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

16

SPITAMENES, ONE OF BESSOS’ two traitor lords, was besieging Marakanda. When the first force Alexander sent had been cut up, he went himself. At the news of his approach, Spitamenes decamped, and escaped into the northern deserts. By the time the country was in order, winter was coming on. Alexander, to keep an eye upon the Scythians, wintered at Zariaspa-upon-Oxos.

It’s a fair-sized town, north of the ferry; the river flows very wide there. They have channeled its waters round about, and made green things grow; beyond is the desert. In summer it must be a furnace. They’ve more cockroaches there than anywhere else I’ve known; most houses keep tame snakes to eat them.

Alexander had the governor’s house, of real fired brick; a grandeur where mud-brick was the rule. He had good hangings and fine furniture to make it kingly. It pleased me to see him grow less careless of his state. He’d had a beautiful new robe made, purple bordered with white, the Great King’s colors, for state occasions. For the first time, here, he put on the Mitra.

I took it on myself to say all Persians would expect it when he tried Bessos. To try pretenders, a king must look like a king.

“You are right,” he said. “It’s a Persian matter, and must be done the Persian way. I am taking advice upon the precedents.”

He was pacing about the room, and frowning to himself. “It will mean a Persian sentence. The nose and ears, beforehand. Oxathres will be content with nothing less.”

“Of course, my lord. He is Darius’ brother.” I did not say, “Why else should he accept a foreign king?” He could see that for himself.

“It is not our custom,” he said, still pacing. “But I shall do it.” He never said anything uncertain. Yet I feared he might change his mind, which would do him great harm among the Persians. My father had suffered only for keeping faith; why should this traitor escape? Besides, I owed another debt.

“Did I ever tell you, Al’skander, what Darius said before they dragged him away? ‘I no longer have power to punish traitors, but I know who will.’ Bessos thought he was speaking of our gods; but he said it was you he meant.”

He paused in his stride. “Darius said that of me?”

“I myself heard it.” I thought of the horse and the silver mirror and the necklaces. Even I had my obligations.

He paced a while longer; then said, “Yes, it must be by your custom.”

I said to myself, Be at peace, poor King, whatever the River of Ordeal has left of you to attain Paradise. Forgive me that I love your enemy. I have made what amends I can.

From the street I saw Bessos led to his trial. He had shrunk, since that night I had recalled; his face was heavy as clay. He knew his fate. When first they took him, he had seen Oxathres riding by Alexander.

If he had surrendered along with Nabarzanes, he would have been spared. Oxathres came in later, and would never have got Alexander to break his given word. He kept it to Nabarzanes, whatever Oxathres wished. I often wondered why Bessos ever put on the Mitra. For love of his people? If he had led them well, they would not have forsaken him. I suppose Nabarzanes first tempted him to kingship; but he had not Nabarzanes’ suppleness. He could not wield it, yet could not let it go.

He was tried in Greek and Persian. The council agreed. He would lose his nose and ear-tips; then be sent to Ekbatana, where he had betrayed his lord; and be crucified, before an assembly of Medes and Persians. It was all in order, and according to custom.

I did not join the crowd that saw him go. His wounds would be fresh; I was afraid he’d look like my father.

In due time, word came from Ekbatana that he was dead. He had been nearly three days dying. Oxathres had ridden all the way there, to watch. When the body was taken down, he had it cut up small, and strewn on the mountain for the wolves.

The court stayed at Zariaspa most of that winter.

From all over the empire, people made the journey, and Alexander entertained them with splendor, as he had learned to do. One evening before supper, he had put on his Persian robe, and I was draping the folds for him.

“Bagoas,” he said, “before now I’ve heard from you what the Persian lords daren’t tell me. How much do they feel it, that they make the prostration, and the Macedonians not?”

I’d known he would ask me in the end.

“My lord, they do feel it. That I know.”

“How?” He turned round to look at me. “Is it spoken of?”

“Not before me, Al-ex-ander.” I still had to go slowly, to get it right. “No one would do that. But you in your courtesy keep your eyes on the man you are greeting, while I can look where I choose.”

“You mean they look angry, to see a Persian do it?”

This was less easy than I’d hoped. “Not quite that, Al’skander. We’re brought up to do it before the King.”

“You have said enough. It’s when a Macedonian doesn’t?”

I settled the pleats of his sash, and did not answer.

He moved restlessly, before I had it right. “I know. Why put you to the pain of telling me? But from you I always get the truth.”

Well, sometimes he got what I knew would make him happy. But one thing he never got from me, was a lie that could do him harm.

That night at supper he kept his eyes well open. I think he saw a good deal, while they were fresh. This did not last all through supper, at Zariaspa.

He had said truly, that Oxos water is poison to those not bred to it. I suppose that among the natives, those whom it kills die young, before they have time to beget offspring.

No vines grow there; the wine comes in from Baktria. Baktrian wine is strong; but they reckon three parts of it to one of water, to kill the Oxos flux.

It was winter, and almost cool; no Persian host would have dreamed of offering wine before the sweets. But the Macedonians drank from the start, as always. Persian guests would sip for manners; the Macedonians drank deep as ever.

To be drunk now and then, what harm does it do a man? But give him strong wine night after night, and it takes a hold. If only my lord had wintered in the hills by a pure spring, he would have been spared much grief.

Not that he was really drunk every night. It would depend on how long he sat at table. He did not toss it down like the others, not at first. He would sit with the cup before him, and talk, and drink, and talk again. Cup for cup, he drank no more than before. But Baktrian wine should be mixed with two-thirds of water. Each cup he drank was twice the strength he was used to.

Sometimes after a late night he would sleep as late as noon; but for serious business he was always up, brisk and ready. He remembered even my birthday. At supper he called for a toast to me; commended my faithful service; gave me the gold cup he had drunk from, and then a kiss. The veteran Macedonians looked much scandalized; whether because I was a Persian, or a eunuch, or because he was not ashamed of me, I can’t say. I suppose all three.

He did not forget the prostration. It was on his mind. “It will have to be changed,” he said to me. “And not with the Persians, it’s far too old. If Kyros began it as they say, he must have had a good reason.”

“I think, Al’skander, to reconcile the peoples. It was the Median custom, before.”

“You see! Fealty from both, but neither people to lord it over the other. I tell you, Bagoas, when I see some Persian whose title goes back before Kyros’ time, and who has it written all over him, bowing to the ground; and a Macedonian my father made out of nothing, whose own father wore sheepskins, looking down as if at a dog, I could knock his head off his shoulders.”

“Don’t do that, Al’skander,” I said, only half laughing.

The hall downstairs was quite big, but the upstairs rooms were cramped; he turned about like a leopard in a cage. “In Macedon, the lords have learned so lately to obey the King at all, they think that’s doing a favor. At home, in my father’s day, he would put on fine manners for foreign guests; but when I was a boy, supper was like a feast of peasants … I know how your people feel. I draw my blood from Achilles and from Hektor, and before that from Herakles; we won’t speak of anything else.” He was on his way to bed; not very late, but still the wine had exalted him. I was afraid his bath would get cold.

“It’s simple with the soldiers. They may think I have my fancies when off the field; but on it, we know each other. No, it’s the men of rank, those I must entertain with Persians … You see, Bagoas, at home they think prostration is for gods.”

There was something in his voice, which told me he was not just instructing me. I knew him. I felt the current of his mind. Why not? I thought. Even the soldiers feel it, though they don’t know what they feel.

