Thais of Athens

Chapter Eight: The Chestnut Pacer

Ptolemy saw Thais riding her dark, ash colored horse, as he returned from a visit to the pyramids with Alexander, Hephaestion, Black Cleitus, and Leontiscus, the head of Thessalian cavalry. Alexander rode Bucefal, exercising his beloved steed during the early morning hour. Usually he rode him only into battle, trying not to overheat the black horse in long trips under the scorching sun of Asia. Bucefal lifted his smart head, displaying a broad forehead marked with white, and neighed to greet the mare. Salmaakh danced coquettishly, controlled by Thais’ firm hand.

Three astonished shouts sounded almost simultaneously as the three friends recognized “the fourth Kharita”. The Thessalian froze, gazing at this small, modestly dressed woman, who had stopped three powerful men in their tracks, including the divine conqueror himself.

“It is her, my dream: the Athenian!” Ptolemy exclaimed, dismounting and grabbing Salmaakh’s reins.

“Such arrogance,” Hephaestion noted mockingly. “Yours without you?”

“I said dream,” Ptolemy repeated stubbornly, giving Thais a searching glance.

She rested both hands on the horse’s withers and held her head high. But her eyes were only for Alexander, as if she were mesmerized by his gaze.

Frowning slightly, Thais threw her leg over the horse’s left side and slid to the ground. She looked small in front of the three giant men on their horses. Alexander, Hephaestion and Cleitus were each an entire palysta taller than four elbows, while Thais was only three elbows, three palystas tall. Nevertheless, the hetaera hasn’t lost her dignity or daring independence that had initially struck Ptolemy back in Athens. He could not take his eyes from her. Thais was in her feminine prime, having lost all things boyish, and she had become inexplicably alluring, distant and even more desirable.

Thais’ horse stepped to the side, and Ptolemy had to look at her against the sun. Powerful golden light penetrated the hetaera’s light garment and wrapped her entire body in a glorious fire, as if Helios himself embraced the beautiful daughter of Hellas and Crete. Thais gazed into the distance as if she saw something invisible to others, and she reminded Ptolemy of Alexander. Ptolemy shuddered at the thought and lowered his eyes to avoid betraying his feelings.

Alexander dismounted, tossed Bucefal’s reins to Cleitus and approached Thais. He held his head even higher than he had during their first meeting and squinted his eyes with a proud and perceptive expression.

“Haire,” Thais said, raising her hand to the army leader’s chin.

“What do you wish to ask me for?”

“Nothing, my king,” Thais said, addressing Alexander by the title of Persian rulers. “You have become so imperious in the last few years, that we mere mortals involuntarily pause before you with a prayer.”

Alexander listened to Thais’ words carefully, but no, they held no tine of flattery. He smiled. “I hope my forefather Achilles forgives me, but truly, you have become more beautiful than Helen of Troy, the daughter of Tindar.”

The Macedonian king looked the hetaera over, but his curiosity was somehow different than Ptolemy’s.

“Her eyes are crystal clear, like the spring of Artemis,” Alexander thought. “Gray with glints of gold and blue, calm and kindly. Her lips seem to be carved out of crimson stone, and their outline is so clear, just like the long cut of her eyes under narrow eyebrows. Her skin is like pale copper, transparent and silky, like a thin cloth of fire burning on an altar at noon.”

After a silence, broken only by the clanging of reins and hoofbeats, Alexander said. “Remember my promise in Athens that you may be my guest whenever you wish? Would you like to?”

“Of course I would. Especially now that you surprised me by remembering a brief meeting with a girl-hetaera.”

“I have been planning to invite you for a long time,” Ptolemy interrupted. “Any horses, slaves or tents are at your disposal. I have everything aplenty.”

Ptolemy caught himself under Alexander’s gaze. Thais thought the army leader looked at his comrade not with anger, but with pity. Then he returned his attention to Thais.

“I am but at the beginning of my path,” the king said. “But you may accompany us. Not in battles and chases, but in the peaceful part of my army, with artists, philosophers and performers. Ptolemy will take care of you. He is good at that,” he said, and a light smile scattered the awkwardness between the king’s companions.

Thais bowed her head, revealing with a heavy knot of hair arranged in a tall updo, and childishly pursed her lips into an arch.

“I thank you, my king.”

“Call me Alexander, as before. And come to the celebration I am arranging for the city. Show them the high art of Helenian women.”

Alexander hopped back onto his black horse with an agility that was amazing for someone so large. The horse was covered by a sweat blanket fastened with three belts, after a Persian fashion, and wore a Persian harness of glittering gold shaped like letter xi, with gold starbursts at the intersection of the straps and under the horse’s ears. Thais swiftly mounted Salmaakh, still saddled with a worn panther hide, making the horse rear up and turn deftly after the departing Macedonians. Then she turned again and slowly rode to the spot where Hesiona waited, having decided to part from Nearchus for a few days. The fleet commander had promised to come back before the big symposium, and their separation would not be long.

Memphis was swept up in a celebratory mood. People greeted the young “pharaoh” Alexander, marveling at his beauty, strength, and the feeling of supremacy and power, exuded by the deified army leader.

As always, people hoped for big changes in their destinies, something to alter their sad lives under of the will of the new king. They always hoped for immediate improvement, not understanding that the course of history is slow and difficult to change. Nothing could be changed for the people living at that moment. Military disasters, riots, fires and floods would invariably burst into the colorless existence of human mobs with stunning suddenness. Historic experience existed only for the wise.

Among those who greeted the victorious Macedonians and Helenians were a few people akin to Thais, those joyous bundles of life, with body and muscles seemingly cast out of bronze and with steadfast souls, imagining themselves to be the masters of Ecumene.

“Will you help me, Hesiona?” the hetaera asked on the eve of symposium. It had been arranged by Alexander for the Memphis nobility in the so-called Southern Gardens.

“You are very brave to perform before such a crowd of people. Won’t Salmaakh be scared?”

Thais stretched lazily and took out a bottle of dark ancient glass. From it she pulled a pinch of greenish powder which emitted an unpleasant smell, and placed it in a small cup.

“I’ll mix this with water and give it to Salmaakh to drink. A little bit of this Asian herb is enough for a man or an animal to shed the chains of embarrassment or fear. A bit more and the body gets out from under the heart’s control. That is why, not having much experience, I shall only give her a tiny bit.”

Flames burst into the dark sky within spinning columns of smoke, rising out of resin-filled stone vessels. Large tents protected the guests from the north wind. Musicians and a Greek choir with actors performed a Tragedy, “The Song of Goats”, on the smooth tiles of the courtyard, an excerpt from adventures of Dionysus during his Indian voyage. Alexander was particularly fond of that legend.

The great victor half-reclined in the midst of his inebriated and arrogant companions. Only Nearchus and Leontiscus sat slightly aside from everyone, listening to a splendid Tinos singer. She was tall and dressed in a peplos that was black as night, looking much like Hecate. Instead of the mean hounds, the goddess’ usual companions, she was performing with two lively female flutists, who were nude, according to tradition. They accompanied her deep voice with the power well beyond that of an army captain. A broad flow of the song washed away human disappointments, like the sea, compelling everyone to be calmer, kinder and more attentive.

Drums thundered. The steady beat of the wood drumsticks sharpened. Slaves fired up the incense burners, causing bands of heavy scented smoke to undulate around the tiles of the improvised stage.

Six nude Finikian dancers, dark and slender, with narrow hips and low breasts, twirled in the fragrant smoke. As they pulled apart and dashed madly at one another, they presented the outrageous, coarse and straightforward portrayal of the strength of the sexual desire that possessed them. These were the victims of goddess Cotytto, obsessed with one goal: to become free of her tormenting power as quickly as possible.

