Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (48 page)

‘That is precisely why they are exhausted, at the end of their tether. Can’t you see it? Look at them, Alexander, just stop and look at them as they march through the ceaseless rain with the mud up to their knees, their beards unkempt, their eyes red with lack of sleep. Have you counted how many of them have died in helping you fulfil your dream? Have you counted them, Alexander? Killed by loss of blood, by wounds that never healed, by gangrene, by snakebites, torn apart by crocodiles, burned up by fevers, consumed by dysentery. All skin and bone, they have dragged themselves this far, to the ends of the earth, and they are afraid – but not of the enemy, with their war chariots and their elephants, no! They are afraid of this inhospitable and alien nature, of this sky that is perpetually rent by thunder and lightning, of the monsters that slither in the forests and in the swamps, they are even afraid of the night sky when they look up and see the constellations they have been familiar with since their childhood setting, almost disappearing below the horizon. Look at them, Alexander, they are not the same men – their clothes are all torn and they are forced to cover themselves with rags or with the clothes of the barbarians they have conquered. Their horses’ hooves are worn down with these endless marches and they leave bloody trails across the land.’

‘I have borne the same suffering, I have suffered the cold together with them – the hunger and the thirst, the rain and the wounds!’ shouted the King, opening up his robe and showing all present the scars on his chest.

‘Yes, but they are not you, they don’t have your energy or your vital force. They are only men. They are exhausted, completely drained. They have heard nothing from their families for years – all they can do is dream of the wives and children they left behind so long ago.

‘Think of those you forced into the garrisons, accusing those who did not wish to remain in the conquered cities of desertion. All of this is something that frightens them – they are afraid that one day a herald will arrive with orders for them to form part of the garrison of some godforsaken outpost, to forget for ever their family and their homeland. Take them back home, Alexander, in the name of the gods, take them back home.’

Ptolemy lowered his head as he stopped talking and all the other Companions remained silent. A lightning bolt struck the ground with a tremendous crash and the thunder rumbled around the sky like the roll of a far off drum.

Alexander waited for it to die out before speaking: ‘Spit it out, Ptolemy! Is this a mutiny? Is my army rebelling against me? And my officers, my closest friends, are they involved in it?’

‘How can you say that? How can you accuse us and all your soldiers of such a crime?’ spluttered Hephaestion, and at these words from the closest of all his companions, Alexander started. ‘No one wants to disobey you, no one wants to force you into this. Ptolemy is right. If you want to go on, then we will follow you. We your friends have sworn never to leave you, not for any reason, but your soldiers have every right to return to their lives. They have paid enough and they have given all they could. They are completely drained. They have implored us to try to convince you and that is what we are doing. No more than that. Please think about it now. Send your herald to tell us what you want us to do and we will do it.’

They left one by one and went out into the fury of the storm.

The King stayed closed up in his tent for two days without seeing anyone, without eating, cursing the fate that was preventing him from reaching his goal when it was now so close at hand. Not even Roxane managed to console him, Roxane his beloved wife who had chosen to follow him at all costs and to share with him all the risks and the trials of the undertaking. ‘Why don’t you want to listen to your friends?’ she asked him in her still uncertain Greek. ‘Why don’t you want to listen to those who love you and who in all these years have never left your side? Why do you have no pity for your soldiers?’

Alexander gave her no response – he simply stared at her, his eyes full of despair.

‘So is it really so important for you to conquer more lands beyond those you already possess? Do you think you might find happiness in taking control of yet more regions, more cities, more riches? Oh,
Alexandre,
tell me what it is you desire so much on the other side of that river, I beg you. Tell Roxane, tell your wife who loves you so much.’

The King sighed deeply and said, ‘I was five years old when I first ran away from my parents’ house – I wanted to go to the mountain of the gods. Since then I have always wanted to know what lies beyond the dawn and beyond the sunset, beyond the mountains and the plains, beyond the light and the darkness, on the other side of light and darkness, of good and evil, beyond everything.’

Roxane shook her head for she could not understand. All these words were too difficult for her, but she understood the look in his eyes and felt the anguish coming from him.

‘Let us go then,’ she said. ‘You and I. Let us go and see the world that lies beyond that river.’

‘No,’ replied Alexander. ‘This is not my destiny, the oracles did not speak to me for this reason. I cannot leave my army, relinquish the glory . . . Roxane, I want to get as close as I possibly can to the gods, I want to go beyond the limits of time, I want to surpass all those who came before me. I do not want to sink into oblivion when I go down in Hades.’

His wife’s face expressed all her worry and anxiety as she looked at him: his speech had been too difficult for her to understand, but she felt there was a strength within him that nothing could defeat, a desire that nothing could ever satisfy. He was like a young boy chasing after a rainbow, like an eagle flying towards the sun. She caressed him and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, on the eyes, on the mouth and said in his language, ‘Keep me with you,
Alexandre,
don’t ever leave me. I could never live without you.’

From that moment on she never left his side, not even for a moment. She sat in silence waiting for a look or a word, her gaze fixed on every movement of his eyelashes, every breath he took, but the King seemed to be made of stone now, closed up in his own impenetrable world, a prisoner of his own dreams and nightmares.