“Al-ex-ander,” I said, letting him know I was weighing every word, “everyone knows that the oracle at Siwah cannot lie.”

He looked at me with his deep grey eyes, saying nothing. Then he pulled his sash undone. I disrobed him. He gave me another look. I saw, as he meant, the catapult wound on his shoulder; the sword-slash across his thigh; the purple dent on his shin. Truly, those wounds had run blood, not ichor. He was remembering, too, the time he had drunk bad water.

His eyes rested on mine, half smiling; yet with something in them that neither I, nor anyone would reach. Perhaps the oracle had, at Siwah.

I touched his shoulder, and kissed the catapult wound. “The god is present,” I said. “The mortal flesh is his servant and his sacrifice. Remember us who love you, and do not let the god take it all away.”

He smiled and held out his arms. That night the mortal flesh received its due. Though gentle, it was as if he mocked himself. And yet the other presence stood waiting, ready to claim him back again.

Next day he was shut up with Hephaistion a long time alone, and the old sickness bit my heart. Then there was much coming and going among the King’s best friends; then messengers went out, summoning guests to a great supper of fifty couches.

On the day, he said to me. “Bagoas, you know what I’ve had in mind? Tonight we shall try for it. Put on your best clothes and look after my Persian guests. They know what to expect, Hephaistion has been seeing them. Just make them feel valued; you with your court manners can do that best.”

So, I thought, after all he needs me too. I put on my best suit, which by now was a very good one, crusted with gold embroidery on a dark-blue ground; and came to dress Alexander. He wore his grand Persian robe, but a low coronet, not the Mitra. He was dressed for Macedonians too.

If only, I thought, they would keep the wine till dessert-time. This will be delicate business.

The hall was splendidly garnished for the feast. I greeted the Persian lords, in the proper way, and led each to his supper couch, with compliments where they would be acceptable, on someone’s famous ancestor, breed of horses, and so on; then I went to attend on Alexander. The meal went smoothly, in spite of all the wine; the dishes were carried out. Everyone made ready to toast the King. Someone got up; as people thought, to propose it.

This one was certainly sober. He was Anaxarchos, a tame philosopher who followed the court about; the kind Greeks call a sophist. As for wisdom, he and Kallisthenes had not half enough between them to make one good philosopher. When Anaxarchos rose, Kallisthenes looked as angry as an old wife with a young concubine, at not having been asked to speak first.

Certainly, he’d not have done it so well. Anaxarchos had a well-trained voice, and must have conned his speech by heart with every grace-note. He led off about some Greek gods who’d started life as mortals, and been deified for their glorious deeds. Herakles was one, the other Dionysos. Not a bad choice; though I doubt he had what I had in mind, which was that Alexander had some of both in him: the urge to great labors beyond reach of all other men; and the beauty, the dreams, the ecstasy … did I think, then, the madness also? I expect not; I can’t remember.

These divine beings, said Anaxarchos, while on earth, had shared the trials and sorrows of the human lot. If only men had seen their godhead earlier!

Then he rehearsed the deeds of Alexander. The plain truth, though known already, struck home even to me. Anaxarchos said that when it pleased the gods—let them keep the day long from us!—to call the King to themselves, no one would doubt that divine honors would at once be paid him. Why not offer them now, to comfort him through his labors; why wait till he was dead? We should all take pride in being the first to give them, and to symbolize it with the ritual of prostration.

All through the speech, I had been watching faces. Not the Persians’; they had been prepared, and were all grave attention. The King’s friends, in the secret too, were doubly busy, applauding and watching others; all but Hephaistion, who for most of the time was watching Alexander, as grave as the Persians, and more attentive still.

I moved from behind his couch, to where I too could see him. I perceived that Anaxarchos’ words, planned for use, had become a pleasure. Though nowhere near drunk, he had of course been drinking; the shine had come into his eyes. He fixed them on the distance, as he did for the sculptors’ drawings. It would be beneath him, to look about and see how people took it.

Most of the Macedonians took it, at first, as a long-winded way of proposing the toast to the King. Cheerful with wine, even the veterans applauded. They were too slow to see where it was leading till the very end, when they looked as if hit suddenly on the head. Luckily I’d been trained against ill-timed laughter.

Others had seen it coming. The time-servers, each eager to be first in the race to please, could hardly wait for the speech to finish. Most of the younger men looked startled at first; but, for them, King Philip’s day was when they were boys made to do as their fathers told them. Now was the time. Since Alexander led them, there had always been something new. He might be going rather far, but they would go along with him.

The older men were dead set against it. Oh, yes! I thought. You are angry that he wants a god’s salutation. If you guessed he was trying to level you with us, how much angrier you’d be! Sulk, then; you’re too few to matter.

Anaxarchos sat down. King’s friends and Persians applauded; no one else. A kind of stir began. The Persians with gestures of respect stood by their couches, preparing to come forward. The King’s friends got up too, saying, “Come, let’s begin.” The sycophants, twitching with eagerness, waited upon precedent. Slowly, the other Macedonians began to rise.

Suddenly Kallisthenes stood up, and in his harsh voice said loudly, “Anaxarchos!” All movement ceased in the hall.

I’d been watching him. I knew the King had been cooler to him, since what I’d said. Resenting Anaxarchos’ speech, he had hung on every word, and caught the drift quite early. I had guessed he would be up to something.

If both these were philosophers, they were pretty different. Anaxarchos’ robe had embroidered borders; his silvery beard was combed like silk. Kallisthenes’, which was black, was thin and straggly; his plainness of dress, since Alexander paid him well, was boorish for a state dinner. He stood well forward, to give us all a view of him. Alexander, who when his friends hailed him had returned from his distance to give them a welcoming smile, now turned, and fixed his eyes on him.

“Anaxarchos,” he led off, as if they were debating in some public street instead of in the Presence, “I think Alexander not unworthy of any honor proper to mortal man. But bounds have been set between honors human and divine.” Of these latter, he gave a catalogue which I thought would go on forever. But such honors, he said, when offered to a man, insult the gods, as royal honors offered a common man would insult the King. At this I heard, all about the hall, low murmurs of assent. Like the storyteller who has caught his audience, Kallisthenes started to bloom. He reminded Anaxarchos he was advising a leader of the Greeks, not some Kambyses or Xerxes. The contempt with which he named these Persian kings was much to the Macedonians’ taste. I saw the Persians exchanging looks. Hiding my shame and anger, I went among those of the highest rank, and made a business of handing sweets. Since I started going to theaters, I’ve seen how an actor can spoil another’s big scene. In my youth and ignorance, I had some such notion myself.

Not put out at all by me—what does a barbarian eunuch matter, serving a barbarian lord?—Kallisthenes went on to say that Kyros, who had founded the prostration, had been humbled by the Scythians who were poor but free. I would only have said myself that he failed to catch them; but more to the purpose, it was aimed at Alexander. Everyone must have known how he honored Kyros; certainly Kallisthenes did, who had once had his trust. He gave it a clever turn by adding that Darius, who had received prostration, had been routed by Alexander who had done without. This licensed the Macedonians to applaud.

They did; and it was clear they were not applauding the hollow compliment. He had brought over all the doubtful ones, who would have complied if let alone. And what he’d caught them with was not respect for the gods, but contempt for Persians. When he named Darius, I didn’t miss the spiteful glance that he aimed at me.

