The Novels of Alexander the Great: Fire From Heaven, the Persian Boy, and Funeral Games

9

I LAY IN MY lair. The cured leather was heavy, and stank, but I dared not stir. Sounds of commotion came through muffled, then lessened as the King’s tent was picked clean. Once two men approached and I was in terror; but they thought, as I’d hoped, that if the tent had not been put up it must be empty. After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

I waited long, too muffled to trust my ears. At last, I squirmed till I could put my head out. The glade was empty but for smoldering campfires. After the darkness, even starlight seemed bright; but, beyond, the trees hid everything. There were sounds there of men, going away; loyal troops surely, Artabazos’ men, who had left the rebels, being too few to fight them. I had better catch up.

Burrowing about in the tent, I gathered my belongings. Now for my horse. I had only to think it, to know the answer. All the same, I had to go stumbling over to the picket-lines. Of course nothing on four legs was left.

My poor beautiful little Tiger, the gift of a king; he was not bred to carry weight. I grieved for him, flogged along by some heavy oaf of a Baktrian, in what time I had for it before I felt the truth of my own plight.

The enemy was gone. So were all those who would befriend me. Night must be far spent. I had no notion where they would be making for.

I would need food. In the King’s tent, all that had been in his supper dishes had been tossed out on the floor. Poor man, he had eaten nothing. I filled a napkin, and dipped my water-flask in the stream.

The sounds were now distant. I followed them, praying these were not Baktrians who had just deserted. They seemed to go along the mountain flank; they had left a well-beaten track. It crossed streams; I was wet to the knees, and my riding-boots oozed water. I had not gone cross-country since I was a child, with a scolding and dry clothes awaiting me.

There was no sign yet of dawn. I began to hear women’s voices, and hastened on. They were camp-followers with their baggage, Persians. At this rate, I would soon be abreast of the column. A half-moon was giving a little light, I could go faster now.

Soon I saw a man ahead. He had stopped to make water; I turned away till he had done, and then approached him. He was a Greek; it was them I had overtaken. The women had misled me; of course, they would all be Persian. Hired men brought none from home.

He was a thick man, rather squat, black-bearded. It seemed I knew him, though of course this was impossible. He came and peered at me. His sweat stank. “Why, by the dog!” he said. “It’s Darius’ boy.”

“I am Bagoas, from the Household. I am trying to find Artabazos’ Persians. Am I far out of my way?”

He paused, looking me over. Then he said, “No, not too far. Just follow me, I’ll put you on the path.” He led off into the wood. He was without his armor, as their custom was on the march.

No sign of a path appeared. The wood seemed to get thicker. We were not far in, when he faced about. One look was enough. There was no need of words, and he wasted none. He merely fell on me.

As he bore me to the ground, memory returned to me. He was indeed like someone I’d known: Obares, the jeweler at Susa. In an instant I lived it all again. But I was no longer twelve years old.

He was twice my weight; but I never felt a doubt that I would kill him. I struggled rather feebly, to hide what I was doing, till I had my dagger out; then I drove it between his ribs, up to the hilt. There was a dance I’d practiced, a favorite of the King’s at bedtime, which ends with a slow back-somersault off the hands. It is wonderful how strong it makes your arms.

He threshed about, choking blood. I dragged out the knife and thrust it into his heart. I knew where that was; I had heard it often enough, thudding away, along with heavy breathing in my ear. He yawned then, and died; but still I stabbed in the dagger, wherever I thought good. I was back at Susa, killing twenty men in one. It was not a pleasure I wish to know again; but I know it was one. I can feel it to this day.

Above me a voice said, “Stop!” I had been aware of nothing, but the body by which I knelt. Doriskos stood beside me. “I heard your voice,” he said.

I stood up, my knife-hand bloody to the wrist. He did not ask why I had done it; my clothes had been pulled half off me. As if to himself, he said, “I thought you were like a child.”

“Those days are long past,” I answered. We looked at each other in the dim light. He had his sword. If he wanted to avenge his comrade, he could kill me like a newborn pup. It was too dark to see his eyes.

