Empire of Ashes: A Novel of Alexander the Great

XII

We saw two kinds of settlements as we marched on through Persia. Near the rivers we found villages built out of reeds, ringed with fields of grain, rice, and indigo. These places were often recently abandoned, though whether this was due to the army’s approach or the seasonal travels of the people was difficult to say. In the arid places there were settlements of baked brick that appeared, from a distance, much the same ashen color as the land around them. On closer inspection, however, these villages were full of gardens, cooled by date palm and pipal, their walls shimmering with reflected light from half-shaded pools of sweet water.

Alexander’s army had grown to such a size it filled canyons and passes from end to end. It consumed the miles ahead of it and sloughed back feces, smoke, and Greek-speaking satraps. Anyone could see it coming days ahead, a plume of trail dust hanging over it, and watch it recede for days after, thousands of marching feet laying down long scourges in the earth.

With each parasang beyond Persepolis, beyond Media and the high Zagros, the army had reached territories few Greeks or Macedonians-traveler, soldier or slave-had ever seen. Aristotle’s geographies proved worthless. Ignorant and frightened, the Macedonians glimpsed surpassing weirdness in everything around them. They saw the natives bathing in cow urine and believing themselves clean. They saw men worshipping flame as they wore cloths before their faces, honoring the dead by feeding dogs, holding marriages by firelight that ended with eggs being tossed on roofs.

The Macedonians, understanding nothing, looked to Alexander for his example. In return he gave them a simple task: find Darius. Everything else, he seemed to say, was just details.

Ever since Darius had escaped from the battlefield, Alexander maintained a network of spies to inform him of his enemy’s movements. It was known that the latter still had the loyalty of some of his satraps, notably those from Bactria and Arachosia. He had reconstituted an army around him, small by Persian standards but approaching the numbers Alexander himself had possessed when he first landed in Asia. If, by some perversity of the gods, Darius learned to use his forces in a clever manner, he could still cause much trouble among the small garrisons and unsteady governors Alexander had left strung out behind him. Securing the long-term loyalty of Alexander’s Persian subjects would be impossible as long as they believed the Great King would return. For this reason it was essential that Darius be retired, one way or another.

Alexander set about this task with characteristic vigor. Leaving his slower units behind (including myself, being no horseman!) he pushed north, skirting the eastern slopes of the Zagros on the way toward Darius’s summer palace at Ecbatana. There he learned that Darius had retreated further, into the Elburz Mountains in Parthia. Lingering only a moment over the riches of the palace, Alexander struck northeast with his speediest cavalry, pausing for nothing but essential supplies. Many of the Thessalian horses died beneath their riders as they were pushed beyond their limits. These were replaced, and replaced again, as Alexander drove them on, across the plateau and toward the Caspian Gates.

On the way he encountered the overnight camps that Darius and his men had occupied first a week, then a few days, then mere few hours before. He used these remains to spur his men, igniting the campfires with the still-burning embers, showing them there was only a short distance to go. Soon they came upon further evidence of their quarry’s desperation: the path was littered with armor and dead horses, as well as rich furniture, chests, plates and gold utensils spirited from Persepolis, Susa, and Ecbatana. these were left where they lay in the dust.

Passing through the Caspian Gates, he heard disturbing news: the closeness of the pursuit had moved Darius’s allies to panic. The Great King had been betrayed by his Bactrian satrap, a man called Bessus, and was very possibly already dead. This intelligence sent Alexander into a fit of indignation-after sitting on Darius’s throne, taking his wife and mother into his house, and sleeping in his bed, he had come to imagine a kind of brotherhood between them. Coming so close upon his old adversary on the chase, seeing his campfires and the kind of tracks his horses left in the dirt, he imagined he was achieving some deep understanding of the man. Obsessed now with rescuing Darius from his captors, he stripped his force to a minimum-just 150 mounted men-and rode all night toward the enemy’s last known position, somewhere in the desert northwest of the Gates.