One must be just to the dead, who cannot answer. Maybe one should credit him with courage; maybe just with a blind complacency. The applause of the Macedonians was a brief delight; Alexander’s anger would last.

Not that he made a show of it. After this slap in the face, he was concerned to keep his dignity. In his clear skin the flush showed like a flag; but his face was calm. He beckoned up Chares, spoke to him quietly, and sent him on a round of the Macedonian couches, to tell the guests that if the prostration was against their minds, they need think no more of it.

The Persians had not followed Kallisthenes’ speech, since the interpreter had not thought fit to translate it. His voice when he named the kings must have told its tale. They saw Chares going round, and those who had risen settling back on their couches. There was a silence. The Persian lords looked at each other. Then, without a word exchanged among them, the lord of highest rank came forward, crossing the hall with the carriage such people have learned in childhood. He saluted the King, and went down in the prostration.

In order of precedence, all the others followed.

It was beautiful. No man of breeding could fail to see it was an act of pride. If these uncouth westerners thought themselves above the ancient courtesies, it was beneath a gentleman’s notice. Most of all, though, it was done for Alexander, who had tried to offer them honor. As the foremost faced him, before making his bow, I saw their eyes meet in perfect understanding.

To each, as he made reverence, the King bent graciously; the Macedonians muttered on their couches; till near the end of the line came an oldish man, rather stout, and stiff in the knees, and got down as best he could. Everyone knows that one should not stick out one’s backside; all the others had sunk with grace; but any fool could see the poor man’s infirmities. I heard a snigger somewhere among the Macedonians; then one, a Companion called Leonnatos, gave a loud guffaw. The Persian, just then struggling to rise with a little dignity, was so shocked that he stumbled. I was behind him waiting my turn; I stepped forward, and helped him to his feet.

Concerned with this, I did not see Alexander till he was halfway there. His robe swinging about him, he came down the room as if his feet did not touch the ground, light as the lion running up for its spring. I don’t think Leonnatos saw him coming at all. Without a word, eyes fixed in a wide pale stare, he grasped Leonnatos’ hair with one hand, his girdle with the other, and heaved him off his couch onto the floor.

They say that in battle Alexander seldom fought in anger; that mostly he was light of heart, and often smiling. Yet now I thought, How many men’s last sight has that face been? Leonnatos, floundering upon the floor as angry as a bear, took one look and paled. Even I felt a little cold breath chill my neck. I looked at his sash, to see if he had a weapon.

But he just stood quietly, hands on hips, no more than a little short of breath, and said, “Well, Leonnatos, now you’re down there too. And if you think you look graceful, I wish you could see yourself.” Then he walked back to his supper couch, and spoke coolly to those about him.

A boor has been punished, I thought. No one was hurt. It was foolish to be afraid.

The party broke up early. Alexander came to bed sober. The rage of the lion had gone; he was restless, pacing the room, spoke of the insult to my people, and then burst out, “Why has Kallisthenes turned against me? How did I ever harm him? He’s had gifts, consequence, anything he asked for. If he is a friend, give me an honest enemy. Some of those have done me good; he came to do me harm. He hates me, I saw it. Why?”

I thought, Perhaps he really believes divine honors should be kept for gods. But I remembered the Greeks had given them to men before. Besides, there had been something else. When you are used to courts, you get the feel of it. He was a Greek; I could not tell who might be behind him. I just said, therefore, that it seemed he wanted to form himself a faction.

“Yes; but why, that’s the thing.” With some trouble, I got him to disrobe and take his bath. I had no comfort to offer which suited his mood just then, and I feared he would not sleep.

It was not only his being robbed of his rights, which he’d known for his due while they were being proclaimed. They had failed in love to him. He felt it too deeply to speak of it. Wounded in the moment of exaltation, he was bleeding still. Yet he had contained his anger; it was the insult to the Persian, had loosed it off. He had ended in thought for us, as he had begun.

I had put him to bed, and was seeking some word of comfort, when a voice at the door said, “Alexander?” His face lightened as he said “Come in.” It was Hephaistion. I knew he’d have come in without knocking, but for knowing I would be there.

I left them together. On the day of the oracle, I thought, he was there waiting, he was told it all. Now he is here to do what I cannot. And once more I wished him dead.

As I tossed on my pillow, I said to myself at last, Do I grudge my lord the herb that will heal him, because another gathers it? No, let him be healed. Then I cried my eyes out, and fell asleep.

At the winter’s end, Alexander moved his court to Marakanda. We were free of the poisonous Oxos and the hot plains. Now, I thought, all will be well.

It was like a paradise, after Zariaspa; a green river valley in mountain foothills; tall white peaks above; the water like liquid ice, and clean as crystal. Already in the many gardens almond trees were budding, and small delicate lilies sprang from the melting snows.

Though in Sogdiana, it is not wild like the backlands; it is a crossroads for caravans; you meet people from everywhere. The bazaars sell horse-collars set with turquoise, and daggers with wrought-gold sheaths. One can buy Chin silk there. I got enough for a coat, sky-colored, embroidered with flowers and flying serpents. The dealer said it had been a year upon the road. Alexander said Chin must be in India, there was nothing further than that but the Encircling Ocean. His eyes glowed, as always when he spoke of distant marvels.

The citadel perches westward above the city; a good-sized fort, with a real Palace in it. Here Alexander did a great deal of business, which had not reached him in the north. He entertained many Persians of high rank; and, as I saw, felt no better about the prostration.

Leonnatos had been forgiven. He was a man, Alexander said to me, who was a good fellow in the main, and would have had more sense when sober. I answered that things would be better here, where we had mountain water.

I spoke only in hope for him. He had drunk strong wine too long beside the Oxos; he had the taste for it. Here he tempered it more, maybe half and half; but that’s not enough for Baktrian wine.

If the talk was good, he would talk more than he drank, and even if he sat up late, all would be well. But at other times, he just set out to drink. All Macedonians do it; by the Oxos, they’d come to do it more than before.

Never in his life was he drunk upon campaign. His victories had been too brilliant; his enemies left him time for it. He never did it when he had to be up early, even if it was only to hunt. Sometimes he’d be two or three days at that, camping in the hills; it cleared his blood, and he’d come back fresh as a boy.

He was getting into our ways. At first, I think, to show us we were not slighted; but then he took to them. Why not? He was far above the land he came from, as I’d seen from the very first. He was civilized in his soul; we showed him the outward forms of it. Often now, at audiences, he wore the Mitra. It suited him, being shaped so like a helmet. He had taken into his Household several Palace chamberlains, who hired Persian cooks; Persian guests now got real Persian banquets, and though he always ate sparingly, he did not dislike the food. Feeling him move into harmony with our ways, many who had served him first from fear now did it willingly. His rule was both strong and just; it was a good while since Persia had had both together.

The Macedonians, though, were feeling wronged. They were the victors, and they thought it their due to have it shown. Alexander knew it. He was not a man to give up easily. He tried once more to bring them round to the prostration. This time, he started at the top.

No big feast this time, no Persian guests. Friends he could trust, and Macedonians of importance, who he hoped could be persuaded. He told me the plan, which I thought would persuade anyone. He had the gift of grace.

I was not to be there. He did not tell me why; he knew well enough he need not. Still, resolved to witness it, I slipped into the service anteroom, and posted myself where I could see in through the door. Chares said nothing. Within reason, I could do pretty much what I chose.