Then, on the evening of the third day, before sunset, while sitting in the dark in his tent, he suddenly felt a presence and lifted his eyes – there before him was the Indian sage, staring at him out of his deep, dark eyes. He realized that no one had seen the man, the guards had not stopped him and not even Peritas was aware of him being there; indeed the dog was curled up in a corner dozing.

The man said nothing but simply gestured with one hand towards the camp, and this movement emanated an incredible, irresistible force. The King went out and was amazed by what he saw there before him – thousands of his soldiers were standing around his tent looking at him, their eyes red, their unkempt hair reaching down to their shoulders, their clothes torn, their eyes sad and anguish-ridden but firm, awaiting some response, and Alexander finally saw them and understood. He felt all their suffering bear down upon him and he spoke. He shouted out loud, ‘I have been told that you no longer wish to continue. Is this true?’

No one replied. Only a deep grumbling ran through the ranks.

‘I know it is not true. I know you are the best soldiers in the world and that you would never rebel against your King! My decision was to push onwards, to lead you further, but first I had to know the will of the gods and I have had some victims sacrificed. Unfortunately all the portents have repeatedly been negative, and no one may challenge the will of the gods. So get ready, men! Prepare yourselves, because the time has come for you to enjoy what you deserve and what you have conquered. We are turning back. We are going back home!’

There was no ovation, no shouting for joy, but simply a deep, intense emotion. Many of them cried in silence and the tears ran slowly down those bristly beards, down those faces worn with years of battles, of sleepless nights, of attacks, of frost and heat, of snow and rain. They cried because their King was not angry with them, he still loved them, as though they were his own sons, and now he was going to take them home. One veteran came out of the ranks and moved forward towards Alexander. He said, ‘Thank you, Sire, for having let yourself be beaten by no one apart from your own soldiers. Thank you . . . we want you to know that whatever happens, whatever destiny may have in store for us, we will never forget you.’

Alexander embraced him and then ordered them all to return to their tents to prepare for their departure. When the soldiers had moved off, Alexander went alone to the banks of the Hyphasis. The clouds had cleared somewhat, and the light of the sunset spread and illuminated the great river, giving a red tinge to the far off profile of the Paropamisus range with its high peaks, pillars of the sky. The King’s gaze swept across to the other bank, across the infinite plain that extended over there towards the horizon, and the King cried; he cried as he had never cried before in his life. He never would see the great flow of the Ganges, nor would he ever walk on the banks of golden lakes, among the resplendent peacocks of Palimbothra. He cried from his blue eye, as blue as the sky; he cried from his black eye, as black as the night.

T
HERE WAS A BREAK
in the bad weather for a day or two, as though the heavens themselves somehow approved of Alexander’s decision, and the King divided the army into twelve groups, each of which was set to work building a gigantic stone altar along the banks of the Hyphasis. The structures were very high, each one in honour of one of the twelve gods of Olympus. Alexander then had a sacrifice made before the entire assembled army and prayed to the gods not to allow any other man to go beyond that mark. Then, the following day, they set off again in the direction of the Indus. Along the way they passed through Sangala and the cities he had recently founded – Alexandria Bucephala and Alexandria Nicaea.

It was here that Commander Koinos, who had fought so heroically at Gaugamela and then with Craterus in the campaign against Spitamenes in Bactriana, fell ill and died. Alexander had a grand funeral held for him and an impressive tomb built in perpetual memory of his heroism and his valour.

He left authority over all India in the hands of Porus, the man he had won the land from – seven nations and two thousand cities, with the obligation of providing tributes and contingents of troops to the Macedonian satrap he had installed at Alexandria Nicaea.

From there he set off again until he reached the Hydaspes and marched down it as far as the confluence with the Acesines. The Indian princes of these regions came spontaneously to pay homage and to perform acts of submission, but he was told that to the south, along the banks of the Indus, there were still many fiercely proud and independent peoples. Then they were joined by a contingent of twenty thousand soldiers recruited in Macedonia and Greece who brought with them new armaments, fresh clothes in the Greek style and eighty talents of medicines, together with bandages, surgical instruments, splints to immobilize fractured limbs and many other things that in all truth would have been extremely useful had they arrived previously.

Together with the reinforcements and the supplies, Alexander also received a letter from Stateira, and as he began reading memories of her came flooding into his soul and he felt deep regret at having neglected and almost forgotten her:

Alexander replied that very day, while Roxane, who was still learning how to write, watched with growing curiosity. She asked him, ‘Who are you writing to?’

‘To the Princess Stateira whom I took as my wife before I met you.’

Roxane’s face darkened, then she said in a tone of voice that Alexander had not heard before, ‘I do not wish to know what you are writing to her, but just keep her away from me, if you want her to remain alive.’

*

Autumn was far advanced now and the rains had stopped. The King had decided to travel down the Indus to see how far it went. Indeed, some of his geographers felt that this river was nothing more than the early stage of the Nile – like the Nile it was inhabited by crocodiles and along its banks there were dark-skinned men like Ethiopians. If this really were the case then the huge fleet would be able to sail down the river in triumph as far as Alexandria of Egypt.