Hoarse shouts of approval sounded around the room, but neither Alexander nor Black Cleitus expressed any admiration. Nearchus and Leontiscus remained calm as well. The incense burners went out, the dancers’ bodies glistened with sweat, and the deafening drumbeat grew silent. The Finikians vanished along with the last few fading beats.

Without any pause, a curtain of the most delicate silvery cloth fell in front of the stage, stretched between two torch pillars. Large mirrors made of silver covered copper sheets were placed behind the curtain and set to reflect the light of large oil lanterns.

String instruments rang out, flutes joined them in a melodious song, and eight more nude girls appeared in a beam of light projected from the mirrors behind the fabric. They were all small in height, muscular and busty. Their hair did not slither down their shoulders in thin, snakelike braids as had that of the Finikians’, but was closely cropped, akin to the mythical Amazons. Their small feet stepped forth in unison, in one coordinated movement. They were Thessalians, the daughters of the ancient country of witches, and their dance looked like a magical act or a secret ritual.

The silvery cloth fluttered slightly, separating the dancers from the dusk under the party tent like light fog. The Thessalians’ agile bodies obeyed a different musical rhythm than what the others had followed. The dance was free and flowing. As the tempo increased, the young dancers, who were just as impassioned as the Finikians, seemed to rush through the wide, horse-running planes of Thessaly. The spectators appreciated the flight of their imagination and watched in silence, captivated by the feeling of tinoesthesis, a sensation through the heart that Helenians considered the embodiment of the soul.

A somewhat sad Leontiscus leaned toward Nearchus and murmured, “Once upon a time I saw Thessalian women performing the dance of the Amazons. It was so beautiful.”

“Would you like to see that again?” the Cretan asked, smiling mysteriously. He already knew everything through Hesiona.

“I would pay a talant to her, she who could perform the Amazon dance.”

“Very well, pay up,” Nearchus said calmly and held out a hand.

The chief of Thessalian cavalry laughed in surprise.

Just then, the curtain was removed. Reddish glints of the resin torches scattered through the tiles of the courtyard. A girl with her hair down appeared near the left torch pillar, wearing a short ecsomida, which left her left shoulder and breast exposed. Nearchus recognized Hesiona, and no one paid attention to her at first.

The Theban raised a tambourine over her head and demanded everyone’s attention with a few sharp strikes. The bells around the rim of the tambourine jingled and Thais, riding Salmaakh, burst into the bright circle of light. The horse wore nothing but a bridle, and the rider wore nothing but an Amazon’s battle bracelet.

The horse jogged sideways from one pillar to the other in a graceful cross-step, then reared up, tipping her small head and swinging her front hooves in a greeting. From there Salmaakh moved in the opposite direction, following the beat of the tambourine, alternately tossing her front and hind quarters while Thais sat firmly, never moving a shoulder.

Having danced three rounds, the Athenian suddenly sent Salmaakh into a gallop. Hesiona beat the tambourine madly, while the Macedonians, all excellent horsemen, yelled in rhythm with the gait.

Imitating the legendary stiganorae^[20], Thais braced herself on one knee at full speed, then turned to face the horse’s tail and spread back over her back, hugging the mare’s broad curvy neck. After she turned back to sit properly, she made the horse rear up again, and Salmaakh spun around swiftly and gracefully, making two full turns in each direction. Urged by the thrilled shouts of the spectators, Thais slowed the horse to a moderate trot and stood up on her back, holding on by one strand of the long mane, and balancing perfectly.

No one had noticed the slaves as they quietly covered the courtyard with heavy, palm-tree boards. Thais settled down and stopped smiling, her face growing serious as she approached the boards. Hesiona’s tambourine, scattering the rhythm of the graceful dance, echoed the beat of the hooves. Obeying the hetaera’s knees, Salmaakh drummed over the resonating wood with all four hooves. Two, then four beats of the front hooves, then steps backward, then more beats of the front hooves. Two, four, eight, twelve, the grouped beats sped up, as the horse either trotted forward or receded to the back. Thais bent backward, arching her back and pointing her breasts toward the dark sky.

Hesiona, unable to stand still, danced on the spot, shaking the tambourine as hard as she could. The excited horse started jumping too, as if she were in a gallop, striking with three hooves at once, tossing her hind quarters and shaking her head.

Suddenly Thais hopped off Salmaakh’s back. Holding onto the horse with her right hand, she began an old ritual dance. Rising onto her right toes, the hetaera lifted her left leg high and grabbed its ankle with her outstretched left hand. Thais’ coppery body, flexed like a bow, formed a triangle that looked like the letter gamma with a bar on top against the horse’s dark gray hide. Then both her arms stretched out, level with her shoulders, in rhythm with the arching of the body. The right went up as the left one came down.

Another triangle appeared for a moment. Salmaakh hopped, moving slowly in a circle, ready to turn her other side. Thais flew up to the horse’s back and slipped down over the other side, repeating the triangle of the strange dance.

The tent was now filled with the roaring of her admiring audience. Leontiscus, unable to control himself, dashed forward but was stopped by Nearchus. Ptolemy appeared outwardly calm. He clutched his hands firmly together, then pressed them against his chest while glancing at the Thessalian. Even Alexander rose from his seat. He almost knocked over a broad shouldered, slightly slouching man who stood next to him, watching Thais’ dance as if his life depended on it.

Salmaakh jumped for the last time. Thais was on horseback again, and the horse reared and bowed to each side. Then Thais lowered the horse to her knees, with her head pointed toward Alexander. She hopped down and greeted him, and the delighted crowd went wild. Salmaakh was startled by the noise and jumped up, pressing her ears back and rolling her eyes. She backed up toward the backdrop of the “stage” and Hesiona caught her by the reins.

Alexander beckoned Thais to him, but the hetaera wrapped herself in a fringed Egyptian cape and ran off. She had to wash off the caustic horse sweat as quickly as possible, and she had to dress properly for the feast.

A few minutes later, Thais appeared under the tent, dressed in an orange chiton with three ribbons: blue, white and red, braided into the black mass of her wavy hair.

Before Ptolemy and Leontiscus had a chance to say anything, the hetaera approached Alexander. The king of the Macedonians took both her hands, kissed her and sat her down at the three legged Greek table between himself and the slouching man. The latter wore a short beard on his thin face, and a tired, intelligent gaze.

“Look at her carefully, Lysippus,” Alexander said.

Thais was startled by the name. This was the first time she had ever seen the famous sculptor who had left Hellas to accompany the conqueror of the Persians. The sculptor took Thais by the shoulders and started examining her face as unceremoniously as would an artist or a doctor. The hetaera saw that he wasn’t slouching at all. It only seemed that way because of his habit of leaning forward when he wanted to look at something carefully.

“Why, Majesty?” Thais could not bring herself to call the Macedonian by name, even though she knew Alexander was only twenty-four, a year older than she. Familiarity was not in her character.

“Alexander,” Lysippus replied, instead of the king, “wants me to create a statue of you as the queen of the Amazons. He’s been dreaming of reliving the story of Theseus and Hippolita since his childhood, and was disappointed to discover that the female riders of Thermodont have long since vanished, leaving behind only a legend. However, you presented yourself today as their true heiress. Look at our Leontiscus devouring you with his eyes.”

Thais bowed before Alexander in an exaggerated plea. “Mercy, Majesty. For the last three hundred years artists have been portraying the brave Helenian warriors conquering the Amazons, killing them or dragging them off as prisoners. Have you noticed that the Amazons are portrayed on foot for the most part, in order to avoid elevating them over the men?”