All the King’s close friends were there; Hephaistion, Ptolemy, Perdikkas, Peukestas; Leonnatos too, grateful for forgiveness and ready to make amends. As for the others, they knew what was to happen. When Alexander had told me one was Kallisthenes, I looked my doubts; but he said Hephaistion had talked to him and he’d agreed. “And if he breaks his word, I don’t intend to notice it. This won’t be like last time. It will do him no good with the others.”

It was quite a small party, fewer than twenty couches. I saw Alexander kept down the drinking. As long as he lived, there was no pleasure he was a slave to, when he put his will to it. He talked, and drank, and talked.

No one could talk like him, when he chose and had someone to talk to; with a Greek, plays and sculpture and poetry and painting, or the planning of cities; a Persian he would get to talk of his forebears, his horses, the customs of his province, or of our gods. Some of his Macedonian friends had gone to school with him, under Aristotle of whom he still thought so much. With most of the others, who had never read a book and could just about scrawl on wax, it had to be their concerns, their kills at the hunt, their love affairs, or war; which, if the wine had gone briskly round, would soon lead to Alexander’s victories. I suppose it’s true that he sometimes talked too much of them. But any artist likes to relive the best of his art.

Tonight, with well-tempered wine, it all went smoothly. He had the right word for everyone. I heard him ask Kallisthenes if he’d lately heard from Aristotle, which for some reason he answered awkwardly, though he covered it just after. Alexander told the others that as well as his own rarities, he’d ordered the satraps of all the provinces to send anything strange their huntsmen found to the philosopher; and had given him a vast sum, eight hundred talents, to house his collection. “Someday,” he said, “I must go and look at it.”

The tables were cleared; no Persian sweets that night. There was an air of expectation. Chares himself, whose office was far above serving anything, bore in a beautiful gold loving-cup. It was Persian work, I daresay from Persepolis. This he put in Alexander’s hand.

Alexander drank; then held it towards Hephaistion, whose couch was on his right. Hephaistion drank, handed the cup to Chares, rose from his place; and, standing before Alexander, performed the prostration. He did it perfectly. He must have practiced for days.

I drew well back out of sight. This I was not meant to witness, and I knew it was fair enough. I had been bowing to the ground most of my life; so had my forebears back to Kyros’ day. It was just a ceremony, we did not feel it humbled us. For a Macedonian with his pride, it was something else. He had a right, this first time at least, not to have Persians there; and especially not me.

He got to his feet as gracefully as he’d gone down (I’d seen nothing better at Susa) and stepped towards Alexander, who took him by the shoulders and kissed him. Their eyes met smiling. Hephaistion got back on his couch; Chares took the cup to Ptolemy. So it went on; each saluted the King, and was then embraced by the friend. This time, I thought, not even Kallisthenes can be sour.

His turn came near the end. As if by chance, Hephaistion spoke just then to Alexander, who turned his head to answer. Neither watched Kallisthenes.

I watched him. I wanted to decide how much respect he deserved. I soon knew. He did not refuse; he drank from the cup, then walked straight up to Alexander, who he thought had noticed nothing, and presented himself to be kissed. I could picture him later, boasting of having been the only one not to bow. One could scarcely believe a grown man could be such a fool.

Hephaistion’s eyes signaled to Alexander. He said nothing. Kallisthenes had had the chance to keep his word. Having broken it, he would be despised by the most powerful men at court; also resented, for setting himself above them.

It was well reasoned; except that they resented him too much. As Alexander turned to him, one called out, “Don’t kiss him, Alexander! He never bowed.”

The King, having been told, now had to know. He raised his brows at Kallisthenes and turned his face away.

Enough, one would suppose. But Kallisthenes could never let either well or ill alone. He shrugged, and walked off saying, “Oh, well! So I go short of a kiss.”

I suppose if you can keep cool in the front line of battle, to do it with a Kallisthenes is nothing much. Alexander just beckoned Chares, who overtook Kallisthenes as he reached his couch. Looking—if you can believe it—quite surprised at his dismissal, he got up again and went out. I greatly approved the King’s not deigning to address the man himself. Yes, I thought, he is learning.

The last few bowed, as if nothing had happened; the party went on like any friendly meeting. But it was spoiled. Kallisthenes had cut an ignoble figure; but he would make his own story out of it, and encourage others. I thought it over.

The King came to bed early. I listened to all he told me (remember, I’d not been there), then I said, “I would do much more for a kiss than that. I will kill this man for you. It is time. Just give me the word.”

“Would you do that?” He sounded wondering, more than eager.

“Of course I would. Each time you go to war, your friends are killing your enemies. I’ve never killed anyone for your sake. Let me do it now.”

He said, “Thank you, Bagoas. But it’s not the same.”

“No one will know. The caravans bring subtle drugs from as far as India. I will disguise myself, when I buy. I know what to do.”

He took my face in his hand, and said, “Have you done this for Darius?”

I did not reply, No, this is just the plan I made for killing your lover. “No, Al’skander, I have only killed one man, and that was in a fight, to keep his hands off me. But I will do this for you; and I promise you, I won’t botch it.”

He let my face go, quite gently. “When I said it was not the same as war, I meant not for me.”

I should have known. He never killed by stealth in all his life. He had made no secret of Parmenion’s death, once it was done. There must have been a score of men who could have rid him of Kallisthenes and made it look like nature; but what he would not own to, he would not do. And yet, if he had let me serve him as I wished, it would have saved much trouble, and some lives.

After this, he said no more about the prostration. With the Macedonians, he just went back to the old drinking-parties. Yet there was a change. Those who had agreed to bow, from love, or loyalty, or understanding of his reasons, or simple flattery, resented those who’d refused as putting contempt upon them, and slighting the King. Men had now shown where they stood; where there had been uncertain talk, there was bitterness and faction.

Yet when we Persians bowed down, they thought nothing of it. Oh, no; we were just displaying our abject natures. It was only blasphemy when done by Macedonians.

There had been bad blood already between the parties. The force that had first failed to relieve Marakanda had been cut up with some disgrace. They had dislodged the besiegers; but had then gone on to attack a large force of Scythians, and were cornered in a river gorge. Pharneuches the interpreter had been attached to them as envoy; the Macedonian officers, of horse and foot, tried to get him to assume command. No one will know the whole truth; the few survivors put the blame here or there; but it seems the cavalry commander made off with his men across the river, leaving the foot in the lurch; they scrambled after as best they could; all were stranded on a river island, sitting targets for Scythian arrows; and not many swam away to tell the tale. Marakanda had been besieged again; Alexander himself relieved it, rode on to find what was left of the wretched corpses, and gave them burial.

He was furious at having good men butchered by such bungling, and said he could spare Pharneuches less than such commanders. His own friends said these were men who’d not thought Persians good enough to eat with; only to shoulder their commands when things looked bad. There was rancor about it; it made them more quarrelsome in their drink. Each night I was uneasy lest some brawl should start in the King’s presence. That was the worst I feared. God spared me from foreknowledge.

It was about this time that Kleitos the Black (so called from his bushy beard) called at the Palace, asking for the King.