The local people were forced to show the Macedonians a short-cut that might end the pursuit. There was a steep and narrow defile through the hills that was unknown to the Persians; Alexander hurtled through first, and was off ahead of his escort as he sighted a mass of riders and carts in the remote distance ahead. We may well imagine what his quarry must have thought of his tiny galloping figure at it rushed toward them, virtually alone! Specialists in horsemanship, they would have recognized the King’s mount as Macedonian before they perceived the rider to be Alexander himself. In any case, there was a tumult in the Persian retinue-a sword flashed in the sun, and the riders abandoned the carts as they put the crops to their horses’s flanks. With the gleam of that sword, the second-darkest nightmare of any king, the murder of another king, was realized.

Alexander’s men found him staring down into one of the carts. Some in his party rushed to pursue the murderers; Alexander forbade them, gathering them all around him as he settled into a deliberate reverie. Though this was the last time he lay eyes on Darius, it was the only occasion in which they were engaged in something like a common cause. Even in death, Darius was an impressive figure, taller than Hephaestion, with a vigor that belied his fifty years. He had been stabbed in the heart, and though unconscious he was not yet dead. Even then, bleeding and abandoned in a donkey cart, Darius cut the kind of noble figure that was ever beyond the tiny Alexander or his one-eyed, coarse-grained father. The Persians did not need to beg oracles to have their king taken as a god, but easily and unanimously saw him as the mortal axis of Ahuramazda’s worldly empire. For his life to end at the hands of a fool like Bessus invited the question of what low character would, in time, get his blade into Alexander.

The Macedonians watched Darius expire, imbibing from both kings the gravity of the moment, and perhaps a new appreciation for what their army had accomplished in Asia, for this was the Great King prone before them. They bore his corpse back to Persepolis in a cortege that steadily grew as Alexander gathered his scattered forces. The necropolis of the Persian kings had been expressly spared the sack; a grand funeral was staged there, with all the proper customs observed. I saw Sisygambus make her final appearance in public to grieve for her son, showing perhaps less sentimentality at his passing than Alexander did. We may imagine that even she understood Darius was a flawed man, possibly adequate for less momentous times, but entirely run down by history. Her gaze was fixed on his shroud, never glancing at the company of Persian nobles who had come to mourn the old king and ingratiate themselves with the new. Her contempt for Bagoas, who liked to tell stories of what he had seen in Darius’s court that flattered Macedonian prejudices, was obvious. She was destined to outlive her son for only a short time.

Gathered near the still-smoking ruins of Persepolis, Alexander’s court swelled into an ungainly mass of Macedonians, Persians, and allied nobles, riven by mutual contempt and suspicion. With the death of Darius, Alexander was the acknowledged successor in form as well as substance, charged with the task of governing the whole without alienating the parts. He met this ascension with the public adoption of certain practices he had indulged before only in private audiences or drinking parties, such as wearing the Persian diadem, sleeved robes and high-heeled shoes (which he took to quite readily, given his modest height). There were also a number of court rituals unknown to the Macedonians, such as taking state dinners behind a crepe curtain and flanking himself with servants bearing fly whisks and sunshades. The latter seemed particularly absurd to the Macedonians, who were quite used to seeing Alexander broiled red with sunburn as he shared his troops’ discomfort on campaign. They were also disturbed by a custom among the Persians of keeping their hands hidden in the King’s presence-a practice that would have been outright worrisome in the blade-strewn dining halls of Macedon.

The men were at least encouraged by the expectation that after more than four years in Asia they would all soon be going home. In due course Alexander called an assembly to make an announcement. He took care to revert to Greek dress for the occasion, for he did not expect his news to be welcome.

Alexander began by praising his troops’ historic achievement, telling them that no army, not even the storied Ten Thousand, had marched farther or overcome greater odds. When they did turn back for Greece, it would be as living legends, and as rich men, for Alexander would discharge every man with enough wealth to make him a figure of substance in his city.