Suddenly he said, “Quick, get him out of sight. He has a kinsman here. Come on, take his feet. There in the thicket, down that gully.”

We parted the bushes. It was a winter watercourse, deep and steep. The body tumbled, the bushes closed again.

“He told me,” I said, “that he would lead me towards the Persians.”

“He was lying, they’re marching ahead of us. Clean your hand, and that dagger. There’s water here.” He showed me a trickle down the rocks. “There are leopards in this forest. We were warned not to straggle. He should have remembered.”

“You are giving me my life,” I said.

“I don’t reckon you owe it. What do you mean to do with it, now?”

“I’ll try Artabazos. For the King’s sake, he might take me in.”

“We must move, we’ll lose the column.” We scrambled through the rocky woods; when we came to anything steep, he helped me over it. I was wondering how Artabazos had really felt about the King’s keeping a boy. And he was so old, a ride like this could kill him. About his sons, I knew next to nothing.

“I daresay,” said Doriskos, “the old man will do what he can. But you know where he’s going now? To surrender to Alexander.”

God knows why I had not thought of it. A friend of the young man’s childhood could count on mercy. Oppression of spirit kept me silent.

“In the end,” said Doriskos, “it will come to that with us. No way out of it. None of us will trust Bessos; at least Alexander has a name for keeping his word.”

“But where is Alexander?”

“He’ll be through the pass by now. Two of the Persian lords went pelting off to meet him. They said the King would be better off with him than with the traitors. They won’t lose by it, of course.”

“Pray God they won’t be too late.”

“When Alexander hurries, he hurries. We’d no wish to be in his way. The Persians are well ahead of us; they want to make terms, not be ridden down. Ah, there’s the column.” They were threading through the trees like shadows, keeping their voices low. He did not lead me across to them, but kept alongside. By now I was bruised and sore from the hard going, and glad of his helping hand. When I stumbled, he took my bag for me. A glimmer in open places proclaimed the first of dawn. He sat down on a fallen tree-bole. I was ready to rest.

“So the upshot is,” he said, “we’re skirting the hills, lying low, making for Hyrkania; and after that who knows? If you press on, I daresay you might overtake the Persians at the noon halt. It’ll be a sweat for you, you’re not used to going on foot.” He paused; the dim light now showed me his blue eyes. “Or you could march with me, and let me give you a hand. However we get along, you won’t need to use your knife on me.”

I remembered his smile from our first meeting. It was less wistful now, and more hopeful. With surprise I thought, I can say yes or no for myself. The first time in my life. I said, “I’ll come with you.”

So we joined the column. Even after daylight, I did not cause much stir. Several of the men had boys who marched beside them. There were many more with women; but they all had to keep behind.

When we halted to rest, I shared the last of my food with him; the only time, he said, he was likely to eat from a king’s table.

He was the kindest of companions. When my feet grew sore, he searched all through the troop for some soldiers’ salve, took off my boots, and dressed my feet himself, saying how slender and beautiful they were, though they were in such a state I was ashamed to have them seen. Once, when no one was looking, he even kissed them. It was lucky that when I fought in the thicket, my bow had fallen free, and the quiver had saved my arrows; so I was able to offer something—besides what would have contented him—by shooting for the pot.

From him I learned something of Athens, where, he said, his father had been well off, till some enemy brought a lawsuit against him unjustly; hiring a famous speechmaker to blacken his name with lies. The jury found against him; he was ruined, and Doriskos, the younger son, had to hire out his sword. He said this same speechmaker used to exhort the people how to vote, on the laws, and even on peace or war. This was called democracy, he told me, and had been a fine thing in the good old days, when speechmakers told the truth.

I said we were all brought up to speak the truth in Persia; it was our greatest proverb. No doubt Bessos and Nabarzanes had been taught it too.

It was sad that, with all this goodwill between us, I found his love-making quite without interest. I always pretended pleasure; he set store by this, and one could do no less for a friend. That was the only art I used with him. The Greeks, as it seems, are artless in these matters.