It was he who shared with Hephaistion command of the Companions. If you wanted a type of the old school, you found it here. Alexander always humored him, because he had known him from the cradle; he was the younger brother of the royal nurse, a Macedonian lady of good blood. He would be about a dozen years the King’s elder. He had fought under King Philip; he liked the old ways, free-spoken among one’s peers, despising foreigners. I suppose he could remember Alexander at a year old, tumbling about and puddling on the floor. It takes a small mind to remember such things against a great one; but I don’t think, even by trying, Kleitos could have made his mind much larger. He was a very good soldier, and brave in battle. Every time he saw Persians, you could see him wishing he had killed more than he had.

It was a pity, therefore, that when he came for audience, Oxathres was the bodyguard on duty.

I was passing at the time; and hearing him addressed as if he were a servant, paused to look. Though he disdained to notice the rudeness, he did not mean to leave his post and run on errands; he beckoned me up, and said in Persian, “Bagoas, tell the King that Kleitos the Commander asks to see him.”

I replied in the same tongue, and made him a little bow; it seemed proper not to forget what our stations had been at Susa. As I turned to go, I saw Kleitos’ face. Two barbarians between him and the King, and one a eunuch! Till then it had all felt natural; now I saw what he thought of being announced by a Persian whore.

The King saw him quite soon. His business was nothing out of the way; I overheard it. It was only when he came out, and saw Oxathres at his post, that his brow grew black again.

Soon after this, the King gave a big supper, mostly for Macedonians; a few Greeks were there, envoys from western Asia; and some Persians of importance in the province, whose offices he had confirmed.

His Household had grown to match his state; it was fit to look after guests of any rank. I could have gone shopping in the bazaar, or watched some dancing, or lit my lamp and read my Greek book, which had become a pleasure. Yet I went to the supper hall. No strange chance took me there. I was just anxious, and hung about. Such warnings may come from God; or from feeling the weather, as shepherds can. If God had sent me, he would have found me some good to do.

It was strange from the very outset. Alexander had done sacrifice that day to the Dioskouroi, the twin heroes of the Greeks. Kleitos had planned a sacrifice of his own; to Dionysos, for this was the god’s day in Macedon, and he was always one for the old customs. He had poured libations on his two sheep, ready to slit their throats, when he heard the horn blow for supper; so he left everything, and went. But the silly sheep, taking their butcher for their shepherd, trotted along behind him, and followed him through the door. Everyone shouted with laughter; till it came out that these were beasts of sacrifice, dedicated already. The King was disturbed for Kleitos at this omen, and sent to the priests to sacrifice for his safety. Kleitos thanked him for the kind thought; and the wine came in.

I could see at once this was a night when Alexander felt like drinking. He set the pace; the wine-pourers went round so fast, everyone was tipsy by the time the meat was finished; when, at a decent Persian feast, the wine would first have come in. I am angry to this day, when ignorant Greeks say we taught the King deep drinking. Would to God he had learned from us.

There was a dessert that day; beautiful apples from Hyrkania. They had traveled well; Alexander had made me take one before supper, in case there should be none left. He was never too busy to think of things like that.

It seems the nature of man to turn God’s good gifts to evil. At all events, it was over these apples that the talk began to go wrong.

The fruits of all earth’s four quarters, said Alexander’s friends, now reached him from his own lands. The Dioskouroi had been deified for conquests far less than his.

Now I know, from my later reading, that this is true. The furthest the Twins ever got from their Spartan home, was up to the Euxine in Jason’s ship; about as far as from Macedon to western Asia, and just the coast at that. Their other wars had been these little Greek ones, cattle-raids, or getting their sister back from some king of Athens; all quite near home. Good fighters, no doubt; but I never heard they could fight hand to hand while leading men in battle. One of them was just a boxer. So Alexander did not deny he had excelled them. Why should he? Yet I felt the breath of trouble.

Sure enough, the old school started to raise the cry of blasphemy. At this, the King’s friends shouted out (by now everyone was shouting) that the Twins had been born as mortal as Alexander; and it was only spite and envy, putting on a false face of reverence, which had denied him the same honors, better earned.

As if touched by the ferment in the hall, I had helped myself well to wine out in the anteroom, and was in a haze; as one is in dreams where disasters loom, but one knows one can do nothing. Sober, though, I would have known the same.

“Alexander this, Alexander that, all Alexander!” Kleitos’ thick raucous voice topped all the rest. It brought me from the anteroom to the entry. He was standing up in his place. “Did he conquer Asia by himself? Did we do nothing?”

Hephaistion yelled back (he was as drunk as all the rest), “He led us! You didn’t get as far in Philip’s day.”

This was just the thing to double Kleitos’ anger. “Philip!” he cried. “Philip started with nothing! How did he find us? Tribes feuding, rival kings, enemies all round. He was struck down before he was fifty, and where was he then? Master of Greece; master of Thrace to the Hellespont; all ready to march to Asia. But for your father,” he shouted straight at Alexander, “where would you be today? Without the army he left you ready? You’d be still beating off the Illyrians.”

I was shocked to the soul that such insolence was being heard by Persians. Whatever was done to the man later, he must be got out at once. I looked for the King to order it.

“What!” he shouted back. “In seven years? Are you off your head?”

Never had I known him so to forget himself. It was like some trooper in a tavern. And the drunk fools of Macedonians did nothing but shout along with him.

“—still fighting the Illyrians!” bawled Kleitos over again.

Alexander, who was used to being heard above a battle when he raised his voice, lifted it now. “My father was fighting the Illyrians half his life. And they never kept quiet till I was old enough to do it for him. I was sixteen. I drove them leagues beyond their borders, and there they’ve stayed. And where were you? Lying up with him in Thrace, after the Triballians had thrashed you.”

I had long heard that Queen Olympias had been a turbulent jealous woman, who taught him to hate his father. This, I thought, is what comes of their having no one trained to manage their harems properly. I could have sunk with shame.

A roar of dispute broke out. The disaster by the river was fought over once again. During the hubbub Alexander came to himself a little. He called for silence, in a voice that at once procured it; I could see him fighting for calm. Presently he said to the Greek guests sitting near, “You must feel like demigods among wild beasts, in all this uproar.”

Kleitos had heard. Purple with drink and fury, he yelled, “Beasts now are we? And fools and bunglers. It’ll be cowards next. That’s what it will be! It’s we, the men your father made us, we put you where you are. And now his blood’s not good enough for you, you son of Ammon.”

Alexander was dead silent a moment; then he said, not loudly but in a voice so deadly it cut through everything, “Get out.”

“Yes, I’ll go,” Kleitos said. “Why not?” Suddenly his arm shot out and pointed straight at me. “Yes, when we have to beg barbarians like that creature there for leave to see you, better stay away. It’s the dead, it’s Parmenion and his sons, it’s the dead are lucky.”

Without a word, Alexander reached to his dish of apples, drew back his arm, and hurled one at Kleitos’ head. It hit dead on; I heard the clunk on his skull.

Hephaistion had jumped to his feet, and was standing by Alexander. I heard him say to Ptolemy, “Get him outside. For the gods’ love, get him out.”

Ptolemy went over to Kleitos, who was still rubbing his head, took his arm and eased him towards the outer doors. Kleitos turned and waved the other arm. “And this right hand,” he said, “saved you at Granikos, when you’d turned your back on Spithridates’ spear.”

Alexander, who had on his half-Persian robe, grabbed at his sash, as if he hoped to find a sword there. Perhaps in Macedon they’d even worn them at supper. “Turned my back?” he shouted. “Liar! Wait for me, don’t run away.”