“But the job is not finished!” he said. “I have received word from Bactria that Bessus, the betrayer of Darius, has taken the headdress of Persian kings and now styles himself ‘Artaxerxes V, king of Asia.’ Can any of us doubt that he will soon gather an army around him, and if we do not seek him he will come west, to take away what we have so dearly earned? The Bactrians are tough soldiers, and cannot be trusted behind our backs. Can it be long, do you think, before Bessus spreads tales that the Greeks are afraid to confront a competent enemy, instead of the hapless Darius? For this reason, we march tomorrow, so that we may show ‘Artaxerxes’ the true depth of his folly.”

Against a campaign to preserve Macedonian honor, there could be no argument. The army struck east across the eastern satrapies of Parthia and Aria. On the way Alexander either accepted or exacted the submission of all the tribes. In cases of voluntary allegiance he showed great lenience, often confirming the suppliant in his current domains or enlarging them at the expense of those who refused him. Word of this policy of course spread ahead of him, so that actual resistance became more and more exceptional.

Bessus had probably expected that Alexander would proceed carefully, consolidating his hold over the lowlands and assuring his lines of supply before forcing the passes into Bactria. In anticipating how his enemy would fight, Bessus proved as unsuccessful as old Darius, for the Macedonians came on as inexorably as winter itself.

The crossing of the Paropamisus mountains came at great cost, with Alexander’s troops unprepared for the great cold and the fainting sickness often seen in high places; Bessus had furthermore torched all the villages and farms in the region, hoping that hunger would force the Macedonians to retreat. They froze but most did not starve, having brought with them prized luxuries, such as honey, from the palaces of Darius. With the end of these, Alexander ordered the men to stalk as many of the wild, spiral-horned goats of the region as they could find, and after they were gone, to root underground for the native herbs, just as the goats did.

When grubbing in the dirt proved less than sustaining, he diverted the troops by showing them a great landmark of the area: the famous crag of Prometheus, high above the clouds, on a ridge at the crest of the Paropamisus. This was the very place where the Titan was bound in punishment for bringing fire to men, condemned for all eternity to have his guts devoured by an eagle. Alexander paused long enough to allow those who were interested in the crag to go up to it in small parties, where they marveled at the very spot where the victim suffered, his rusty shackles still in place. They were further cheered by the implication that Alexander’s army would surely have freed Prometheus, had the King’s ancestor, that underachiever Heracles, not been lucky enough to get there first.

It was in these mountains that I suffered my only wound of the campaign. As you see here, I am marked by the experience in a way that trifling, but permanent…

Machon held up his right hand, revealing that the index and middle fingers ended above the last knuckle.

The fault is entirely mine that I didn’t notice my fingers turning black. The handiest treatment-if I might put it that way! — would have been to warm my fingers in the snow, which was as warm as a blanket compared to that cutting wind. But I was lucky compared to others, who lost whole fingers, feet, or the ends of their noses.

Aeschines speaks of the crossing of the Paropamisus as a feat of logistics and a tribute to his leadership, which I suppose it was. But consider this question: how many people had to starve for each mile Alexander’s army was provisioned in that country? In these matters I saw more than anyone in the Macedonian general staff did, including Alexander. The task of separating the native people from their food was left in the hands of low-level officers. When the Macedonians came to a place with a significant concentration of families, soldiers went out to demand all their stores be deposited in a central place by a certain day. Crimes of opportunity were not uncommon during these visits, including murders of recalcitrant men and abductions of young women.

Alexander frowned on these practices. He even punished an inveterate rapist, a certain Hero, son of Alcaemon, with a run through the gauntlet. But as his comrades took turns punching Hero, the ‘punishment’ took on the quality of a mass congratulation of the man. Nor was he removed from the duty that seemed to trouble him with so much temptation.

Some of the villages held back supplies and were destroyed. The rest submitted, though the “donation” of their winter stores would inevitably reduce them to starvation in the months to come. Like living reproofs of these outrages, women with stick-thin babes and shriveled breasts hung around the army’s camp for the whole time Macedonians campaigned in Bactria. The soldiers were not immune to pity-on several occasions I saw them toss a morsel or two out to these victims. The women fought over them like ravening dogs.