I remembered how, when I fell from the King’s favor, I had said to myself that I would take a lover. I had pictured stolen meetings by moonlight in the park; the whisper of silk at a window; a jewel tied to a rose. Now here I was with a foreign foot-soldier, in a shelter made of brush.

One night he told me of a boy he’d loved in Athens, though his beauty was a pale star to the moon of mine. “He hardly had the first down on his face, when I found he was spending my money on women. I thought it would break my heart.”

“But,” I said, “that is nature, surely, if you take a boy up so young.”

“Beautiful stranger, it would never happen with you.”

I answered, “No. That is why they do it.”

He was some time quiet, then asked if I was very angry. He had been good to me, so I said not. In Greece, he assured me, it was never done. But so long as they sold boys young into the brothels, I did not think the Greeks had so much to boast of.

Living among these was easier, from their having been in Persia so long, and knowing the customs. Though without modesty before each other, they understood it in me. They respected the sanctity of rivers, drawing off water for washing, not defiling the stream. Their own bodies they strangely cleaned by smearing them with oil, which they scraped off with blunt knives, exposing themselves so carelessly that from shame I used to go away. The smell of the oil was disagreeable close to; I never quite got used to it.

At night, the women would make a shelter for their men (some had children too) and cook them supper; they never saw them all day. As for the boys, pretty peasants bought from poor homes for a little silver, led leagues away, and losing all their Persian decencies, I did not like to think what their fate would be. The soldiers who bore the fewest burdens, and laid none on others, were those who had come already lovers from Greece.

In this manner we journeyed, with adventures which then seemed great, for more than half a month, till we came to the eastern hills which end the snow-range, and look down on Hyrkania. Here the Greeks made camp, solid shelters in a wood; they would lie low till they knew where Alexander was. They planned to send him envoys under safe-conduct, not stumble into his hands.

Before long, some hunters told us he was moving along the mountainsides, beating the coverts, since these heights commanded his flank. They could not say if he knew that the Greeks were there.

It was only I who, when all these questions ceased, asked for news of the King. They said he was dead; they supposed Alexander killed him.

The time had come for me to be on my way. Somewhere, Artabazos must have left a camp, when he himself went to Alexander. I asked the hunters. They said a Persian lord was camped in the forest, a day’s journey eastward; who, they did not know. He and his people were all strangers to those parts.

Doriskos and I said our farewells that night; I must start at dawn. No one else on earth cared if I lived or died, and now I felt it.

“I never had a boy like you,” he said, “and I never shall have. You’ve spoiled me for all the rest. Henceforth I shall stick to women.”

All day I went through the forest by hunters’ trails, fearful of snakes at my feet and leopards in the branches, wondering what I should do if the Persians had moved their camp. But before the sun was low I came to it, tucked away by a mountain stream; a thorn-hedge round it, and a guard at the gate who looked like a well-trained soldier. When he saw I was a eunuch, he lowered his spear and asked my business. I became aware I was almost in rags, my clothes worn out and filthy. I told him who I was, and begged for a night’s shelter. After the forest, I did not care who they were, if they took me in.

He sent in the message. Presently a civil man, like a soldier-servant, brought me inside. It was a camp for no more than a few hundred men; there had been thousands with Artabazos. Huts had been run up from timber and thatch; no tents. It seemed these people had come traveling light; but there was a corral of splendid Nisaian horses. I inquired the name of my host.

“Never mind. He offers you hospitality. These days, least said is best.”

His dwelling was built like the rest, but much bigger, with several rooms. To my astonishment, the servant led me to a well-furnished bathroom, which could only be the master’s. “You will like to bathe after your journey. The water will not be long.”

I was ashamed to soil the couch with my dirty clothes. Two Scythian slaves filled the bath with hot water and cold; there was scented oil in it. It was pleasure beyond words. I washed myself and my hair; scarcely noticing when the well-trained servant came in, his eyes politely downcast, and took away all my garments.

While, drowsy with contentment, I reclined in the warm water, the inner door-curtain moved a little. Well, I thought, what of it? That fight in the thicket has made me nervous as a girl. A man like that would have come in. Must I take everyone for an enemy? I got out and dried myself, and put on the fine wool robe that had been left ready.