“What do you mean?” Lysippus asked curiously.

“Any amphorae, either red or black figured ones, dating to the first Olympiad or even earlier. All artists made them, both the famous and the obscure ones: Euphronius, Eukhrides, Andokides, Arkhesilaus. It’s hard to remember them all. But all of their heroes: Theseus, Hercules, Achilles, are portrayed dragging the poor Amazons off by their hair, beating them with huge bats, or piercing them through with swords and spears. I have seen almost no drawings where the Amazons are portrayed on horseback, as they ought to be. And even fewer where they defeated men in battle.”

“But that is the case with the amphorae, and the old ones at that,” Lysippus objected.

“Not at all. Remember the scenes of Antipope’s kidnapping on the bas-reliefs of the temple of Apollo. And what about our

Parthenon? Have you forgotten the huge painting by Micon in the pinacotec of Athens, in the left wing of Propilea, where Helenian warriors are portrayed ruthlessly beating the Amazons? It was only painted a hundred years ago, maybe a bit more.”

“What are you trying to say?” Alexander asked, frowning.

“When male pride is stung, you begin making up stories to justify yourselves. And the artists try to portray these lies as accurately as possible.”

“Why would the artists do that?” Lysippus asked.

“Because they are men, too. And they too cannot tolerate the thought of female supremacy.”

Leontiscus, who had approached without notice, clapped his hands.

“What are you happy about?” Ptolemy growled menacingly.

“The Amazon’s intelligence. And truth.”

“Do you see the truth in this?”

“I see the truth in the fact that all these defeats, portrayed so happily by Athenians, have not taken away the Amazon’s courage, as they did with Boeotians and Athenians. Their capital, Temiskira, had been taken by Hercules, and some of the Amazons died in Athens, but they still came to the walls of Troy to fight against the Helenians. The descendants of those who were defeated by the Amazons cannot forgive them that, or their terror-inducing lack of sensitivity toward wounds.”

Alexander laughed merrily, and Ptolemy couldn’t find anything with which to object. Lysippus asked Thais, “Tell me, what made you think of performing hippoginnes in the nude?”

“First of all, the desire to match the legends. True Amazons, the girls of Thermodont dedicated to Artemis, who lived a thousand years before us, always fought in the nude and rode horses without sweat blankets. The story that they burned out one breast in order to use the bow is a ridiculous lie, because there is not a single ancient image of a single-breasted Amazon. The stiganorae shot directly in front of themselves above the horse’s ears, or, as they rode by an enemy, they turned and struck over the horse’s croup. True Amazons can be found on the old Clamezone vases and basins. They are shown as muscular, even stout nude girls, riding strong horses, and accompanied by bearded stablemen and dogs. Ionian and Carian women, who were accustomed to freedom, could not live with the crass Dorian invaders. The bravest, strongest and youngest of them went north to the Black Sea, where they founded the polis of Temiskira. They were not a nationality, but a group of sacred maidens of Artemis and, later, Hecate. Ignorant historians and artists confused them with Scythian women, who were also wonderful warriors and riders. That is why Amazons are frequently portrayed either fully clad in Scythian garb or in the short Cappadocian ecsomidae.”

“You should teach history at the Lyceum or at the Academy,” Lysippus exclaimed in amazement.

Thais’ eyes twinkled merrily. “I barely got out of the Lyceum alive, after having met Aristotle.”

“He never told me anything about it,” Alexander interrupted.

“And he won’t. For the same reason the Amazons are always portrayed defeated. But tell me, sculptor, have you ever heard of a woman teaching grown people anything but love? Only Sappho perhaps, but look what men did to her. We hetaerae-friends not only entertain and console, but also educate men so that they could see beauty in life.”

Thais paused in her excitement, calming her breath. The men watched her with sincere interest, each pondering her words in his own way.

“Also,” Thais said, addressing the sculptor, “You, whose name is ‘he who frees horses’ for a reason, will understand me. As will they,” the hetaera indicated Leontiscus and the Macedonians, “who are rulers of horses. When you navigate a dangerous road on horseback or fly forward in a gallop, do you not feel as if the Persian sweat blanket or any other padding gets in the way? What if there is nothing between you and the horse? Do your muscles not merge with those of the horse, as they work together in agreement? You can respond to the smallest change in the rhythm and sense the horse’s hesitation or daring, understanding what it needs. And what can hold you in place better than horse hide if there is a sudden stumble or slowing down. How in tune it is with the order of your toes or the turn of your knees.”

“Praise the true Amazon!” Leontiscus exclaimed. “Hey, some wine to her health and beauty!” He lifted Thais in the crook of his arm and raised a goblet, holding the precious rose wine to her lips with his other hand. The hetaera took a sip and ran her fingers thought his closely cropped hair.

Ptolemy laughed forcefully, barely restraining his jealousy. “I speak well, I know,” he said. “But you get too carried away to be truthful. I would like to know how a steed can feel these little toes at full speed,” he said, carelessly touching the hetaera’s foot within a light sandal.

“Take off my sandal,” Thais demanded.

A puzzled Ptolemy obeyed.

“And now, Leontiscus lower me to the floor,” she said, and Thais flexed her foot on the smooth floor, causing her to spin on her big toe.

“Do you understand now?” she challenged Ptolemy.

“With proper aim, she could deprive you of descendants with a toe like that,” Leontiscus said. He laughed, then finished his wine.

The symposium went on till morning. The Macedonians became increasingly noisy and mannerless. Alexander sat motionless in the pharaoh’s precious armchair, constructed of iron wood with gold and ivory. He gazed above the guests’ heads, seeming to dream of something.

Ptolemy kept reaching for Thais with lusty arms, but the hetaera moved away from him, sliding along the bench toward Alexander’s armchair until the great ruler put his heavy, protective hand on her shoulder.

“You are tired. You may go home. Lysippus shall take you.”

“What about you?” Thais asked.

“I must be here, just as I must do many other things regardless of whether I love them or not,” Alexander replied quietly, his voice tinged with vexation. “Though I wish for something else.”

“For a queen of Amazons, for instance,” Lysippus said.

“I think the Amazons, who dedicated themselves to Artemis and the sole purpose of defending their independence must have been poor lovers. And you, my king, would have found nothing but grief,” the hetaera said.

“Not like if I were with you?” Alexander leaned toward Thais, who blushed like a teenage girl.

“I am not for you either. You need a queen, a female ruler, if a woman can be near you at all.”

The conqueror of Persians peered at Thais and, saying nothing, dismissed her with a wave.

As soon as they were in the shadow of trees, Lysippus asked quietly, “Are you initiated in the Orphic religion? What is your initiated name? How much was disclosed to you?”

“Very little,” the hetaera admitted. “My Orphic name is Tiu …”

Once she told him about the Delos philosopher, Lysippus lost his suspicions and started telling her about the Orphic-like cult of Zoroaster he had discovered in the heart of Persia. Supporters of

Zoroaster revered kindness in the guise of the male deity, Ormuzd, who constantly struggled against the evil, Ariman. Ormuzd wore the same three colors of Muse: white, red and blue. Lysippus suggested that, should she go to Persia, she should wear three colored ribbons there as well.

“I must see you again, as soon as Darius is completely crushed and I have a permanent studio in Persia. You are not an easy model for an artist. There is something rare about you.”

“Won’t I grow old by then?” Thais teased.

“You don’t know Alexander, silly,” Lysippus replied. He was convinced that the final victory over the Persians would happen soon. That Alexander would be undeterred in reaching this giant goal.