This was how Alexander’s triumph in the mountains was supplied. I don’t say that he was unique in this regard, or that the Persians didn’t do the same in their marches through territories of the Greeks. In lands of wealthier people the Macedonians were content to buy their supplies, though such people were, ironically, far better able to survive outright theft than the mountaineers. What I am saying is that you should not believe that the burden of cold, hunger, or disease fell only on Alexander’s gallant soldiers, as the current stories lead you to believe. For every hungry soldier who didn’t get enough to eat there were three villagers who got nothing; for every cold soldier there was a family robbed of its bedclothes.

In this way, he crossed the mountains with a loss of only a twentieth of his army. Before the winter ended he descended from the highlands and, after setting beacon-fires to guide the rest of his men down from the mountains, raced to take the towns of Drapsaca and Bactra with whatever forces he had with him. Bessus, hoping to find reinforcements in the lands of the Scythians, retreated north across the Oxus River. To forestall pursuit, he burned anything within a thousand stades that would float. The Macedonians followed by resurrecting a trick Alexander had used to cross the Danube years before, rafting across the river on tents stuffed and sewn shut with grass, leaves and wood chips.

With his failure to stop Alexander at the Oxus, the Persians had seen enough of their new king. Riders delivered the message that Bessus was arrested and waiting for Alexander a short distance ahead of his army. Thus ended, as dishonorably as it had begun, the short reign of ‘Artaxerxes V.’

Alexander had definite plans for disposing of the traitor. Ptolemy was sent ahead to secure the prisoner, strip him naked, and place him at the side of the road where the Greeks marched. As the troops went by, they saw him humiliated there, a dog collar around his neck. Riding in his chariot, Alexander turned to the prisoner with a sneer, as if confronted with a pile of dung.

“Why did you betray and murder your king?” asked Alexander.

Bessus responded with equal arrogance, asking “Alexander, why did you betray and murder your father, Philip?”

“I ask you again to account for yourself.”

“What I did, I did for all the Persians, unlike the king of the Macedonians, who works only for his own glory.”

Alexander put the question a third time, and Bessus, knowing that his death was foregone, showed his contempt by indulging the part of a collared dog, growling and barking. This ended their interview, for surely any man who would bark at his conqueror was a fool. Bessus was seized and packed off to Bactra, where his treachery was dealt with in traditional Persian fashion, which I will not describe beyond saying that it involved disarticulation. That Alexander allowed such practices is perhaps not surprising, insofar that the Persians could not be expected to take up civilized ways right away. But the episode did shock a good many of the Macedonians, who would just as soon put a sword through the neck of a traitor and have done with him. To allow such a deliberately sadistic death was unseemly.

With Darius gone, and his betrayer most definitely dead, the rationale for continuing the war dwindled. Yet cities and kingdoms far ahead were sending emissaries to Alexander, capitulating in advance, promising their alliance and support against those who resisted him. With such ripe fruits demanding to be plucked, it would have been difficult for anyone to stop.

The campaign became ever more squalid and loathsome. Alexander’s awareness that much of his success was due to Arridaeus increased his hunger to show he was more than a conqueror in name. From that point, he refused to call on his brother’s help in certain minor campaigns where he believed his personal valor alone would carry him through. These wars were usually against primitive tribes short of everything but pride. Tapurians, Mardians, Ariaspians, Drangae, Gedrosians, Arachotians, Abian Scythians, Assacenians, Orietae, Memaceni-no group was too poor in means or meager in numbers to conquer. The tribes submitted under the crushing weight of Macedonian power, but only while he was in the area. Time and again, once Alexander was gone the garrisons he left behind were massacred. And on each occasion, the rest of the army was never told of these losses, but left to believe in their invincibility.

With each reduction of an independent people emerged an uncomfortable truth: the Persian Empire was not what we were told it was. For years, pamphleteers like Isocrates had described a domain that was united in lucrative subjugation to the Persian throne. Throughout Asia, men were supposed to bow to the Great King, lavishing upon him tribute that could have gone to Greeks, if we only would agree to take it. Like a monolith hewn from rotten stone, it was only a matter of giving the empire a small push to topple it into a thousand pieces. Or so the argument went.

