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

26

IT WAS NEXT DAY that he asked me, “You have never seen Queen Sisygambis, have you?”

I heard the name as if in an ancient tale. She was the Queen Mother of Persia, whom Darius had left behind at Issos. “No,” I said, “she was with you already, before I joined the Household here.”

“Good. I want you to see her for me.” I had quite forgotten that it was here at Susa he’d installed her and the young princesses, soon after the Queen had died. “If she would remember you at court, it might not quite do, you understand. But since she won’t, I should like to send her someone charming, after so long with only letters and gifts. You remember, you chose me a chain of turquoises for her, at Marakanda? You’ll find her well worth meeting. Give her my loving respects; say I’ve been impatient to see her, but business has held me back. Ask her if she’ll do me the favor of receiving me in about an hour; and give her this.” He showed me in its casket a necklace of Indian rubies.

I made my way to the Harem. When last I went, I had walked behind Darius, smelling the perfume from his robe.

At the Queen’s entry, where I had never been, an old stately eunuch was fetched to sanction me. He was gracious, giving no sign of knowing what I had been, though of course such people know everything. I followed him down a corridor with sun-fretted lattices, and through an anteroom where matron ladies sat talking or playing chess. He scratched at a door beyond, announced me and who had sent me, then withdrew.

She sat straight in a tall straight chair, her arms along the chair-arms; over their ram-head ends, her fingers showed as fine as ivory spindles. She wore dark blue, with a dark blue veil over thin white hair. Her face was colorless, the face of an old white falcon brooding on its crag. Round her neck was the chain of turquoises from Marakanda.

I prostrated myself, with as much care as the first time before Darius. As I rose she spoke, in the high cracked voice of age.

“How is my son the King?”

It struck me dumb. How long had it been like this with her? She had had his body to deck for burial. Why had no one warned Alexander that her wits had gone? If I told the truth, she might fly into a frenzy, tear me with those long ivory nails, or dash her head on the wall.

Her old eyes stared at me fierce and bright, from their wrinkled lids. They blinked quickly once or twice, like an un-hooded falcon’s. They looked impatient. My tongue would not move. She struck one hand upon the chair-arm.

“I am asking you, boy, how is my son Alexander?” Her dark piercing gaze met mine, she had read my thought. She lifted her head against the chair-back. “I have only one son a King. There has never been any other.”

Somehow I came to myself, remembered my training, gave her my message in proper form, and, kneeling, offered Alexander’s gift. She lifted out the rubies in both hands, and called to two old waiting-ladies by the window. “See what my son has sent me.”

They admired, were allowed to touch, while I knelt with the casket till someone should think to take it, and remembered the son she had thrown away.

He must have guessed, after he fled at Issos; who could have known her and not guessed? It had only remained for him to know that his place was filled. In the fountain court I had played my harp softly, to soothe a grief I only now understood. It was this had turned his rage on poor Tyriotes. Did he know she’d refused his rescue at Gaugamela? Perhaps they had kept that from him. Well that they had not met again; poor man, he’d had sorrow enough.

She noticed me in time, and motioned one of her ladies to take the casket. “Thank my lord the King for his gift, and say I shall receive him gladly.” When I went out, she was still stroking the jewels on her lap.

“Did she like it?” said Alexander, as eager as if he’d been her lover. I told him she had shown great pleasure in it. “King Poros gave it me. I’m glad that she thought it worthy of her. There is the Great King who would have led your people, if God had made her a man. Both of us know it. We understand each other.”

“It’s as well God made her a woman; or you’d have had to kill her.”

“Yes, there I was spared great grief. Did she look well? I’ve something important to say to her. I want to marry her granddaughter.”

Through my first amazement, he still read my face. “That pleases you better than last time?”

“Alexander, it will please all the Persians.” He had not set eyes on Stateira since she was a child at Issos, with her face in her mother’s lap. This was a real state marriage, to honor our people and breed a royal line; it would have Sisygambis’ blood, he’d remembered, as well as Darius’s. As for Roxane, as second wife she’d still be above her station; Darius would never have made her more than a concubine. Keeping all these thoughts to myself, I hastened to wish him joy.