Hesiona and Nearchus waited for her at home. The delighted Cretan congratulated Thais for her unprecedented success.

“The captain of cavalry is completely struck by Eros,” Hesiona said, remembering with a laugh. “You have conquered the famous hero akin to Hippolita.”

Thais asked Nearchus to tell her how Leontiscus had become famous. He said that during the battle at Issus, Alexander’s army had ended up squeezed in a shoreside valley by the numerous Persian troops. Their cavalry, which was several times greater in number than that of the Macedonians, rushed from the hills to the shore, crossed the river and attacked Alexander’s left wing, which consisted of the Thessalians’ horsemen. Alexander sent the Frakian riders and the splendid Cretan archers to help them, under the leadership of Parmenius, an experienced army man.

The Thessalian cavalry managed to hold the seashore until Alexander’s guard, the heavy cavalry of getaerosi-comrades and shield bearers, dealt a terrible blow at the center of the Persian troops, causing Darius to flee and securing the victory.

For their heroic battle at the seashore, the Thessalian horsemen were rewarded with the right to pillage Damascus. Damascus turned out to contain all of the equipment of the Persian army: carts, slaves, money and treasure. Thus, Leontiscus was now in possession of substantial wealth. Alexander rewarded him personally, along with the others who had distinguished themselves in that battle, splitting three thousand talants between them, which they took on the battlefield and to the Persian camp.

“Truth be told, Ptolemy is probably even wealthier. He is a wise and patient leader. He knows how to gather and wait. I think he will have you in the end, not Leontiscus, who is as passionate as Alexander,” the Cretan said at the completion of his story.

Thais raised her chin under Hesiona’s mischievous and loving gaze.

The first month of spring, Munikhion, had not yet started when Thais found herself on Nearchus’ ship yet again, along with her friend and Salmaakh. They sailed down the east arm of the Nile, through Bubastis to the First canal constructed on Darius’ orders, which connected Egypt with Eritrean Sea and Persia.

Three hundred years before, the Egyptian pharaoh, Neho, had ordered the construction of the canal. That was the same pharaoh under whom Finikian sailors carried out an incomparably heroic deed by sailing around the entire Libya, from Egypt to the Pillars of Hercules, then arriving back in Egypt.

However, the work started by the Egyptian slaves remained unfinished. Only two centuries later, Darius the First, with an enormous number of war slaves at his disposal, finished the waterway from the arm of the Nile to Succoth, located among the Bitter Lakes, not far from the Gulf of Heroes, which was a narrow branch of water between the Arabian and Sinai deserts.

In Succoth, Thais was to leave Nearchus’ ship and part with Hesiona for the first time. It would be for some time, possibly forever. Nearchus would then sail to the Euphrates to construct the fleet, in order to be able to sail to Babylon if necessary.

The possibility of defeat had its place in the thoroughly thought out plans of the great army leader. In that case, Alexander did not wish to repeat the difficult Anabasis^[21], the march of the Greeks toward the sea, across the mountains and plains of Cappadocia and Armenia. The Greek mercenaries were not being pursued by anyone at the time, yet they still lost many people. In this case, the huge Persian army would be right behind them. Alexander considered it the best strategy to retreat toward the Euphrates, put the army onto ships, and sail away from their pursuers. In the case of victory, Nearchus would meet them in Babylon. That was where Thais and Hesiona hoped to meet again.

They spent the last sleepless night before Succoth in Thais’ quarters. Chilly Sinai wind penetrated the heavy drapes, causing the weak flame of the luminary to flutter and encouraging the two friends to snuggle closer together. Hesiona remembered all the years spent at Thais’ household. They both cried aplenty, grieving for Egesikhora and for their own approaching separation.

Blinding sun rose from the dull hills in the east as the docking ropes were tossed to the pier. Ptolemy appeared in a Persian cape embroidered with silver, surrounded by a crowd of his friends. They greeted the new arrivals with loud shouts, which scared Salmaakh as much as it had during the Memphis symposium. Thais herself led the snorting and bucking mare to the pier and handed her off to the experienced stablemen. Thais and Hesiona were taken in a carriage along the north shore of a small salt lake to the east, where the camp of Alexander’s top captains was located on a ledge above a valley. The inevitable symposium ended early, since Nearchus was in a hurry. Thais returned from the feast by midnight with her eyes swollen with tears. She settled in a luxurious tent that had once belonged to some Persian nobleman, and was now prepared for her.

The hetaera could have never imagined that the grief from being separated from her former slave girl would be this strong.

The wound from the loss of Egesikhora and Menedem had not yet fully healed, and the Athenian felt particularly lonely here, on a deserted slope, before a march into the unknown. As if guessing her state, Ptolemy came to see her, despite the late hour. He captivated Thais with stories about Persia and she again fell under the spell of his intelligence, his articulate speech and incredible observance.

Since the beginning of the campaign, the Macedonian had kept a travel journal, capturing the amazing events efficiently and precisely. While Cretan Nearchus noticed primarily the nature of seashores, Ptolemy turned out to be not only a supreme military man, but also an explorer of traditions and everyday life of the people in the conquered lands. Of course, much of Ptolemy’s attention was captured by women, as well as traditions pertaining to love and marriage. These were also of great interest to Thais.

He told her about strange peoples living in the heart of Syria and Arabia. They treated women with little regard, and considered Aphrodite Pandemos to be a goddess of debauchery, since they did not understand her high gift to people. They did not understand it because they were afraid of love, which made them feel defective and apparently ugly, because they were strangely afraid of nudity.

These were the people whose women did not dare appear nude, even before their husbands. Unfulfilled in Eros, they were greedy for food and jewelry, and were afraid of death, even though their life was dull and unattractive. It was difficult to imagine that they did not understand drawings or paintings, and were unable to recognize images. It was useless to tell them about beauty created by artists. That was how they lived on the edge of the desert: without joy, in wars and riots.

“Do they completely reject women?” Thais asked, surprised.

“Not at all. They desire to have as many of them as possible. But all of it turns into crassness and rudeness. Their wives are slaves who can bring up only slaves. Such is the payback for their ignorant and frightened women.”

“You are right,” Thais said, becoming excited. “The Lacedemonian women enjoy much freedom, and there are no people braver than Spartans. Their heroics are legendary, as is the glory of their women.”

“Perhaps,” Ptolemy agreed reluctantly. He noticed the gold necklace around the hetaera’s neck and frowned. “Have you added any more stars after mine?”

“Of course. But not enough. Only one. I must be growing old.”

“Wouldn’t we all wish to grow old like that,” Ptolemy mumbled. “Show me.” Not waiting for her to respond, he pulled the necklace out.

“Twelve beams on the star. And letter mu in the middle. Does that stand for number twelve as well or is it a name?”

“Both a name and he number. But it is time. Dawn is coming from the hills.”

Ptolemy left without a word. Thais have never seen him this glum. She shrugged her shoulders in puzzlement as she slid under the light warm spread, and declined even a massage, which was offered to her by the new slave girl, Za-Asht, a Finikian. Za-Asht was ill-tempered and proud, with the stature of a priestess of some unknown god. She managed to win her mistress’ respect and, in her turn, grew sympathetic toward her. Za-Asht’s gloomy eyes warmed up considerably when they rested upon Thais, especially when her mistress couldn’t see her looking.

Thais spent the entire next day in her tent. The dull valley surrounding them did not inspire her curiosity, and the entire large Macedonian cavalry was swept up in the chaos of preparation for the next campaign. Hundreds more Macedonian soldiers arrived all the time and were temporarily settled on the fertile lands around the Delta.