But the empire was no monolith. As we learned marching with Alexander, only a small part of the territory said to be under the Great King’s control was actually ruled by him. These were composed of the farmlands, the habitable coastlines, and the roads that connected them. All the rest-the mountains, the deserts, the lands fit only for herding and thievery-were controlled by a myriad of petty chieftains. In many cases Darius did not even receive tribute from these chiefs, but had to pay tolls to transport his army across their territory! Alexander, as I have said, refused to do so, preferring to force them into submission. But as I have also said, the time always came with armies must move on; not even Alexander could be everywhere at once.

Please understand, I do not tell you that the empire of the Great King was poor and disunited to belittle Alexander’s achievement. All told, the resources at the command of Darius were still far greater than those of all the Greeks put together. I only tell you these things for you to know the truth, to know something of what the men who marched with Alexander were thinking. Only a fool conquers the world without learning something he doesn’t know.

Having humbled a continent, Alexander conceived a need to humble those who did all the work. Much has been said about the introduction of prostration among the Macedonians; my opponent even claims that I was truckling in my zeal to please the King. It seems there is no winning against Aeschines: either I defy Alexander, and I am called an obstruction, or I obey him, and I am accused of toadyism! The truth is that I understood the need to establish a conventional etiquette around the royal person. Since Macedonians and Persians would have to share responsibility, and the practices in their respective courts were very different, whatever custom the King demanded would necessarily offend someone. Rather than contribute to what I regarded as peevish resistance on the part of some Macedonians and Greeks, I showed a dutiful example. And that, gentlemen of the jury, is the extent of my sinister design in this matter!

In Greece monarchy is preserved only in the cities with the most ancient constitutions, such as in Sparta, or as an honorific only, such as our “king-archon” in Athens. Even in these cases the “king” is better understood as belonging to a class of administrator, occupying only one place in a larger arrangement by which free people govern themselves. The Persian, however, is not free, and his empire is not a city, but an agglomeration of towns, tribes, and smaller kingdoms aligned by force. To rule such a vast territory, filled with peoples who hardly agree on the principles of mortal governance, requires an authority that is more than a man.

It therefore comes as little surprise that the Persian takes his Great King as the very representative of divinity on earth. Only silk and precious metal ever touches the royal person. Suppliants at his court must dress in garments that are absolutely free of dirt or imperfection. Most are expected to abase themselves in the kingly presence by groveling on the ground; low-ranking persons are forbidden even look upon him, but have to avert their eyes. Those of higher rank may approach, but are obliged to cover their mouths with their hands, lest the baser spirit of their breath corrupt him. Most favored attendants are permitted to kiss the king on the mouth, but under no circumstances to exhale upon him as they do so.

To Persian eyes, the way the Macedonians treated Alexander was an offense to heaven. One does not stride up to a king in one’s filthy riding clothes and slap him on the back. Nor does one smile at a king, engage him in debate, or share his drinking cup. Seeing these things in Alexander’s court, his loyal Persians were disconcerted; Alexander, to his credit, understood that his legacy depended on cultivating the loyalty of Macedonian and Persian alike. In this way he transcended the teachings of Aristotle, who bid him to maintain a double standard in his treatment of Greek and barbarian. Alexander, being of far more practical mind, foresaw that Persian anger at what they took as disrespect would redound not on him, but on the other Macedonians, and manifest in rebellion as soon as his subjects were out of his immediate presence.

Aeschines has described how Alexander began to take on some of the trappings of Persian kingship. In consultation with Bagoas and Hephaestion, he adapted elements of the Persian court ritual to his purposes, such as accepting the prostration of his native ministers, and kissing them on the mouth. He also intended to inaugurate prostration among his officers. This practice, which would be fiercely resented by some, was to be introduced slowly, in stages, and never to the obsequious extreme typical of the Asians. At first, it was purely optional-those Macedonians and Greeks who went down and touched their foreheads to the floor were especially well received by Alexander, who was then disposed to look favorably on whatever they came to report or suggest. It is perhaps not surprising that the more junior of the officers understood right away what was expected of them, and prostrated themselves without outward reservation. Something similar was true of the more conniving politicians, who understood that prostration would be an easy way to gain an advantage over their court rivals. The men who loved Alexander most, such as Hephaestion, likewise strove to set an example for the others.