“Ah, and that’s not all.” We were in the fountain court, a quiet retreat when the state rooms were full of envoys and officials. He cupped the fountain-fall in his palm and let it run out again. He was smiling.

“Now, Al’skander, tell me the secret. I’ve seen it in your face.”

“Oh, I knew that! I can tell you now. This won’t be only my wedding; it will be a marriage of both our peoples.”

“Truly, Al’skander, yes.”

“No, wait. All my own friends, my generals, and the best of my Companions, will be marrying Persian ladies. I shall dower them all; and we shall all share the one wedding feast. What do you think of that?”

“Al’skander, no one else could have conceived it.” Which was God’s truth.

“I conceived it on the march, but it had to wait till I’d met the army. Most of them were serving there.”

Well, I could see why he hadn’t told me. He could hardly announce to me Hephaistion’s wedding, before the bridegroom knew.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “how many couples would make a handsome feast, without crowding the pavilion. I decided eighty.” Getting back my breath, I said it sounded just right. “All my soldiers who’ve married Persian women will get dowries too. About ten thousand, I think.”

He played smiling with the sunlit fountain-stream, which fell from his hand like gold.

“We’ll make a new thing; two good wines blended to make a better, in a great loving-cup. Hephaistion will marry Stateira’s sister. I should like his children to be my kin.”

I suppose he felt my silence.

He looked in my face, came over and embraced me. “Dear one, forgive me. More than children are born of love. ‘The sons of dreams’—do you remember? All this you begot; from loving you, I first learned to love your people.”

After that, it was no pain to me to do my part; which was to call on the brides and their mothers, bring gifts, and tell them about procedure. I was well received in the harems; if they’d had plans of their own before Alexander had his, nobody said so. He had chosen, of course, for the greatest Macedonians the noblest brides; if these weren’t always the best-favored, one can’t have everything. The princesses, I did not see; but Drypetis would hardly disappoint Hephaistion; that was a handsome line. In all these years, I’d never heard he’d had a mistress; but if nephews and nieces were what Alexander asked him for, no doubt he would faithfully beget them.

Some silly man, whose name is not worth remembering, has written that Alexander slighted our people, because no Persian lord got a Macedonian wife. Where were these wives to come from? We were in Susa; there were only concubines or camp-followers. One can guess what the lady mothers of Macedon would have said, to dispatching their maiden daughters to the beds of unknown “barbarians.” But why waste words on such folly?

Alexander meant this to be the greatest festival since his reign began. Already, weeks ahead, every weaver and carver and goldsmith in Susa was working into the night. I did not go to see if my old master prospered. One does not return to the midden one was flung in.

Since the King’s return, artists in everything had been streaming over from Greece; news of the festival made them race. One of these, a flute-player of some fame called Evios, caused a trifling quarrel; or what should have been trifling, had the men concerned not been at odds already. So wars begin, with peoples as with men. So with Eumenes and Hephaistion.

Eumenes I knew only at a distance; but he’d been Chief Secretary all through Alexander’s reign, and to his father before him. He was a Greek, who had had time to do some soldiering in India, and with success. He was about forty-five, grizzled and shrewd. I don’t know why he and Hephaistion had always brushed up each other’s fur. By my guess, it went back to Hephaistion’s boyhood. Maybe Eumenes had envied him Alexander’s love; maybe he just disapproved, as he did of me. I never took notice, knowing he could not harm me. It was different with Hephaistion. Since he led back the army, Alexander had made him Chiliarch, which is Greek for our Grand Vizier; he ranked next the King. He was incorruptible in office; but touchy about his dignity, among other things.

It had grown on him since India, where he’d had a jaundice fever. Doctors say you should not drink for a long time after; but try telling that to a Macedonian. Also he had a very constant nature; in love, and in resentment.

He was always polite to Persians; for Alexander’s sake, and because our manners have civilized formality. It is impossible for Persians of decent breeding to brawl. We poison each other after consideration, or come to terms. Macedonians, who have no such restraints, are into it in a moment.