The army was going to Tyre, the main gathering point, following an ancient road which passed through Edom to Damascus. The first stage of the journey was four and a half thousand stadiums long, according to the experienced guides and road surveyors.

This road went through deserted plateaus, tree covered mountains, valleys and river shores. It had been witness to the campaigns of many people, many forgotten bloody battles, and tragic marches of those taken as slaves. Giskosi, Assyrians, Persians, and many others had attempted to get to the wealthy and fertile Egypt over thousands of years. Even Scythians would have passed here, moving from the Caucasian lands in the distant east to the borders of Egypt.

Infantry detachments were formed from the best soldiers, who did not wish to part with the treasures they had gathered. They sent their possessions ahead to Tyre, using hundreds of carriages captured from the Persians, and were soon to follow in the same direction.

Alexander managed to beat Ptolemy with his usual speed, and was already in Tyre.

Thais told Ptolemy that she didn’t want to use a carriage. The tooth-shattering bumping of these vehicles along the rocky mountain roads would ruin the entire trip. The Macedonian agreed and ordered to bring Salmaakh, to have the mare examined by the connoisseurs before the long journey. Leontiscus showed up too, being the best horse expert in the entire army. Flax seed was added to Salmaakh’s feed for several days, including the time on the ship, in order to purge her digestive system. Her dark ash hide, brushed out by a Paphlagonian stableman, glistened like dark silk.

Leontiscus ran his fingernails along Salmaakh’s back, pressing hard. The horse shivered and stretched. The Thessalian hopped onto her back and sent her galloping across the valley. The even beat of her hooves made the connoisseurs nod approvingly, but the chief of Thessalian cavalry was displeased when he returned.

“Shaky trot. Look. Her front hooves are rounder than her rear ones, but not any bigger. Her pasterns are too arched. She’ll wear off her hooves on the rocky roads of Syria.”

Thais ran up to the mare and hugged her around the neck, ready to defend her favorite. “It’s not true. She is beautiful. You yourself admired her at the feast. Look how she stands. Her legs are perfectly in line.”

“Her legs are a bit long. It would be better if they were shorter.”

“But look how broad her chest is.”

“Yes, but her rear is too narrow. Also, look. Her groin is long and stretched out to an entire palm and two fingers. You might be light, but if we do twenty parsangs, she will run out of breath.”

“I will run out of breath before she does. Or do you think I am anywhere near you?”

The Thessalian burst out laughing. A vertical wrinkle at the bridge of his nose smoothed out, his frowning eyebrows rose, and the Athenian saw a young man in this stern warrior, almost a boy. Contrary to Spartans, who considered a man mature only from the age of thirty, Macedonians began their military service from the age of fourteen or fifteen. They became seasoned veterans by the time they were twenty-five. The chief of the Thessalian cavalry must have been just such a young veteran, like many of Alexander’s captains.

“Forgive me. You are attached to your horse, as a true rider should be. And Salmaakh is not at all a bad horse. Still, if you are to go to Asia with us, you ought to get another horse, and keep Salmaakh for dancing.”

“Where am I supposed to get another horse?” Thais asked, offended for her mare. “And one better than my beautiful girl?”

She patted Salmaakh’s curving neck as the latter threw a mean sideways glance at Leontiscus, as if she understood she was being criticized.

Leontiscus exchanged glances with Ptolemy, and the Macedonian waved at someone.

“Hey, bring a horse for mistress Thais.”

The hetaera didn’t get a chance to say anything before she heard clear, distinctive hoofbeats. A boy burst out of the stables atop a chestnut stallion, and barely managed to stop the spirited horse by leaning back and pulling hard on the reins.

The steed’s hide was a coppery chestnut without a single spot, shiny and shimmering. His long, neatly trimmed mane and full, tight at the base tail, were black as his eyes, which made the animal that much more beautiful. The Athenian has never seen a horse of that color.

Thais immediately noticed the longer torso with its curving flanks, and legs that were shorter than Salmaakh’s. His front hooves were larger than the rear ones. Long flat shoulder blades, long withers, broad croup, all these advantages were obvious. Even to a layman. The steed’s raised head and proudly carried tail gave the stallion a particularly majestic posture. The horse’s face seemed serious, almost mean, because of the fluttering nostrils.

But as soon as one looked into the animal’s large, kind eyes, any concern vanished. Thais walked boldly up to the steed, took the reins from the boy, and patted the animal’s neck. The chestnut stallion neighed briefly and quietly.

“He recognizes you!” Ptolemy exclaimed. “Very well, take ownership. I have long since been looking for an Enetian horse for you with qualities that distinguish one out of a hundred thoroughbreds.”

“What is his name?”

“Boanergos, Child of Thunder. He is six years old and has been well-trained. Have a seat and try him out.”

Thais tossed off the battle cape she used to protect herself against the wind, patted the chestnut stallion once more, then hopped onto his back. The steed seemed to have expected that and immediately launched into a broad trot, steadily increasing his pace.

It was odd. After Salmaakh’s trot, this horse made Thais feel as if she almost weren’t bouncing at all. The horse rocked from side to side, hitting with two hooves at the same time. Curious, the Athenian leaned over and noticed that the horse moved both legs on the same side simultaneously, front left with hind left, front right with hind right. He was a pacer, a kind of horse Thais has never ridden before.

Delighted by the pacer’s gait, Thais turned around to send a smile to the great horse connoisseurs, which caused her to accidentally squeeze her knees a little. The sensitive steed dashed forward so quickly that the Athenian arched backward and had to use one hand to lean against the horse’s croup. Her breast seemed to form one line with the pacer’s outstretched neck and the strands of his long mane. The wave of her loosely tied black hair streamed in the wind above the fanned out tail of the chestnut steed. This was the image of Thais that Leontiscus would remember forever.

As if wanting to show what he was capable of doing, the chestnut pacer flew forward faster than the wind, carrying his torso evenly and rocking from side to side. The hoofbeats increased in pace, but the breadth of his gait did not grow shorter. Thais felt as if earth itself rushed under the horse’s hooves. The sensitive dancer’s ear could not find a single error in the precise rhythm, akin to the tempo of the maenadae’s dance during the celebration of Dionysus: two strikes to one drip of a fast clepsydra, used for keeping time in dancing.

The chestnut pacer reached far with his front legs, as if trying to cover more space. Thais, filled with tenderness, patted his neck, then started gently slowing him down. Boanergos recognized the skill and strength of his rider and obeyed her without delay. When the pacer slowed to a walk, she found it less comfortable and let the pacer go back to full speed when returning to the camp. She flew up to the group of connoisseurs and stopped the horse just as they were getting ready to jump out of the way.

“How do you like Boanergos?” Ptolemy asked.

“Very much.”

“Now do you understand what a proper horse for distant trips is like? He’ll trot for thirty parsangs. Although,” he said, scratching his head, “the Syrians do have a saying that a mare is better than a stallion, for she is akin to a snake since she gets stronger in hot weather. Yours, however, just doesn’t have the right build.”

“Yes. Look at the breadth of his throat, and how proudly he carries his tail. He is filled to the brim with life force,” one of the connoisseurs said. “A horse like that cannot be found for an entire talant, because he is a rarity.”

“Thais is a rarity, too,” Leontiscus said. “By the way, did anyone notice …”

“I did,” a young lokhagos said, stepping forward. “The mistress and the horse are the same color. Only the eyes are different.”

“Have I earned forgiveness?” Ptolemy asked.