The greatest resistance, however, remained among Alexander’s senior officers. These were the men who had fought with him since he took the throne, who had helped bind up his wounds, and drank with him since he was old enough to hold a cup. For them, to risk their lives to conquer one despot, just to make another of a man they had known since he’d worn short pants, was too much. They took no notice of subtle encouragements to abase themselves. Far from understanding the sensitivities of the Persian courtiers, they were contemptuous of them.

One of these men was Cleitus son of Dropidas. Part of a family that had long served the Macedonian court, he led the very cream of the Cavalry Companions, the so-called “All Royals,” and was a formidable warrior. You recall that he saved the King’s life at the Granicus, when he struck down a Persian horseman with a bead on Alexander’s neck. More than twenty years the King’s senior, he was the sort of warhorse who was not about to grovel before anyone. His tendency to a certain brittleness of temperament, especially while drinking, had earned him the sobriquet of “Black” Cleitus.

The mutual respect Alexander and Cleitus bore for the other at first kept their disagreement over prostration from ever becoming a matter of contention. The King had more or less publicly designated him as the new governor of Bactria-a plum post that had the additional virtue of hustling Cleitus’s stiff back out of his court. But overindulgence in wine was a vice the men shared, and it nearly became the undoing of both.

The quarrel began when, at the latter reaches of a drinking party, Ptolemy suggested that Alexander should be deified because, even at a young age, he had already exceeded the achievements of his divine heroes-Achilles, the Dioscuri, and Heracles. Callisthenes begged to disagree.

“No man merits such honors while alive, when, for all his miraculous feats, Heracles was not made a god until he was dead.”

“The Pharaohs of Egypt are recognized in life as the divine sons of Zeus-Ammon, though all are clearly lesser men than Alexander,” observed Hephaestion.

Callisthenes, who had the defect of retaining far too much sophistic skill deep into his cups, replied that a distinction must be made between divinity for purely ceremonial purposes, such as for the maintenance of the Pharaohs, and deification for the feats of some individual, as was initially proposed for Alexander.

Hephaestion shook his head. “Still, it is absurd to claim that some plump Egyptian effete is entitled to divine honors, but Alexander is not.”

“And besides, I am Pharaoh, am I not? And I am not plump-yet!” interjected the King, making light of the dispute, so that everyone laughed with him. This seemed to close the discussion, and fortunately so, as the tender subject of prostration still hung in the air, perceived by all but unsaid.

But Ptolemy would not let the matter drop.

“At the very least, we may all agree that Alexander has far exceeded the works of his father!”

He added that it was Alexander, after all, that had broken the hitherto undefeated Theban Sacred Band at Chaeronea, so that even at Philip’s greatest victory, it was his son who merited the greater part of the glory. Alexander smiled at this, waving his hand to dismiss it, but made no clear disavowal. With that signal the more gross flatterers at the table, fearing Alexander had been insulted by arguments against his divinity, all rushed to extol the King’s feats of conquest, and to declare poor old Philip’s achievements as small change, really quite unremarkable. When I say “all,” I include myself, though by that time I was so lubricated I would have agreed to anything.

At this point Black Cleitus slammed his drinking cup to the table. Looking first to me, he declared that foreigners who had tasted defeat at Philip’s hand should be the last to belittle him. The same applied to the son who owed his very throne to his father.

“I have served with both,” Cleitus went on, with stunning indiscretion, “and I can tell you that there is no comparison. Philip waged war and won against free Greeks who fought for their very homes, gods, families. Not mercenaries in the pay of painted, perfumed, pantaloon-wearing orientals!

“Alexander, besides, owes the core of his army, his tactics in melee and in siegecraft, entirely to Philip. Without the fall of Methone, there would have been no Tyre!” Indeed, Cleitus went on, such a superb army would conquer no matter who was in charge. The proof was Antipater’s recent battle against the Spartan rebels at Megalopolis, which was fought around the time of Gaugamela. “Imagine that!” mocked Cleitus. “A victory that the Macedonians managed to scrape together without the divine Alexander!”