This flautist, Evios, was an old guest-friend of his from before my time; so he took charge of his entertainment. Susa was filling up; the lodging Hephaistion found for Evios had been taken by people of Eumenes’ household; so Hephaistion turned them out.

Eumenes, a quiet man as a rule, went to him very angry. Whereas a Persian would have said it was all a dreadful mistake but too late for remedy, Hephaistion told Eumenes he must make room for guests of honor, like anyone else.

Eumenes, whose own rank was pretty high, went straight to Alexander, who had trouble to keep the peace. I know he had the flautist lodged elsewhere; I saw to that for him. What he said to Hephaistion, I could have overheard if I’d taken care; but I remembered that morning in the desert, and went away.

If, as I suspect, Hephaistion was asked to beg Eumenes’ pardon, he thought it beneath him, and didn’t do it. The enmity smoldered on. A petty squabble; why trouble to record it? Only because the end was to mix my lord’s bitter grief with poison, and send him mad.

Meantime, being spared foreknowledge, I thought no more of it; nor I daresay did Alexander, who was busier still. He saw a good deal of the Queen Mother, and was shown his bride. He told me she had her mother’s looks, and was a gentle modest maid. There was none of that kindling with which he had seen Roxane. I dared not ask him how she had taken the news.

The feast-day came. Darius the Great may have seen such splendors; no one living had. The whole Palace square was turned into a vast pavilion; in the center, the bridegrooms’ tent, of fine cloth with bullion tassels, propped by gilt columns; all round it, awnings for the guests. The wedding would be by Persian rite; the bridal tent had gold chairs in couples. Our women being bred to modesty, the brides would only enter after the healths were drunk, when the grooms would take their hands, sit by them for the bridal song, and then retire.

Their fathers of course were present. Alexander asked me to help in their entertainment, because he wanted me to see the rite.

He wore the Mitra, and the royal robe of Persia, long sleeves and all. To tell the truth, his half-Greek dress suited him better; this called for Darius’ height to set it off. But if there was one thing we’d learned in Persia, it was that a king is as tall as his soul.

For the crowd of lesser guests not to miss it all, he had heralds outside the tent, who would sound trumpets when the healths were drunk, give out the toasts, and announce the entry of the brides.

It all went perfectly. In the presence of the fathers-in-law, men of the noblest blood in Persia, the bridegrooms kept down their drinking, and did not even shout across the tent.

There were no prostrations. Alexander had given all the fathers the rank of Royal Kindred, which allowed them to kiss his cheek. There being no father-in-law for him, Oxathres took that place, and made a very fine figure, though he had to stoop for the kiss.

The King gave the bridal toast; the bridegrooms drank to the fathers, the fathers returned the honor, everyone drank to the King. The trumpets flourished for the entry of the brides. The fathers met them, took them by the hand and led them to the grooms.

Peasants apart, you seldom see the men and women of Persia walking together. Whatever Greeks may say, you won’t find more beauty anywhere on earth than you do among our nobility, who have bred for it so choicely and so long. Handsomest of all was the foremost couple, Oxathres and his niece hand in hand. Alexander rose to meet them, and receive his bride. Yes, Darius had passed his good looks on to his children. Also his stature. She topped Alexander by a good half-foot.

He led her to her chair of honor by his throne; and the difference disappeared. He’d met her in the Queen Mother’s rooms; and Alexander was nothing if not resourceful. He had had the legs of her chair cut down.

Of course they had to walk out together, when the bridal couples retired. I could almost hear his voice saying, “It is necessary.” (Days later, I found pushed into some dark corner his wedding shoes. The soles had an inch of felt in them. He’d taken no such trouble when host to seven-foot Poros.)

Hephaistion and Drypetis matched up well. She was his height to an inch.

The feasting went on all night. I met old friends, and needed no pretense, to share the merriment. Years had gone by, since he spared Susa and first rode in there. He had gone far away and become a legend, while wrong was done in his name. Now they knew him. In that city Kyros is remembered; how he did not profane the sanctuaries of the conquered Medes, nor dishonor their nobility, nor enslave their peasants, but was a just King to us all. That a westerner should prove to be such another, was a wonder everywhere. I saved up all I heard, to tell him later. He had done what he meant to do.