“What for?” the hetaera asked with surprise. “Although if you are guilty of something, you would know better. Still, you have earned it. Catch!” Thais cried, then jumped off the horse straight into Ptolemy’s arms, as she had many times with Menedem. But while the mighty Spartan had stood like a rock, Ptolemy wavered despite his strength, and almost dropped the hetaera. She managed not to fall only by putting her arm firmly around his neck.

“Bad omen,” Thais said, laughing. “You won’t hold on to me.”

“Yes I will,” Ptolemy spat.

Thais freed herself from his arms and ran to the pacer. She patted him gently and kissed his soft warm nose.

Boanergos shifted from one foot to another several times, tipped his head, then lightly pushed Thais with his head, neighing softly. There was no better way he could indicate that he liked his new mistress. At Ptolemy’s signal, a slave handed Thais a piece of barley bread. She unbridled the horse and gave him the treat. Having eaten it, the steed rubbed his head against her shoulder. As he was led away, Thais could have sworn he looked back and winked at her, so mischievous was his expression.

Despite all of Ptolemy’s efforts, he could not seem to revive his old relationship with Thais. The spirited, mischievous and courageous girl, who had seemed like an ideal lover to the Macedonian, had given way to a woman. The woman was just as courageous, but possessed greater inner strength and was both mysterious and incomprehensible. Her interests no longer coincided with those of Ptolemy, despite the fact that he was an observant pragmatist and good strategist.

Thais’ thirst for knowledge reminded him of Alexander. Ptolemy remembered one nighttime conversation when he had tried to engage Thais in politics. While pontificating on the subject of Plato, Aristotle, Athenian democracy, and Spartan military state, he talked about the need to create a new city that would be more splendid and glorious than Athens.

Lands conquered by Alexander had already formed a strong empire, including the entire Inner Sea coast from Hellespont to the Libyan shores. Not one of the previous state structures: polis (city-state), monarchy, or oligarchy suited this new country. Nothing but tyranny would do: a rule by one man in possession of military force. But tyranny was short-lived, and military luck was changeable. The life of an army leader was even more subject to chance, especially the life of one as prominent as Alexander. It was necessary to create a clear plan for structuring Alexander’s empire, but the king himself hadn’t even thought of the name for his new country.

Ptolemy noticed that Thais was bored, and was listening only out of courtesy. In response to his forced outrage, Thais said calmly that all these thoughts appeared immature to her. One could not fantasize about the future, but had to do what was best for the people now, at the present moment.

“People? What people?” Ptolemy asked with irritation.

“All of them.”

“What do you mean, all of them?” the Macedonian asked. He stopped when he saw a patronizing smile flicker across her face, and suddenly remembered that Alexander was telling him the same thing when he discussed homonoya, the equality of all minds.

Their road took them north. Green islands of forests appeared more and more frequently, appearing in the midst of a grayish sea of shrubs which grew on the slopes of hills. Thais had been used to the rough, scratchy oak, as well as the pistachio and myrtle thickets since childhood. Large areas of black-trunk strawberry trees grew here as widely as they did in Hellas, as did the small laurel groves, where the air was stuffy even during cooler days. Thais loved the tall wide pine trees with long needles, the soft carpet of fallen needles and slanting rays of sunlight poking through the branches.

When the road passed through the crests and flat peaks of mountain ranges, the army was surrounded by the primal might of ancient cedar and fir trees. Thick and bumpy fir trunks, their straight branches hanging to the ground, obstructed the entire world, creating a quiet, dusky kingdom of silence and isolation. The powerful Syrian sun barely penetrated their short, coarse needles.

The Athenian was impressed by her first meeting with a grove of Lebanese cedars. Until then, only the oaks and tall pines growing in sacred places had filled Thais with reverence. No matter how big, the trees lost their individuality in groves and forests, becoming a crowd, from which an eye could only distinguish certain features, adding them up to build the image of a tree.

But here every cedar was a “personality”, and the multitude of colossal trees did not merge into an impression of a forest. Row after row of these remarkable, incomparable giants approached, allowing one to admire every detail, then vanished behind the next turn in the road. Their trunks grew up to ten elbows thick, with coarse, scaly bark the color of Salmaakh’s hide. They seemed to melt under their own weight, pouring into the rocky soil in bumps and bubbles. The cedars branched out low to the ground, their huge branches undulating into fanciful shapes. Snakes, hydras and dragons were outlined against the blinding sky. The trees reminded Thais of hecatoncheirs, hundred armed creations of Gaea, who rebelled against heaven with all of their awkward might.

More slender trees grew further down the slopes, having escaped the axes of Finikian shipbuilders and citizens of Byblos who prepared lumber for the temple of Solomon. These giants stood up straight, frequently splitting into two treetops and spreading their mighty branches to fantastic breadth. Millions of small branches with a fluff of short, dark, green or bluish needles grew horizontally, forming flat, patterned levels, one row after another, soaring up like the stairway of tree-dwellers, the dryads.

Ptolemy explained that these were leftovers of the once mighty woods. Further to the north they turned broader and more imperious, especially in the Taurus mountains of Cilicia, in Southern Cappadocia and in Phrygia. Hearing about the woods that were cut down there, Thais thought that despite her love of beautiful ships, these most important creations of human hands were not worth cutting down a giant. Destruction of a colossal tree seemed like sacrilege against

Gaea’s sacred rights as the all-bearing, nursing mother of all. This would unquestionably be punished by the wrath of mother Earth. In fact, punishment could already be seen in the endless rows of sun scorched mountain ranges, whose searing stones emitted suffocating heat day and night.

Having passed through the cedar grove, the road took the Macedonian army to a ledge leading through pale, craggy mountains with scant plant life, covered with dark vertical “ribs” that made them look like walls of a city. Their route was taking them closer to the sea.

“Are there any wild animals here?” Thais asked. “Do I need to worry about the horse?”

“You might run into a lion or a panther here and there in the mountains, but they’ve become rare because of the constant hunts. Several centuries ago a breed of small elephants lived in the valleys and hills of Syria. They were hunted by Egyptians. Finikians gathered ivory for Crete and exterminated the elephants completely.”

Thais easily made daily marches of three hundred stadiums. Ptolemy did not rush, letting the last few detachments from the Delta catch up with them. Leontiscus and his Thessalians rode off ahead of everyone. Before they parted, Leontiscus taught Thais how to use the Persian sweat blanket with wide straps and a military-style chest cover. The Athenian quickly came to appreciate its conveniences, especially for a distant trip. Leontiscus gave Thais a jug of potion made of leaves and the green shells of walnuts, boiled in vinegar. It was used to wipe down the horses; its scent repelled stinging insects. The Thessalian explained to Thais the rules for rubbing down sweaty horses, and the hetaera always made sure the stablemen rubbed down her steed starting from the legs. Whenever a horse became fatigued, its ears grew cold, Leontiscus said. He told her how to massage the ears, restoring the steed’s energy. Thais found out many such small and important secrets from Leontiscus during the five days the Thessalians traveled with Ptolemy’s men.

At this point, after ten days on the road, approximately three thousand stadiums separated the detachment from the Egyptian border. Having crossed the low mountains, they emerged onto a plain. Ruins of massive ancient structures towered above the disorderly mass of small town homes on the eastern side. This was Armageddon, one of the “Wheel” cities of the ancient king Solomon, with stables that had housed hundreds of horses seven centuries ago.