Instead of my clothes, came a tray of excellent food; sucking kid with sauce, wheat bread, a fragrant wine. Wondering at all this in so rude a setting, I remembered glimpsing, below, the city of Zadrakarta. It seemed my host had arrived with nothing much, except a good deal of money.

I sat full of well-being, combing my hair, when the servant brought in a suit of clothes, saying, “The master hopes you will find these fit.”

They were of fine cloth, a loose coat of dark red, blue trousers and embroidered slippers. They had been stitched here and there, to make them smaller; they must have been measured against mine. I felt like myself again. To honor the event, I touched up my eyes and put on my earrings.

The servant, returning, said, “My master will see you now.”

It was only as I settled my sash, that I remembered my dagger. It had been taken with my clothes, and not brought back.

In the master’s room, a filigree lamp hung from the rafters; bright hangings of local work relieved the timbered walls. My host reclined on the divan, a wine-table before him. He smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.

It was Nabarzanes.

I stood dumb as an ox, my mind in turmoil. Rather than come under this man’s roof who had sold away my master’s life, I ought to have slept out in the forest. Now, bathed, fed, clothed and sheltered, I could not help what I felt; it was gratitude that he had not told me.

“Come in, Bagoas.” He seemed not at all put out by my lack of manners. “Come, sit down. I hope that they looked after you.”

I collected myself and bowed, the least I could do now, and said, speaking the bare truth, “My lord, I am greatly in your debt.”

“By no means. Sit here and let us talk. It is rarely I have a guest here; I am grateful for your company.” I sat down on the divan, and took the wine he offered me. “But,” he said, “whom did you expect to find?”

I told him Artabazos, or his people.

“A fine old man, a pattern of antique virtue. Alexander will welcome him with open arms; it is the kind of thing that delights him.”

He must keep himself well informed here. But I was thinking how far he had gone beyond the duty of host to wayfarer, and how the curtain had moved. As far back as Babylon, I had sometimes wondered.

“You are anxious,” he said in the friendliest way. “I understand it; you can have had no easy journey, your dagger has had use. Set your mind at rest; I do not take guests under my roof and then abuse them.”

My thoughts rebuked, I said that I was sure of it. His person had never been displeasing to me. I would have requited kindness gladly, but for what he had done. It was a matter of honor.

“I know your loyalty to the King.” He must have read my face. “In one thing he was happy; he had devotion from his betters. There must have been something in him, though it was never my luck to find it.”

“He raised me from nothing, and gave me all I had. Not even a dog would have turned against him.”

“No. Even the beaten dog is true. Yet the master dies, and the faithful hound runs stray.”

“He is truly dead, then?” I thought of the cart and the golden bonds, and my heart was angry.

“Yes, truly dead.”

Of a sudden I wondered why, after making this good bargain, he was lurking here in the woods with so small a following. And where was Bessos?

I said, “I hear Alexander killed him.”

“Peasant rumor, my dear boy.” He shook his head with a sad smile. “Alexander would never have killed him. He would have entertained him graciously; set his son on his knee; given him some minor palace to retire to; married his daughter, and courteously required to be named his lawful successor. If later he had rebelled, he would have been stamped on without pity; but of course he would never have done so. He could have lived quite peacefully into old age. All this he began to think of, while Alexander was overtaking us. He came like a Scythian wind; the pass must be strewn with foundered horses. The King’s conveyance was too slow; we freed him and brought a horse. He refused to mount, saying he put more faith in Alexander than in us; he would remain, and make his own terms. By then Alexander was cutting up our rear guard. Each moment was life or death. The King would not be moved. That was why we were forced to kill him with our own hands. Believe me, I regretted it.”

I was silent, gazing into the shadows beyond the lamplight.

“I know,” he said, “what you would be saying, if the laws of hospitality did not restrain you. Take it as understood between us. He was the King, such as he was. But I am a Persian; for me, the second outweighed the first … I did not seek, as the Vizier your namesake did, for a King who would be my creature; but for one who would lead us to honor, whom I could serve with pride. Well, Mithra has had the laugh of me. After all’s done, I am a Persian without a King.”