No doubt he did no less in the marriage bed. Stateira was installed in her royal rooms; but his visits turned to mere calls of courtesy, much sooner than with Roxane. A few days later, indeed, he visited the Sogdian. It may have been just to heal her wounded feelings; but I’m not so sure. Stateira was, as he’d said, a gentle modest girl; and he was a lover of fire. Roxane had it, even if it smoked. He soon had enough of her; yet from time to time she always drew him back. Olympias his mother, that royal termagant, was still berating his regent by every post. He would throw down her letter in anger; yet with his answer would go a gift, lovingly chosen. Perhaps there is something in the proverb about how men choose their wives.

He had done what he meant to do. Yes—among my people.

I was too happy. Once or twice, going about, I got hard looks from Macedonians; but those whom kings love are always envied; so was Hephaistion, and in higher places than I. I never thought that all Persians were more hated, till I saw Peukestas ride by in our native dress. Our people, who’d already learned his worth, saluted him; then, when he’d passed, I overheard some Macedonians. He had gone barbarian, it was disgusting, how could the King encourage it? For that matter, what was the King coming to himself?

I noted their faces and their regiment. I should not have been sorry to do them harm with Alexander. But it would only wound him, without doing him service. It was hearts, not words, he had hoped to change.

Soon after this, he got to know that Macedonian troops were waist-deep in debt, with creditors closing in. With the loot they’d had, they should have been as rich as princes; but they had no notion of bargaining, as we Persians understand it; they’d pay double the going price for all they bought, ate, drank or lay with. Hearing of their distress, as if he’d not spent enough upon their marriage dowers, Alexander gave out that he’d settle up for them. Few came forward; and at last the officers broke the truth to him; the men were saying he just wanted to know who was living beyond his pay.

It hurt him more than anything since that day in India, that they thought he’d lie to them. He could not understand it. I could have told him. He was growing foreign to them, as he came closer to us.

So he had banking-tables set up in the camp, and told his paymasters to sit there without writing things. Any soldier who showed up a debtor’s bond had it paid off, and no record made. It cost close on ten thousand talents, that piece of magnanimity. I thought that should shut their mouths awhile.

Spring was just breaking; along by the river one smelled the rising sap. The lilies would not be long. As I rode there one morning with Alexander, he looked at the hills and said, “Where was your home?”

“There, by that crag. The grey there, that looks like rock, that is the watchtower.”

“A good place for a stronghold. Shall we ride up and see it?”

“Al’skander, I would see too much.”

“Don’t see it now. Listen to some news I’ve kept for you. Do you remember, five years ago, I said I was starting an army of Persian boys?”

“Yes. We were in Baktria. Is it only five years since then?”

“It does seem longer. We’ve put a good deal into it.” Indeed, in thirty years he had filled three men’s full lifetimes. “Well, five years is up. They’re ready, and on their way here.”

“That is wonderful, Al’skander.” Six years since I came to him; thirteen since I left those walls, riding with my father’s head.

“Yes, their instructors are very pleased with them. Race me to the trees.” The gallop shook off my sadness, as he’d meant. As we breathed our horses, he said, “Thirty thousand, all eighteen years old. We’ll see something, I think.”

They reached Susa seven days later. He had a dais set up on the Palace terrace, for him and his generals to see the new corps parade. Presently, from their camp beyond the walls, came the Macedonian bugle-call, “Cavalry, march.”

They came in squadrons, Macedonian-armed, but on good Persian horses, not Greek scrubs. The Persians of Persis rode up first.

Macedonian dress or not, Persians are Persians. Their officers had not denied them those little touches that give an air; an embroidered saddlecloth, a cuirass with a device, a pennant on the Macedonian lance, a glittering bridle, a flower stuck in the helmet. And they had the Persian face.

I don’t suppose they had all been recruited willingly; but they had pride in their training now. Each squadron pranced up to the square with lances poised; slowed down, pacing to music; wheeled before the royal dais, saluting with their spears; then did their show-tricks, saluted again, and cantered off while the next rode in.