Ptolemy told Thais about an ancient prophecy of Hebrew elders who had said the last battle between the forces of good and evil was to take place at this exact place, in the valley of Armageddon; however, the seers did not indicate the exact time of the battle. Later on Thais discovered that Indian philosophers had, in fact, predicted the time of the decisive battle between Light and Dark, but not the place. It was thought that the great contest was started by the godlike rulers in order to satisfy their arrogance and love of power. It destroyed the best of their people and gave birth to a new historic era consisting of the accumulation of anger and despotism: Kaliuga. The terrible final battle was to take place at the end of Kaliuga.

Putting the two prophecies together, Thais determined that the Armageddon battle was to take place twenty-three and a half centuries after the year of her birth, and was surprised that people could be so interested in something that might happen in the impossibly distant future. However, she remembered that Indians believed in reincarnation and a series of repeated births, and they believed in a manner even stronger than the Orphics. If someone believed in the endless duration of his life on earth, it was no wonder that he was interested in the events of such distant future.

Thais did not believe in the possibility of endless transformations. The Orphic teachings were yet to overcome the Helenian notion about the temporary nature of life, sucked in with a mother’s milk. And the endless wanderings through the darkness of Hades was not attractive to anyone.

The road descended to the sea and stretched along the coast, all the way to Tyre. Ptolemy decided to increase the pace, and they crossed the remaining four hundred stadiums over a day and a part of a moonlit night. This last dash proved to be fairly easy for Thais, who was sufficiently trained by then, and had an excellent horse. Za-Asht was left in charge of Salmaakh, as well as the cart carrying Thais’ possessions.

Having arrived at the huge camp near Tyre, the hetaera discovered the reason for Ptolemy’s rush. Alexander had had his first large disagreement with the oldest and most experienced officers of the Macedonian army. Darius had sent a letter in which he offered peace, a huge ransom as well as the entire coastal portion of Asia and Egypt. Alexander rejected the offer, replying that until Darius showed up for the decisive battle or laid his title at Alexander’s feet, he would be pursued to the ends of Ecumene.

Parmenius, the oldest of the Macedonian captains and Philip’s comrade, was the first to object to such arrogant reply. “If I were

Alexander, I would have accepted the Persians’ conditions,” Parmenius said.

“So would I,” Alexander agreed, “if I were Parmenius.”

Senior officers believed that one ought not constantly push their military luck, especially when the enemy still had enormous resources. Heading away from the sea and into the heart of the country, foraying into the endless plains, was dangerous. The Macedonian army could find itself cut off from their supply chains, since no one knew where Darius was gathering his troops or when he was planning to deliver the decisive strike.

While the army had a chance to rest during winter, a scorching summer still lay ahead, including a difficult march into the immeasurable distance. The army would become exhausted, especially its strongest part, the infantry: the phalanx and the shield-bearers. The latter were now referred to as Argiroaspides, or “silver shields”. They had received this distinction for their unprecedented courage at Issus.

Arguments, supported by taking stock of the fantastic trophies, conquered lands and captured slaves, were so weighty that the contingent of older and more cautious officers took Parmenius’ side. Younger officers, who were missing only Ptolemy, were decisively in favor of continuing the campaign, crushing Darius completely and conquering lands to the end of Ecumene.

Alexander realized that the younger ones were carried forth by the battle spirit and love of adventures more than by any other considerations. The great strategist understood the grave danger of the continuing war but, unlike the elders, he also saw the impossibility of ending it.

After the battle at Issus, the destruction of Finikian cities and the invasion of Egypt, he could not stop at this halfway point. In a few more years his splendid army, dissipated among various stations, would stop being that reliable military force with which he could resist the scores of Persians. Even if there were no new battles, thirty thousand Macedonians would dissolve in these lands like salt in water. Alexander had no choice. Most importantly, with a stubbornness inherited both from his mother and from Philip, he wanted to realize his longtime youthful dream: to go to the east, where the sun’s carriage rose from the edge of earth and the waters of the ocean, to the boundaries of mortal life, to the cape Tamar of the ancient maps.

Viewed from the last mountain range, the Macedonian camp was laid out in a scattering of lights. Despite the late hour, fires still burned, lighting the circles of soldiers caught in lively discussions. The others, who had missed supper for some reason, were waiting for bread to finish baking and meat to finish roasting. All of these were provided to the army aplenty on Alexander’s orders.

Ptolemy slowed his tired horse and turned back toward Thais. The hetaera rode up to him, coming as close as she could because she saw Ptolemy’s intention to speak with her in secret.

“Listen, Orphian. Sometimes you possess the gift of foresight and point out correct solutions. What would you advise Alexander — to make peace with Darius or go against him?”

“The king needs no advice. Especially not from me.”

“I understand that more than anyone else. The question is for you, if you were asked to make a decision, which would you choose?”

“I say forward, only forward. We must not stop. To stop means death.”

“I knew it,” Ptolemy exclaimed with admiration. “You are a true companion for an army leader. Perhaps for a king.”

With these words, Ptolemy put his arms around Thais and pulled her to him for a kiss. Suddenly he pushed away with a yelp and his horse jumped into the darkness with a strike of his heels. Thais looked around, puzzled by the Macedonian’s disappearance. When she realized what had happened, she burst into laughter. Boanergos, jealously protective of his rider, had bitten Ptolemy, who reappeared after a moment.

“Let’s ride down,” he said and urged his horse forward, not looking at the hetaera.

Subdued luminaries burned in a side attachment to Alexander’s tent. The tired army commander lay on his wide and uncomfortable bed, listening to Thais. He had invited her over on the eve of their departure, after keeping her from dancing for his officers. Thais enjoyed the flashes of spirited curiosity in his eyes which she saw whenever he lifted his heavy head from the pillow of his arm.

The shield of Achilles hung over his bed, blackened by time. Alexander had never parted with it since the day he’d taken it from a temple at the ruins of Troy, where he’d left his own shield instead. The weight of the shield was proof of having belonged to a mighty hero, whose example had excited the Macedonian prince since childhood. However, Alexander carried in his soul the disappointment he, and many before him, had experienced at the Ilion hill. All of Iliad’s heroes had fought there. That had been difficult to imagine while he’d stood in front of a small hill. Of course, nearly a thousand years had passed since the Iliad, but the giant temples of Egypt, the palaces of Crete and the cities of Finikia were even older. Alexander had reconciled himself to the loss of his childish fantasies about Troy only when he realized that the number of people inhabiting the face of Gaea grew every century, the boundaries of Ecumene broadened, and a truly great deed would have to satisfy higher standards. He had more than fulfilled the dream of his father Philip and the warlike Isocrates^[22]. Now, if only he could crush Darius and conquer Persia completely.

As if guessing his thoughts, Thais asked, “What happens when you defeat Darius and open the gates to Asia?”

“To the east, to the ocean,” Alexander replied easily, feeling inexplicable trust toward the Athenian hetaera.

“Is it far away?”

“Do you know of a diaphragm of mountain range separating dry land?”

“I know a little.”

“There are thirty thousand stadium from here to its eastern edge. The Cape Tamar is at the distant end of land.”

“Locheara^[23]! To go through this, constantly fighting …”

“It’s not that much. In order to get here from Memphis, you have already traveled over four thousand stadiums. I think once we defeat Darius there won’t be much of an army left to resist us. In a year, maybe a year and a half I shall reach the shores of the ocean never seen by another mortal, or even immortal, except Helios.”

Alexander’s perceptive gaze did not find the expected admiration in Thais’ face. The hetaera appeared to be deep in thought.

“Is this really your most coveted dream?” she asked quietly, lowering her head.

“Yes. I have been obsessed with it since youth. And now I am at the threshold of realizing it.”

“And how many thousands of people will die, paving your path with corpses? Is the mysterious cape really worth it? It is probably just a bare rock on the shore of a dead ocean.”