Wine-softened I might be, but not yet stupid. Why was he telling me all this, why own he had killed the King? Why was he brushing off the difference of rank between us? I could make no sense of it. “But my lord,” I said, “you were all for proclaiming Bessos. Is he dead too?”

“Not yet. He has put on the Mitra and gone to Baktria. He will be dead whenever Alexander gets to him. I am punished, my dear boy, much more for my folly than my treason. I thought I had found a King for Persia. I had found a mountain bandit.”

He topped my wine-cup. “I had supposed he could put on kingship, when it was laid in his lap. Not so. As soon as Darius was in bonds, the Baktrians became a rabble. He could not keep them from sacking the King’s tent, which was now his own. They would even have had the treasure-chest, had I not arranged to secure it.”

He spoke with his leopard-purr. Much was now made clear.

“That was a mere beginning. They rioted along as if in enemy country, plundering, raping, killing. Why not? They were not in Baktria. I reminded Bessos he was now Great King; they were violating his subjects. He thought it a fit reward for good service. I urged the need for haste; if Alexander overtook us, we would lose our whole enterprise. He made light of it. I saw the truth; he did not get them in hand because he could not. They had been good soldiers, serving in the old order they understood. Now they knew only that there was no King. And they were right. There was none indeed.”

His dark eyes stared beyond me. Since he holed-up here, maybe I was the first comer to whom he could tell the tale. “So, when Alexander came storming down on us, with the handful who could keep up with him, he found our rear guard strolling like drunk peasants on market day. His hundreds rounded up thousands, like cattle. I had had enough. I had spent myself, my rank, my fortunes—my good faith too, you would tell me if you could—to change a useless coward for a useless bully. Even Issos was not so bitter. I took my own riders, who had still some discipline left, and led them cross-country to where you find us.”

There was nothing to say; but I remembered my debt to him. “My lord, you are in danger here. Alexander is moving east.”

“Yes, I have heard so. I am planning as best I can. But, my dear boy, enough of my business. Let us think of yours. It distresses me, to think of you living hand to mouth like this. But what prospect can I offer you? Even should God permit me to see my home again, I should be at a loss. I must own to having wished often that you were a girl; or that I could find a girl with your face. But that is as far as my nature takes me. Indeed, you look far less girlish than you did in Babylon. It improves you, it has given you distinction. I would be out of my mind, to put you anywhere in my harem.” He grinned at me; yet I felt something behind this play.

“And yet,” he said, “you are without doubt the most lovely creature my eyes have rested on; woman, girl or boy. There can be only a few more years of it; it would be a crime to waste them. The truth is, you should serve only kings.”

Since he chose to amuse himself, I waited in patience.

“How I wish I could put some future in your way. But I have none myself. In fact, it is clear to me that I must go the way of Artabazos, with none of his fair prospects.”

“Do you mean,” I said startled, “to Alexander?”

“Where else? He is the only Great King we have, or shall have now. Had he been a Persian, and what he is, we should all long since have followed him. All I hope for, at the best, is to be let live in quiet on my own estates. Kings are always affronted by king-killing, and yet … He is a soldier. He has fought Darius twice. I think he may understand me.”

In honor I could not answer.

“He has given me, at least, a safe-conduct to know his terms. If he is set against me, I shall have safe-conduct back here. From then, I shall be driven game.”

“I hope not, my lord.” It was true. He smiled at me kindly.

“Did you see my gift-horses outside? They will be caparisoned, of course, with gold and silver. But he will have plenty just as good.”

In courtesy, I said he could have none finer.

“No, they are nothing much; not for Alexander. After all, he is now the richest man in the world. What can one give to such a man? If he wants it, he already has it. There is only one real gift for a man like that; something he has been wanting a long time, without being aware of it.”

“That would be hard to find, my lord, when you do not know him.”

“And yet, I believe I have seen the very thing.”

“I am glad, my lord. What is it?”

He answered, “You.”