All Susa watched, from the walls and rooftops. The sides of the square were crowded with Macedonians. No one denies they were the best-trained army the world has seen. All that these young men did, they could have done as briskly. But we do have more sense of style. So had Alexander.

When the long review was over, he came away glowing, and talking to the Persians of his bodyguard, Oxathres, and Roxane’s brother, and one of Artabazos’ sons. Right across the Great Hall, he caught my eye and smiled. He was late to bed, having sat up talking and drinking, as he did when he was pleased. “I never saw so much beauty in one day; but still I have picked the best.” He pulled softly at my hair. “You know what I call these boys? I call them my Successors.”

“Al’skander,” I said lifting off his chiton, “did you call them that to the Macedonians?”

“Why not? They’ll breed me successors too. What is it?”

“I don’t know. You have taken nothing from them. But they don’t like us to show excellence.”

He stood up, clothed only in his many wounds, tossing back his hair; not dulled but lit by the wine. “To hate excellence is to hate the gods.” He spoke so loudly, the squire on guard looked in to see all was well. “One must salute it everywhere, among unknown peoples, at the furthest ends of the earth; yet one must never cheapen it.” He began pacing about. “I found it in Poros, though his black face was strange to me. And in Kalanos. I find it among your people. In respect for that, I hanged the Persian satraps along with the Macedonians. To excuse their crimes like something native to them, that would have been contempt.”

“Yes. We are an ancient race. We understand such things.”

“Those things and others,” he said, leaving off his oration, and stretching out his arms.

The Greeks have written that at this time he grew short-tempered. I don’t wonder. He wanted to be Great King in fact as well as name; and all he did for it, his own people hated. A few friends understood—Hephaistion did, I allow—for the rest, they’d sooner have seen him master of a race of slaves, with themselves as lesser masters. They didn’t hide what they felt about the new cadets. And then, though the wound in his side had healed, he still tired more quickly than he used to do, though he’d have died sooner than own it.

They said we’d spoiled him with servility; maybe to such uncouth folk it seemed really so. We knew we’d made him used to decent manners, and a civilized court. He knew that it was necessary. Persians who were allowed to upbraid a king would think him a low barbarian without breeding or self-respect, whom it degraded them to serve. Any fool in Persia knows that. I set it down for the ignorant.

What did they lose through us? He’d given all those marriage dowers; he’d paid their debts; he’d held a parade of honor, with hosts of gifts and prizes for bravery and good service. Yet afterwards, when he took into the Companions some Persians of real distinction, it was resented. If his temper was sometimes harsh, they asked for it. It never was with me.

Spring was well on; he decided to spend summer at Ekbatana, like the kings before him. Most of the troops, led by Hephaistion, were to march up the Tigris valley to Opis, whence a good road leads through the passes; Alexander, to see something new which might prove useful, went to Opis by water. Down there the Tigris has lost its fierceness; it was a pleasant voyage up the ever-winding stream, past the palm groves and the margin of fruitful fields, with the oxen turning the water-wheels. The river was full of ancient useless weirs, which he caused to be cleared as he went; we dawdled along, sleeping ashore or aboard as his fancy took him. It was a rest from the court, from toil and anger. Green, peaceful days.

Near the end of the voyage, while they broke up one of these old weirs, we were moored in a shady creek; he reclined in the stern under a striped awning, with my head in his lap. Once he would have looked if there were Macedonians watching; now he did as he liked and they could make the best of it. In any case, there was no one about of much importance. He looked up at the waving palm-fronds, and played lazily with my hair. “At Opis, we’ll be on the Royal Road to the west, and I can send the old veterans home. They’ve had work enough, since they told me in India how tired they were. It’s true as Xenophon says, the commander may bear the same hardships, yet for him it’s not the same. It was their tears that moved me. Stubborn old fools … still, stubborn in danger, too. When they go home, it won’t be my fault if they ever want again.”