Now he had good cause for anger. Though Spithridates’ kin had always claimed, at Susa, that he’d fallen hand to hand with Alexander, they had done him too much honor; he had tried to take him from behind when he was fighting someone else. Kleitos, coming up in turn behind Spithridates, had cut through his lifted arm. Any soldier in reach, I suppose, would have done the same; and Kleitos boasted of it so often that everyone was sick of it. To say Alexander had turned his back was truly infamous. He was already on his feet, when Hephaistion and Perdikkas gripped him round the middle. He struggled and cursed them, trying to break their hold, while Ptolemy shoved Kleitos towards the doors, still uttering some defiance swamped by the noise. Hephaistion said, “We’re all drunk. You’d be sorry after.”

Alexander, wrenching at their arms with both hands, said between his teeth, “This is how Darius finished. Is it fetters next?”

He is possessed, I thought; it is more than the wine; he must be saved. I ran up to the struggling knot of men. “Al’skander, it wasn’t like this with Darius. These are your friends, they don’t wish you harm.” He half turned and said “What?” Hephaistion said, “Go away now, Bagoas”; speaking impatiently, as if to a child who comes up for notice when everyone is busy.

Ptolemy had walked Kleitos down the hall to the doors, and pulled them open. He nearly got away and back into the hall, but Ptolemy kept his hold. They vanished and the doors closed after them. Hephaistion said, “He’s gone. It’s over. Don’t make a show of yourself, come and sit down.” They let him go.

He threw back his head, and gave a great shout in Macedonian. A score of soldiers came running in from outside. He had called the guard.

“Trumpeter!” he said. The man stepped forward. It was his duty always to be in reach of the King. “Sound the general alarm!”

The man lifted his trumpet, slowly, putting off the moment to blow. It would have turned the whole army out. From his post he must have heard nearly everything. Hephaistion, standing behind the King, signed to him “No.”

“Sound the alarm,” said Alexander. “Are you deaf? Sound the alarm.”

Again the man raised the trumpet. He saw the eyes of five or six generals fixed on him, saying no. He lowered it. Alexander hit him in the face.

Hephaistion said, “Alexander.”

For a moment he paused, as if coming to himself. He said to the gaping guards, “Go to your posts.” The trumpeter, after one anxious glance, went too.

Early in the uproar, the Persians had excused themselves to the chamberlains, and slipped away. The ever-curious Greeks had stayed much longer, then scrambled off without ceremony when the guard was called. It was now all Macedonians; their own quarrel forgotten, gaping like rustics beside whose village brawl a thunderbolt has fallen.

I thought, They should have let me near him. When I named Darius, he heard. Never mind what they do, I am going back to him.

But he was free now, striding down the hall, calling for Kleitos as if he were still in hearing. “All this faction in the camp, it’s all your doing!”

He passed by me unseeing; and I let him pass. How could I take hold of him before all these people? There had been enough unseemliness. That he should have wished to chastise this insolent boor with his own hands, instead of sending for the executioners! What king could think of such a thing, except one reared in Macedon? It was bad enough, without his Persian boy dragging at his arm in sight of everyone. I expect it made no difference, I daresay he would have shaken me off unheard. Yet even now, I wake in the night and think of it.

Just then, Ptolemy slipped in quietly through the service door, and said to the others, “I walked him right outside the citadel. He’ll cool off there.”

The King was still calling “Kleitos!” but I felt better. He’s just fighting drunk, I thought. It will soon go off. I’ll get him into a good hot bath, and let him talk. Then he’ll sleep till noon, and wake up himself again.

“Kleitos, where are you?” As he reached the outer doors, they burst wide open. There stood Kleitos, red-faced and panting. He must have started back as soon as Ptolemy left him.

“Here’s Kleitos!” he shouted. “Here I am!”

He had come back for the last word. He had thought of it too late, and would not forgo it. It was his fate to be given his wish.

From the doors behind him, a guard came in doubtfully, like a muddy dog. He’d had no orders to keep out the Commander; but he did not like it. He stood spear in hand, looking dutiful and ready. Alexander, checked in his stride, stared unbelievingly.

“Listen, Alexander. Alas, ill rule in Hellas …”

Even Macedonians know their Euripides. I daresay everyone there but I could have completed these famous lines. The gist of them is that the soldiers do it all, the general gets it all. I don’t know if he meant to go on.

A flash of white went to the door, and turned again. There was a bellow like a slaughtered bull’s. Kleitos clutched with both hands at the spear stuck in his breast; fell and writhed grunting; jerked in the death-spasm. His mouth and eyes fixed, wide open.

It had been so quick, for a moment I thought the guard had done it. The spear was his.

It was the silence, all down the hall, that told me.

Alexander stood over the body, staring down. Presently he said, “Kleitos.” The corpse glared back at him. He took the spear by the haft. When it would not come, I saw him begin the soldier’s movement to brace his foot on the body; then flinch and pull again. It jerked out, a handspan deep in blood, splashing his clean white robe. Slowly he turned it round, the butt on the ground, the point towards him.

Ptolemy has always maintained that it meant nothing. I only know I cried, “No, my lord!” and got it away. I took him unready, as he had done the guard. Someone reached over and carried it out of sight. Alexander sank on his knees by the body, and felt over its breast; then covered his face with his bloody hands.

“Oh God,” he said slowly, “God, God, God, God.”

“Come away, Alexander,” Hephaistion said. “You can’t stay here.”

Ptolemy and Perdikkas helped lift him to his feet. At first he resisted, still searching the corpse for life. Then he went with them, like a sleepwalker. His face looked dreadful, all striped with blood. The Macedonians, in little knots, stared as he passed. I hurried after him.

At the door of his room, the squire on guard started forward saying, “Is the King wounded?” Ptolemy said, “No. He doesn’t need you.” Once inside, he flung himself on the bed, face downward, just as he was in his bloodstained robe.

I saw Hephaistion looking about, and guessed what for. I wetted a sponge and gave it him. He pulled at Alexander’s hands and washed them, then turned his head this way and that, and cleaned his face.

Alexander pushed at him and said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting the blood off you.”

“You will never do that.” He was sobered. He knew it all.

“Murder,” he said. He spoke the word over and over, like a foreign one he was trying to learn. He sat up. His face was nowhere near clean. I would have sent for warm water, gone quietly about it, and done it properly. “Go, all of you,” he said. “I want nothing. Leave me alone.”

They exchanged looks and moved towards the door. I waited, to care for him when his first grief was spent.

Hephaistion said, “Come out, Bagoas, he wants no one here.”

“I am no one,” I answered. “Just let me put him to bed.”

I took a step to him; but he said “Everyone go”; so then I went. If Hephaistion had kept his mouth shut, I’d just have sat quietly in a corner till he forgot about me. Then, later in the night, when the life runs low, he would not have been sorry to have me tend him. They had not laid a blanket on him, and the nights were cold.

They went off talking together. In my room I kept my clothes on, in case he called for me. I could well understand, having brought on himself so dreadful an indignity, he could bear no one near him now. My heart shed blood for him. We had taught him enough in Persia, for him to feel his shame. When Nabarzanes had asked Darius to step down for Bessos, and the King had drawn his scimitar, it had been almost a courtly scene, compared with this.

I pictured such a person as Kleitos insulting the King at Susa, if such a thing could be conceived. The King would just have motioned with a finger, and the proper people would have appeared. The man would have been taken off with a hand over his mouth; the feast would have proceeded decently; and next day, when the King had rested, he would have decreed the mode of death. It would all have been quiet and seemly. The King would have done no more than move his hand.