Now all understood that Black Cleitus, who favored one of those deep Spartan canteens, had drunk more than anybody. He had fallen silent, and though nobody yet dared speak, there was still time for him to make light of it all, as if his insults were mere campfire humor, or at least to dismiss himself for sickness, and have everything forgotten. Alexander, tight-lipped, did not reply to any of it, but governed his outrage, merely summoning his servant to freshen his cup. But Ptolemy opened his baleful mouth again, and the moment for a reprieve was lost.

“Philip was no great individual warrior, while Alexander exceeds us all in his zeal for battle. Surely our friend will admit as much, will he not?”

Cleitus admitted nothing. “On the contrary,” he declared, “if it had not been for this very hand-the one at the end of my arm-the great Alexander would have been dead at the Granicus, and Darius still on his throne at Susa!”

With that, Alexander leapt from his cushion to throttle Cleitus. Hephaestion, Craterus and Ptolemy held him back, which unfortunately left the drunk to continue his tirade, boasting that perhaps Alexander should prostrate himself to him, given that he owed Cleitus his very life. Alexander was so vexed that he was literally sputtering with rage, begging for a sword to kill the man. Cleitus was rushed out of the room before he could say anything more.

But as it is so common in these kinds of confrontations, the alcoholic kind, one of the parties could not let a bad situation rest. The remaining symposiasts had managed to calm Alexander down, edging him away from the table to bed, when Craterus and Ptolemy returned, thinking they had delivered Cleitus to his valet. There was a commotion outside the tent, and Cleitus burst in again-this time without his tunic. Tearing off his undergarments, he commenced to show everyone his gray and sagging testicles.

“Since you prefer men without nuts, Alexander, take those of a true patriot of Macedon!”

This insult rooted everyone to their spots. Unrestrained, Alexander leapt up and snatched a javelin from a guard. His throw was dead on, piercing his future governor of Bactria through the chest; Cleitus collapsed with his hands still grasping his balls.

So much for the story you all know. What you may not have heard about, however, is the trouble Alexander endured from the other side-from Persians and Medes who objected violently to what they saw as the rank disrespect of their King by wine-soaked brutes like Cleitus. I am thinking in particular of a Persian noble named Rathaeshtar, who had estates in Pisidia and fought with distinction on behalf of the Great King at the Granicus. Before Issus, he switched allegiance to Alexander, albeit at great personal risk to himself. Rathaeshtar was invaluable in providing information about Persian tactics, and about the lay of the country around the Cilician Gates. At Issus, he led his armored cavalry beside Alexander’s, and proved his valor by coming away with a shoulder wound. The King was very pleased with this Persian, for he had exactly the skills and the spirit Alexander would need to help his kingdom endure. That he would receive a choice governorship was a certainty.

All that ended when Rathaeshtar saw something he didn’t like at court. Before witnesses, old Cleitus not only failed to prostrate himself before the Lord of Asia, but, in a fatherly but ill-timed gesture, patted Alexander’s back. The Persian bidded his time while in the King’s tent, though no doubt seething within, and confronted Cleitus when he left. Though I did not see it, I am told that Cleitus laughed and waved Rathaeshtar aside. When the Persian pressed his complaint, Cleitus shoved the man and drew his sword. At this point a fight was inevitable: the honor of Persian nobility, which was their greatest possession, could permit no other end. Rathaeshtar held his scimitar, but as his shoulder was not healed from the wound he got defending Alexander at Issus, he could not lift it. That their duel was not a fair match did not restrain Cleitus. With his opponent standing defenseless, the old general cut him down without a second thought. He then wiped his sword on the clothes of the dead man, spat on the body, and went off for a good meal in the officer’s mess. At the table, he boasted and mocked the funeral rites of the Persians.

“He’s as dead as Cyrus the Great! Better fetch the dog food!”

Alexander was furious when he heard the news. But since Rathaeshtar met his end on a dispute of honor between two officers, he could do nothing then to punish Cleitus. I leave it to you to decide whether this incident has any bearing on what occurred later.