The army arrived before us. It’s a middle-sized city, with yellow mud-brick houses, and, like every town along the Royal Road, a stone lodging for the King. It was getting hot in the plain, but we were not staying. Nothing much had happened on the army’s land march, except that Hephaistion and Eumenes had been quarreling all the way.

It had been building up before Susa. In Karmania, needing to repair the fleet, Alexander had asked a loan from his friends till he reached the capital. Their money, at least, had come through the desert safe, and he repaid with interest later. But Eumenes was close-fisted; when his offering came, Alexander said with irony that he would not rob the poor, and sent it back. “I wonder,” he said to me that night, “what he’d fetch out if his tent burned down.” “Try it, Al’skander,” I said. He was rather drunk; we were laughing; I never thought he really would. The tent caught fire next day. The trouble was that it burned so fast, the Royal Journal and state letters went up along with it. The money came out as ingots; sure enough, about a thousand talents. Alexander asked for none; he’d had his joke, if it came expensive for him. Whether Eumenes thought it was Hephaistion who set him on to it, I don’t know. After Susa, if Eumenes had only stepped in dog-shit, he’d have suspected Hephaistion put it there.

On the march to Opis, being at open enmity, they had picked up factions. I doubt they’d aimed at this. Hephaistion had no need; Eumenes was a subtle Greek, who knew better than to put himself in the wrong. There had been no brawling; but those who hated the King’s Persian ways, and knew his friend supported them, were drawn to Hephaistion’s enemy without urging.

By the time we got there, it was making Eumenes anxious. He came to Alexander, said how much the estrangement grieved him, and declared himself eager to make it up. What he was chiefly eager for, was not to take the blame if it went on. Which it did; he had lost his temper over the flautist’s lodging, and what he’d said, Hephaistion would not forget. It was seldom indeed he disobliged Alexander. But he was a great man now, and knew his dues. Alexander could not order him to swallow an insult. If he asked as a favor, it was one he didn’t get. Hephaistion, who had not spoken to Eumenes for half a month, maintained his silence. Soon after, we had other things to think of.

Alexander had a platform put up on the parade ground, to address the troops. He was to discharge the veterans, tell them their retirement bounty, and give them their marching orders to the Middle Sea. A simple business. I only went up on the roof to watch because I was idle, and would always sooner look at him than not.

The troops filled the ground, right up to the rostrum with the Bodyguard around it. The generals rode up the lane that had been left, and took their places; last came the King, gave a squire his horse, went up and began to speak.

Before long, they started to wave their arms. The discharge bounty was wildly generous; I took it they were cheering.

Suddenly, he vaulted straight off the rostrum, and strode out through the Bodyguard among the soldiers. I saw him grab one with both hands, and shove him at the Guard, who took him in charge. The generals came scrambling after him. He moved about, pointing out some dozen men. They were marched away; he went round by the steps, came forward and spoke again.

There was no more arm-waving. He spoke for some time. Then he ran down the steps, jumped on his horse, and galloped towards his lodging. The generals followed as soon as they could get mounted.

I hurried down, to be in his room beforehand and hear what it was all about. The door opened; he said to the bodyguard outside, “No one. On any business whatever. Do you understand?”

He flung in, slamming the door before the guard could close it. He didn’t see me at first; I took one look and kept quiet. He was in a white-hot fury; his worn, brilliant face was blazing with outrage. His lips were moving, going over whatever he’d said out there. I just caught the end. “Yes, tell them at home how you forsook me, and left me to the care of the foreigners you conquered. No doubt it will bring you glory among men, and heaven’s blessings. Get out.”

He sent his helmet crashing into a corner, and started on his cuirass. I came forward to unbuckle it.

“I can do it.” He shoved away my fingers. “I said nobody here.”

“I was inside. Alexander, whatever is it?”

“Go and find out. You’d better go, I don’t trust myself with anyone. I’ll send for you later. Go.”

I left him tugging at the straps, and cursing under his breath.

After a moment’s thought, I went along to the squires’ room. The one who had held the King’s horse had just arrived. I joined the crowd around him.

“It was mutiny,” he said. “They’d have killed any other man. Oh, Bagoas! Have you seen the King?”