I thought, He knows he forgot his dignity, before Greeks and even Persians. He feels he has lost esteem. He needs comfort, and to be reminded of his greatness. In all this trouble, he should not be alone.

In the dead hour after midnight, I went along to his room. The squire on duty looked at me, unmoving. From outside, I could hear the high whining of Peritas, and knew he must be weeping. “Let me in,” I said. “The King needs attendance.”

“Not your kind. Nor any other. Those are my orders.”

This youth, Hermolaos, had never left me in doubt of what he thought about eunuchs. He was glad to keep me out; he had no feeling for his master’s grief. The sound tore at my heart; I could hear it now. “You have no right,” I said. “You know I have the entry.” He just held his spear across the doorway. Gladly I would have sunk a knife in him. I went back to bed, and did not close my eyes till morning.

When the night guard had changed, between dawn and sunrise, I went again. It was Metron now. I said, “The King will expect me. Nothing at all has been done for him since before supper.” He was sensible, and let me in.

He lay face upward, staring at the ceiling beams. The blood on his robe had turned dark brown. He had done nothing for himself, not even pulled on the blanket. His eyes looked fixed like a dead man’s.

“Al’skander,” I said. Dully his eyes moved, empty of welcome or displeasure. “Al’skander, it’s almost morning. You have grieved too long.”

I laid my hand on his brow. He let it lie just long enough not to slight me, and turned his head away. “Bagoas. Will you take care of Peritas? He can’t stay shut up here.”

“Yes, after I’ve seen to you. When you’ve taken these things off, and had a bath, you may still get a little sleep.”

“Let him run by your horse,” he said. “It’s good for him.”

The dog had jumped up, and was padding from one to the other of us, full of trouble. He sat down when I told him, but his head still turned about.

I said, “The hot water’s coming. Let us get these dirty clothes off.” I hoped this would work with him. He hated not to be clean.

“I have told you, I want nothing. Just take the dog and go.”

“Oh, my lord!” I cried. “How can you punish yourself for such a fellow? Though the work was beneath you, it was still a good work done.”

“You don’t know what I have done,” he said. “How should you? Don’t trouble me now, Bagoas. I want nothing. His leash is in the window.”

For a moment he growled at me; but Alexander spoke to him, and he went meekly. There were three jars of hot water standing by the door, and a slave was toiling up the stairs with another. I could only send them back.

Metron moved from the door, and said softly, “Won’t he have anything done?”

“No. Only the dog looked after.”

“He’s taking it hard. It’s because he killed a friend.”

“A friend?” I must have stared like an idiot. “Do you know what Kleitos said to him?”

“Well, but he was a friend, since they were boys. He’d a name for being rough-spoken … You’d not understand, not having lived in Macedon. But haven’t you found that friends’ quarrels are the bitterest?”

“Are they?” I said, having no knowledge of it; and led the dog away.

After I’d given him his run, I hung about the door all day. I saw food brought in at noon, and sent out untasted. Later on, Hephaistion came. I could not hear what he said, because of the guard at the door; but I heard Alexander cry out, “She loved me like a mother, and I give her this.” He must have meant his nurse, Kleitos’ sister. Hephaistion left soon after. There was nowhere to withdraw to; but when he saw me he said nothing.

The King sent out, untouched, a good hot supper. Next morning, early, I brought an egg posset to put some strength in him. But a different guard was there, and turned me off. He lay fasting all that day.

After that, people of importance started coming, begging him to take some care of himself. Even the philosophers came, to preach at him. To me, it was beyond belief they should send Kallisthenes. I thought quickly and walked in after him. If he could enter, so could I. I wanted to see about the drinking-water; I remembered the pitcher had not had much in it.

It was just as it had been, quarter full. In two days, and with the thirst a man has after wine, he had not even drunk.

I sat down in a corner, too distressed to listen to Kallisthenes. I think he tried, in his way, to be of use, saying the virtue of repentance was next best to leaving the deed undone. To my mind, his mere presence, setting himself up, was an affront; but Alexander listened quietly, and at the end said without anger that he wanted nothing, but to be alone. I remained, as I’d hoped, unnoticed.

But then in came Anaxarchos, and asked why Alexander lay grieving there, when he was master of the world and had the right to do as he chose. Him too the King heard with patience, though in his state even the grasshopper must have been a burden. Then, just as the stupid man was going, he felt moved to add, “Come, let Bagoas here bring you food and make you fit to be seen.” So I was noticed, and sent out with the sophist, my trouble all gone for nothing.

The third day came; nothing was changed. The news was all over the camp. The men were not strolling the town, but milling in their quarters, or sitting about before the palace; they kept sending to ask after the King. You could not be long with Macedonians, without guessing they killed each other in drinking-brawls pretty often; it had taken them some time to be anxious for him. But they knew that what he willed, he did; and they began to fear that he willed to die.

I had lain fearing it half the night.

I was glad to see Philippos the doctor go in. Though it was before my time, I knew the story of how the King, when very sick, had trusted him enough to take his draught, though Parmenion had just written that Darius had bribed the man to poison him. He’d handed him the letter to read, and meantime swallowed the medicine. But he came out, now, shaking his head.

I must get in, I thought; and I brought two gold staters, to bribe the guard. If he’d asked for a jar of my blood, I would have given that.

As I went to speak to him, the door opened, and Hephaistion came out. I stood aside. “Bagoas,” he said, “I want a word with you.”

He led me down into the open courtyard, away from eavesdroppers; then he said, “I don’t want you to see the King today.”

Because of his great power, I tried to hide my anger. What if he sent me from my lord? I said, “Is that not for the King to order?”

“True.” I saw, surprised, that he too was holding back; what had he to fear from me? “If he asks for you, no one will keep you out. But stay away till he does.”

It shocked me. I had thought better of him. I answered, “He is killing himself like this. If he is saved, do you care who saves him? I do not care.”

“No,” he said slowly, looking down from his tall height. “No, I daresay.” He still spoke as if to a tiresome child, but one he had half forgiven. “I doubt he will kill himself. He will remember his destiny. He has great endurance, as you’d know if you’d soldiered with him. He can stand a great deal of punishment.”

“Not without water,” I said.

“What?” he said sharply. “He has water there, I saw it.”

“It is just as it was when you fetched me out the first night.” I added, “I concern myself with these things, when I am allowed.”

Still he held back. “Yes, he must take water. I will try to make him.”

“But not I?” I regretted, now, not having poisoned him at Zadrakarta.

“No. Because you will go in there and tell him the Great King can do anything.”

What I had meant to say was different, and no business of his. I answered, “So he can. The King is the law.”

“Yes,” he said. “I knew you would tell him that.”

“Why not? Who will give him respect, if traitors can spit in his face? At Susa, a man like Kleitos would have prayed for the death he got.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. I thought of Philotas’ screams, but did not remind him. I only said, “Of course, if the King had been himself, he would not have soiled his hands with it. He knows that now.”

He took a deep breath, as if restraining himself from clouting my head. “Bagoas,” he said slowly, “I know the Great King can do anything. Alexander knows it too. But he also knows he is King of the Macedonians, who can’t do everything. He cannot kill a Macedonian, with his own hand or anyone else’s, unless Assembly has voted. This he forgot.”

I remembered him, then, saying, “You don’t know what I have done.”