The great army leader laughed. The sound was unexpected and merry. “A woman, even the smartest one, always remains shortsighted. Pericles’ Aspasia was the same way.”

“My mind really must be small. I do not understand you, Majesty.”

“It is so simple. I will only kill those who resist the movement of my army. It will go through like a plow, equaling all people. Did you not say yourself that good people everywhere are alike? Did you not admire my disagreement with teacher Aristotle? I believe intelligent people are worthy everywhere, and homonoya, the equality of mind, must unite Persia, India, Hellas, Egypt, Italy and Finikia. This can only be achieved by military force.”

“Why?”

“Because rulers and tyrants, army leaders and statesmen are afraid to lose their rights in my new state and thereby become lost within the multitude of the worthiest people. They will force their people to fight. They can only be brought to obedience by destroying their fortresses, killing their officers and taking away their wealth.”

“Are you capable of doing that amidst the endlessness of Ecumene?”

“I am the only one who can. Gods made me unbeatable till my death, and the Ecumene is not all that endless, as I told you. I’ll go to Parapamizes, beyond the Roof of the World^[24], to the Indus and further to the south till I reach the ocean, while Nearchus outlines the coast from Babylon to our meeting point at the edges of the earth.”

“When I listen to you, I start believing the teachings of Hebrew scholars,” Thais exclaimed. “They have Sephiroth, or Mind, also referred to as Heart or Vina, the female beginning. Wisdom or Hokma is a male beginning. With you, I realize that if women represent considerate order, then wisdom destroying it belongs to men.”

Thais’ philosophic discussion was interrupted by the Black Cleitus. He glanced at the Athenian, noticed his leader’s slight nod, then said, “Some wise man wants to see you. He says that he has an important apparatus (battle equipment) and can tell only you about it. You are leaving camp tomorrow?”

“Indeed. Some people find things out before I do. He really must be a wise man or a great mechanic. Let him in.”

A slightly plump, short man with shifty eyes entered, bowing constantly. He observed Thais cautiously, probably decided that such a beautiful woman must undoubtedly be as stupid as a Boeotian sheep, and knelt in front of Alexander.

“What kind of apparatus do you have and where is it?” the king asked.

“Presently only here,” the newcomer said, then pointed at his forehead and heart.

“How dare you?”

“Do not be angry, Majesty. The idea is so simple that the apparatus can be created in half an hour.” The inventor pulled out a massive, sharp copper nail with roughened surface, about one epydama^[25] in length. “You need to take wide cedar boards and nail these into them. A hundred such boards scattered in front of the enemy will stop the fastest cavalry attack, and you can make many hundreds. They are light to transport and easy to use. Can you imagine how effective such a defense would be? A horse that steps on a nail with one hoof would rip its own leg off, and if it steps on a board with two feet, it will fall and throw off its rider. If the boards are spread widely enough, he would also land on the nails and it would be over, for he could never get up. He would die a terrible death. Your soldiers would only have to pick up the weapons and valuables. It is a simple and effective defense.”

“It really is simple and effective,” Alexander said slowly, looking at the inventor.

From the corner of his eye, the king saw disgust on Thais’ face, which the Athenian wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Were you the only one who came up with this? Does anyone else know?”

“No, no, great victor. I am just for you. I thought only you could appreciate the value of my invention. And maybe there would be a reward …”

“Yes. A reward,” Alexander mused. His eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “There are limits that no mortal or even god is allowed to cross. True destiny is determined through an honest battle between the best with the best. Cleitus!” he shouted. The inventor, who was just rising, fell back to his knees before the king.

The giant burst into the tent.

“Take him, gag him, and kill him immediately.”

The inventor’s screams coming from behind the tent suddenly stopped. Thais knelt silently at Alexander’s feet, gazing at him with admiration and gently running her hands over the deep scars on his knees. Alexander placed a hand on the back of her head under the heavy knot of hair, trying to lift her up for a kiss.

But just then, merry voices sounded outside the tent and Black Cleitus called out to someone. Alexander’s associates entered, including Ptolemy. They brought news that a messenger had arrived from Lysimachus, saying a bridge across the Euphrates near Thapsak was ready. The leading detachment of Agrians had already crossed to the left bank. Information supplied by the cryptii-spies was confusing and contradictory, which was why the crossing had been delayed.

Alexander rose, forgetting temporarily about Thais. The hetaera slipped out of the tent and made a farewell gesture to Black Cleitus, who sat like a statue atop a massive chest in the front section of the royal tent. Then she stepped into the open air, walking under the large stars of the Syrian night. Having descended carefully down the slippery gravel path to a creek where her tent stood, Thais paused thoughtfully at the entrance until Za-Asht called her in for the evening bath. The hetaera sent the Finikian to bed, then sat on a leather cushion from Damascus, listening to the quiet bubbling of the creek and watching the sky. Over the last few weeks, she had rarely managed to be alone with the sky, which she found was necessary to restore her inner peace. Night’s carriage rolled on behind the hills, and Thais heard gravel from the path crunch under Ptolemy’s heavy steps.

“I came to say goodbye,” the Macedonian said. “Tomorrow we’ll fly ahead of everyone to Damascus, and from there to the north, across Hamat, to the Euphrates crossing.”

“How far is that?”

“Three thousand stadiums.”

“Artemis argotera!” Thais blurted. She always called on Artemis when she was startled.

“It’s nothing, darling, compared to what we have yet to travel. I leave you in the care of the head of the detachment, who is in charge of guarding the crossing. That is where you shall wait for the next turn of fate.”

“Where? In a military camp on the river?”

“No. Alexander himself advised …” Ptolemy shrugged. “For some reason he wants to take care of you.”

“Have you forgotten that he invited me back in Athens?”

“I have. He is acting as if you are …”

“Perhaps I would like to, but that’s not the way it is. So what did Alexander advise?”

“Three hundred stadiums north of the crossing, along the royal road from Ephesus to Susa, lies the city of Hierapolis. Its ancient temples of Aphrodite Militis stand amidst pine groves atop sacred hills. You shall give this silver chest with Alexander’s seal to the high priestess there, and they will treat you like a messenger of the gods.”

“Who hasn’t heard of the Hierapolis sanctuary? I thank you. I shall set out tomorrow.”

“You won’t need any guards until you reach the crossing. After that you will be entrusted to the one-eyed Gigamus, who has three hundred soldiers. But enough about business. It has all been decided. You shall wait for me or my messenger, or some other news.”

“I do not want ‘other news’. I believe in victory.” Thais put her arms around Ptolemy and pulled him close. “Potnia Teron, the mistress of animals, will be on your side. I shall make rich sacrifices to her because everyone is certain that the plains beyond the river are under her power.”

“That would be good,” the Macedonian said. “The unknown lies before us, frightening some, exciting others. Alexander and I remembered the time we hunted borius in the Libyan desert. It was a beast never seen by anyone in Egypt, and so feared by the Libyans that they wouldn’t dare even talk about it. We never found borius. I wonder whether the same might happen with Darius.”

The Macedonian left Thais at dawn, when the camp filled with the jingling of horse’s bridles. Pushing a curtain aside, Ptolemy stopped at the entrance with flashing eyes and flaring nostrils.

“Kinupontai phonon halinoi!” he recited. It was a verse from a famous poem. “The horse’s bridles ring of death.”

Thais made a sign of protection with her fingers, the curtain fell and the Macedonian hurried toward the tent of his commander where the rest of the associates had already assembled. The hetaera spread out on her bed, thinking and listening until the noise at the camp ceased and the sound of hooves faded in the distance.