“He won’t talk. I only saw from the roof. What did he say to them?”

“Nothing! I mean, he gave the veterans their discharge, thanked them for their courage and their loyalty; all proper and nicely put. He was just getting on to their bounties, when some of the serving troops started shouting out, ‘Discharge us all!’ When he asked them what they meant by it, they all took it up. ‘You don’t want us now, it’s all mother-fucking barbarians’ … Oh, I’m sorry, Bagoas.”

“Just get on,” I said. “What then?”

“Somebody yelled, ‘Go marching with your father. The one with horns.’ He couldn’t make himself heard. So he jumped straight down, right into the middle of them, and started arresting the ones who’d started it.”

“What?” someone said. “Not on his own?”

“No one laid a finger on him. It was uncanny. As if he were really a god. He had on his sword, but he never touched it. The men just submitted like oxen; the first, he handled himself. You know why? I know. It’s his eyes.”

“But then he spoke again,” I said.

“You saw that? He saw the prisoners taken off, then he went up and told them their fortune. He started by saying Philip brought them up from nothing, wearing sheepskins he said—is that really true?”

The squire from the noblest house said, “My granddad told us only the lords wore cloaks. He said it showed who you were.”

“And the Illyrians came raiding right into Macedon?”

“He said all the peasants came up to the fort at night.”

“Well, the King said Philip had made them masters of all the people who used to kill them with fright, and when he died there were sixty talents in the treasury, a few gold and silver cups, and five hundred talents in debts. Alexander borrowed eight hundred more, and that’s what he crossed to Asia with. Did you know that? Well, he reminded them of all the rest since then, and he said, I’ll always remember this, ‘While I have led you, not one of you has ever been killed in flight.’ He said if they wanted to go home they could go today, and boast of it when they get there, and good luck to them. That’s what he said.”

A young one called out, “Let’s go and see him, and tell him how we feel.” They often talked as if they owned him. I found it endearing.

“He won’t have anyone in,” I said. “He won’t have me.”

“Is he weeping?” said the one with the softest heart.

“Weeping! He’s as angry as a hit lion. Keep your heads out of his mouth.”

I kept mine out till evening. All his friends had been turned away, even Hephaistion. His quarrel with Eumenes was still on; I don’t think Alexander had quite forgiven that. Servants with food were shut out like the rest. The wounded lion had no wish to see a doctor.

At night I went to see if he’d take a bath. The squires would have let me in, but I feared it might earn them a mauling from the cave, and made them announce me. The growl from within said, “Thank him and tell him no.” I noted the thanks, which I’d not had earlier; presented myself next morning, and was admitted.

He was still licking his wounds. Last night’s anger had set into deep resentment. It was all he could talk about. I got him shaved and bathed and fed. Everyone else was still being kept out. He gave me most of his address to the army; fine fiery stuff, too good to keep to himself. He was like a woman reliving her quarrel with her lover, word by word.

Just after, the guard scratched at the door. “King, there are some Macedonians from the camp, asking leave to speak with you.”

His face altered. You could not quite say his eye lit up. He just tilted his head to one side a little. “Ask them,” he said, “what they are still doing here, when they discharged themselves yesterday. Tell them I am seeing no one; I am busy with their replacements. They can draw their pay and go. Bagoas, will you fetch me my writing-things?”

He was at his table all day. At bedtime, he was deep in thought; there was a kind of sparkle in his eye, but he kept his counsel. Next morning he sent for the generals. From then on, the place teemed with officers, mostly Persian; and Opis seethed like an anthill with the top knocked off.

The Macedonian camp was still full of soldiers. Not wishing to be torn asunder, I sought in friendlier places the cause of all this stir. I soon found out. Alexander was forming an all-Persian army.

It was not just a new corps, like the young Successors. All the great Macedonian regiments, the Silver Shields, the Infantry Companions, were being made up from Persians. Only the chief Macedonian generals, and his most loyal friends, were left holding commands. The Companions themselves would be half Persian, at least.