“It is not our custom,” I said, “to bring in the wine so early. Think how he was insulted and defied.”

“I know all about that. I knew his father … But that’s no matter. He broke the first law of Macedon. And he was not master of himself. That’s what he can’t forget.”

“But,” I cried, “he must forgive himself. He must, or he will die.”

“Of course he must. Do you know what the Macedonians are doing now? They are calling an Assembly, to try Kleitos for treason. They’ll convict him, and then his death will be legal. It was the men who wanted it. They are doing it to make Alexander forgive himself.”

“But,” I said staring, “don’t you want that too?”

“Yes,” He spoke as if I might not understand Greek. “Yes, but I am concerned with the terms on which he does it.”

I replied, “I am concerned only for him.”

Suddenly he shouted at me, as if at some awkward soldier. “You fool of a boy! Will you listen to sense?” It winded me like a blow, after his quiet.

“Have you noticed,” he said, standing over me with his fists upon his belt, “that Alexander likes his men to love him? Yes or no? Well, his men are Macedonians. If you don’t know what that means by now, you must be deaf and blind. In Macedon, any freeman can speak man to man with his chief; chief or freeman can speak to the King. And I tell you this; they can much better understand what Alexander did to Kleitos in the heat of anger, which might have happened to any one of them, than they’d understand an execution in cold blood next day. That would have threatened all their freemen’s rights, and they’d have loved him less. If you love him, never tell him he is above the law.”

His earnestness transformed him. I said, “Anaxarchos told him that.”

“Oh, Anaxarchos!” He shrugged. “But he might listen to you.”

He had owned it. It could not have been easy. I owed him some return.

“I understand you. I see that you must know best. I won’t say those things to him; I promise. May I see him now?”

“Not now. It’s not that I doubt your word; but at present, he’s better among Macedonians.”

He went away. He had taken my promise, and given nothing back. I had never craved for power, as some eunuchs do; only for love. Now I understood what power is good for. He had it. If I had had it, someone would have let me in.

All that long day, I kept going to ask the guard if the King had eaten or drunk. The answer always was that he’d said he wanted nothing.

The soldiers had tried Kleitos, and pronounced him a traitor, justly put to death. Surely he would take heart from this proof of love? But not even this had moved him. Could it really be true he felt that he’d killed a friend? I remembered the bad omen of the sheep, and his sacrifice for Kleitos’ safety. He had asked him to come and share the good apples, too.

The sun rose to its zenith; the sun declined. How many suns more?

I kept to my room till the night was late, lest Hephaistion should see me. When all was quiet, I took a pitcher of fresh spring water, and a clean cup. All would depend on who was the night-guard squire before the door. God was kind to me. It was Ismenios. He had always treated me well; and he loved the King.

“Yes, go in,” he said. “I don’t care if he curses me after. I went in myself, when I came on guard. But he was asleep; I didn’t dare wake him.”

My heart nearly ceased its motion. “Asleep? Did you hear him breathing?”

“Oh, yes. But he looks half dead. Go in and try.”

The door made no noise. It was dark; he had put out the night-lamp. After the torch outside, at first I could only discern the glimmering windows. But there was a moon, and soon I saw him clearly. He was still asleep.

Someone had put a blanket on him, but it was tossed half off. He was still in his bloodstained robe. His hair was matted, his skin drawn. Fair though it was, his beard had begun to show. A filled pitcher stood untouched by him. His lips were cracked and dry; in his sleep he was trying to wet them with his tongue.

I filled my cup. Sitting by him, I dipped two fingers, and trickled the water on his mouth. He licked at it like a dog, still sleeping. I went on till I saw him start to wake; then I took his head on my arm, and tilted the cup gently. He drank, and gave a great sigh, and drank again. I refilled it, and he drank that too.

I stroked his hair and brow, and he did not draw away. I did not beg him to come back to us; he’d had enough of that. I said, “Don’t shut me out any longer. It is breaking my heart.”

“Poor Bagoas.” He laid a cold hand on mine. “You can come in tomorrow.”

I kissed his hand. He had broken his fast before he knew it; he would end it now. Yes, now, I thought; not with officious fools around him, urging him on like a fractious child.

I slipped out of the door, and whispered to Ismenios, “Send someone to wake a cook. Egg posset, with honey and wine, and soft cheese crumbled in. Hurry up, before he changes his mind.” His face lit up, and he gave me a great clap on the shoulder; which was more than Hermolaos would have done.

I went back to the bed. I didn’t want him falling asleep before the posset came, then waking to say he would have nothing. But his eyes were open. He knew what I’d been about, and understood. He waited quietly, and I talked of little things, such as Peritas’ doings, till Ismenios scratched at the door. The posset smelled good. I made no speeches, just lifted his head again. Soon he took the bowl from me, and finished it.

“Sleep now,” I said. “But you must send for me in the morning, or they won’t let me in. I shouldn’t be here now.”

“Enough people have been let in,” he said, “whom I didn’t want. You I do.” He kissed me, and turned on his side. When I showed Ismenios the empty bowl, he was so pleased that he kissed me, too.

So next day I bathed and shaved and combed him, and he looked almost himself again, though very worn. He kept his rooms; it would take more courage to show himself again, than to lead the charge at Gaugamela; so he would do it soon. The soldiers, hearing he’d taken food, were giving themselves the credit, because they had condemned Kleitos. This was best; they were welcome to it, for me.

Later, the priest of Dionysos came for audience. He had taken omens, and the god had spoken. It was his anger had caused it all. On his Macedonian feast-day, Kleitos had left his sacrifice unfinished (had not his unoffered victims followed him in reproach?) and Alexander had worshipped the Heavenly Twins, instead. For this, the deity’s sacred frenzy had been sent on both; and after that, neither was answerable for what he did.

I could see this gave Alexander comfort. I don’t know why he had chosen the Twins that day. But I remembered the talk at supper, about his exploits surpassing theirs (which was true) and his deserving the same divine honors; and I guessed he had tried once more to have his people share the prostration with the Persians. Who could have guessed it would end so cruelly? But Dionysos is a cruel god. I had found a dreadful play about him, in one of the books Alexander had had sent from Greece.

He gave orders for a great propitiation sacrifice. Then he spent the day with his closest friends, and looked a little better. He retired early; it was suffering more than fasting that had worn him out. When he was settled, I put out the great lamp and set the night-lamp by him. He took my hand, saying, “Before I woke last night, I dreamed of a good spirit.”

I thought of my life, and smiled. “The god sent that, to tell you his wrath was over. He released you then; that was why you drank.”

“I dreamed of a good presence; and it was true.”

His hand felt warm. I remembered it before, stone cold. I said softly, “The god’s madness was truly there; I myself felt it. Do you know, my lord, I only went to have a look at the feast, and even so it seized me? I snatched at the wine as if compelled; and all that came after, I seemed to dream in madness. It was a visitation. I felt it everywhere.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, it was strange. I was driven out of myself. Kleitos, too. Look how he came back. The god led him, as he led Pentheus to his fate, and caused his own mother to perform it.” He knew I had read the play.

“No one can help himself when a god possesses him. Sleep in peace, my lord. He has forgiven you; he was only angry because you’re dear to him. A slight from you hurt him more than from anyone else.”

I sat down by the wall, in case he should be wakeful and want to talk; but he slept soon, and lay quiet. I went away well content. What can compare with giving comfort to the one you love?

I had kept my promise to Hephaistion, too.