though he felt the weight lying on Alexander’s soul.

Alexander stroked him, then he stood up and said, ‘I am sincerely sorry for Nicanor, but I must know if I can count on all of you.’

Craterus looked at his companions, then he stood up in his turn and walked towards Alexander, ‘How can you doubt us? Have we not always been with you? Haven’t we always fought to the very last, haven’t we received all sorts of wounds in our battles? All we wish to know is what you want from us, but above all else what you want from the men who have followed you this far.’

‘I want to be understood,’ replied Alexander, ‘because I have not changed. What I do are things that must be done.’

‘May I speak?’ Leonnatus asked him at that point.

‘Of course.’

‘The men are afraid that you want to become a sort of Great King, that you want to force them to behave like Persians and force the Persians to behave like them.’

‘If I had wanted to become like the Great King, do you think I would have burned the palace at Persepolis and the throne room there? Tomorrow we set off on our march once again: Eumolpus of Soloi has informed me that Satibarzanes is now at Artacoanta. We leave at dawn. Whoever feels he doesn’t want to continue may leave now with his men.’