The first day, orders went out. On the second, the commanders started work. On that day also, Alexander gave the rank of Royal Kin to the whole Persian nobility who’d had it under Darius; all could kiss his cheek instead of making the prostration. He added to these just eighty Macedonians, those who had shared his wedding.

The dust outside was enough to choke you. Inside, Alexander in his Persian robe was being kissed in greeting by Persians assuming their new appointments. I watched in the shadows, thinking, He is all ours, now.

It was quiet; we know how to behave in the Presence. So the noise from the terrace sounded clearly; a heavy clatter, like ironwork being unloaded; and Macedonian voices, unhushed as they always are, but very sorrowful.

The sounds increased. The Macedonian generals looked at each other, and at Alexander. He tilted his head a little, and went on with what he was saying. I slipped off to an upper window.

The terrace was full of them, overflowing into the square. They were all unarmed; they had stacked their weapons. They stood before the Palace doors, with a lost murmuring; for all the world like dogs who’ve run truant to the woods, and come back to find the house locked for the night. Soon, I thought, they will put back their heads and howl.

Sure enough, with a noise to split your ears, they began to cry out like souls in ordeal, “Alexander! Alexander! Alexander, let us come in!”

He came out. With one great cry, they fell upon their knees. The one nearest him clung weeping to the skirt of his Persian robe. He said nothing; just stood where he was and looked at them.

They implored his pardon. They would never do it again. They would condemn their ringleaders. They would stay on this spot night and day, just as they were, till he forgave and pitied them.

“So you say now.” He spoke sternly; but I thought his voice had a shake in it. “Then what got into you all at the Assembly?”

There was another chorus. The one who had grasped his robe—I saw he was an officer—said, “Alexander, you call Persians your kin. You let them kiss you; and which of us has done it?” Those were his words, I swear.

Alexander said, “Get up.” He raised the man and embraced him. The poor fellow, knowing no etiquette, made a clumsy botch of the kiss; but you should have heard the cheering. “You are all my kindred, every one of you from now on.” His voice, without disguise, had broken. He came forward with outstretched hands.

I stopped counting how many pressed up to kiss him. His cheeks were glistening. They must have tasted his tears.

All the rest of the day, he spent rearranging the new commands, under Persian names, alongside the Macedonian, without any Persian commander losing face. It did not seem to give him very much trouble. My belief is, he’d had it all in his head before.

He came to bed dead tired; but his smile was a smile of triumph. Well, he had earned it. “They changed their minds,” he said. “I thought they might. We have been a long time together.”

“Al’skander,” I said. He turned his smile on me. It was so close to the tip of my tongue, I almost said it: “I have seen the great courtesans of Babylon and Susa. I have seen the cream from Corinth. I used to think I was not so mean in the art myself. But the crown is yours.”

However, one could not be quite sure he would understand; so I said instead, “Kyros would have been proud to accomplish that.”

“Kyros …? You’ve given me a thought. What would he do now? He would hold a Feast of Reconcilement.”

He held it before the veterans left for home. It was as grand as the wedding, except that we’d left the awnings at Susa. In the midst of the Palace square was an enormous dais, where all the nine thousand guests could see the royal table, at which sat around him the chief Macedonians and Persians, with the leaders of the allies. Greek seers and Magi invoked the gods together. All those at the feast had equal honors; except that the Macedonians sat next him. He couldn’t deny that to the old, forgiven lover, after all those kisses and tears.

To me, of course, it made a certain difference. At a real Persian court, a royal favorite, even though he takes no bribes, is treated with much respect. No one offends him. Still, it would have been a shadow of the substance I had already. I did not grieve that Hephaistion sat beside him; it was the Chiliarch’s formal right. He had not used the great Reconcilement to make his peace with Eumenes. I thought to myself, Al’skander knows he’d not have asked me in vain.

So, when he lifted the great loving-cup to the sound of trumpets, and begged the gods to give us all kinds of blessings, but harmony between Macedonians and Persians above all, I drank with a whole heart, and drank again to the hope reborn in his face.

All is well, I thought. And soon we go to the hills. Once more, after so long, I shall see the sevenfold walls of beautiful Ekbatana.