The Pillars of Hercules (14 page)

“Sires,” he said.

“I need to talk to the crown prince in private,” said Philip. “The rest of you have a vital task that requires your immediate attention.”

Eumenes didn’t like the sound of that, but he was heartened by Ptolemy and Hephaestion’s involvement. And frankly he was only too happy to get out of that throne room. Antipater led them through the labyrinthine corridors of Philip’s palace—up and down stairs, through carpeted rooms, through rooms of dank stone. Eumenes saw no servants—only more bodyguards. Finally, Antipater reached a set of double doors, and threw them back. Eumenes, Hephaestion and Ptolemy entered.

And stopped in amazement.

There were so many scrolls, at first Eumenes thought this chamber was a library. But as he looked around, he could see it was much more than that. Sketches and diagrams were heaped everywhere. Beakers and jars shared shelf-space with a variety of stuffed animals, each one frozen in a lifelike pose. Much of one wall was taken up with the most complex set of astrological charts Eumenes had ever seen. A long glass tank on the opposite wall was heaped full of earth; insects scurried within. And in a corner was a boney pair of massive jaws—Eumenes had no idea what kind of animal it was, but its bite was easily twice the length of a man. He hoped never to meet the owner of those teeth. He wandered if he ever would meet the owner of this room. He heard Ptolemy asking who that man was.

“It’s the laboratory of Aristotle,” said Antipater.

Chapter Seven

“W
ho’s Aristotle?” asked Lugorix.

The looks he got said he really should have known better, but he was used to that. It seemed to be a hallmark of civilized people that they confused knowledge with intelligence—mixed up the marshalling of facts with the sharpness of the mind. Demosthenes and Matthias started talking over each other—saying that Aristotle was the foremost thinker in the Greek world, that he ran the school that had once belonged to Socrates and Plato, that he had taught in Athens for years…

“Until he received an offer he couldn’t refuse,” said Demosthenes.

Matthias fell silent as Demosthenes went on to explain how King Philip had offered Aristotle the opportunity to tutor the young Alexander. Aristotle had been promised his own weight in gold, but was already a wealthy man by that point. He was believed to have accepted because of the opportunity to shape the education and character of a crown prince from whom much was expected. Though no one at that point was aware of just how hostile that prince would ultimately be to Athens.

“The wisest man on Earth succumbed to the oldest dream of all,” said Demosthenes. “Plato called it the idea of the philosopher-king: the perfect, incorruptible monarch who rules his subjects in the name of virtue.”

Barsine was practically spluttering. “You could not be more wrong,” she said.

“That’s how he conceived of the role of royalty,” said Demosthenes. “I’m not saying for a moment Alexander lived up to that ideal—”

“I’m not talking about
Alexander,
” snarled Barsine. “I’m talking about
Aristotle
. We may need him, but that doesn’t mean I have to bow down and celebrate his ideas. This is the man who once told Alexander that the barbarians—by which he meant
my people
—should be ruled as
animals
.” She threw back her head and snorted. Lugorix glanced over, saw that Matthias was quite transfixed by the outburst. “He doesn’t even think we’re
human
. No wonder Alexander treated us the way he did—with a teacher like that to guide him—”

“My point isn’t to dissect the man’s thinking,” said Demosthenes. “Neither he nor Socrates nor Plato had much love for the democracy. None of them like the masses very much—they’re too dirty, too messy. They don’t do what they’re
told
. But there’s been a widening gulf between Aristotle and his pupil in recent years. He stayed behind in Macedonia when Alexander set off for the East and founded a new school in Pella—endowed by Philip of course. My agents tell me that Aristotle maintained a robust correspondence with Alexander until the prince struck at Egypt. Whereupon he abruptly fled Macedonia; headed south and passed through Athens like a thief in the night before taking ship for Syracuse. No one even knew he was here.”

“So how did you?” asked Lugorix.

“I have my ways,” said Demosthenes.

“His legal ways,” said Barsine.

“Very funny,” said Demosthenes.

“Can someone tell me what the hell we’re talking about?” asked Matthias.

Demosthenes sighed. “Oratory in the Assembly pays no bills. I’m a lawyer by trade, and I specialize in harbor-law. I’ve represented practically every ship’s captain, shipowner, shipbuilder and moneylender who does business in this harbor, and not all of them could afford my rates.”

“So he gets paid in secrets,” said Barsine. “Like those involving Aristotle’s whereabouts.”

“But why didn’t the man stop here?” asked Matthais. He gestured out the window at the sprawling city. “Given that he lived in Athens for so long.”

“He’s not exactly popular in these parts,” replied Demosthenes. “Like I said, he’s known to have a low opinion of the democracy—”

“But apparently he’s loyal to Athens nonetheless,” said Matthias.

“Or just loyal to himself. At any rate, the mob has the same disdain for him he does for them. There’s a lot of talk in the streets about how he ‘nursed the serpent in his bosum,’ that kind of thing. The archons know he’d be useful for the city’s defenses, but the mob doesn’t care. He’d probably have been lynched if he’d stayed Athens. Or put on trial.”

“He still might be,” said Barsine. “Syracuse is Athenian territory. They might take him into custody before we can reach him.”

“First they have to find him,” said Demosthenes. “Syracuse is a big place and none of my contacts there know where he is. Which is all the more reason why you need to leave quickly.” He sat down as though he were exhausted. He probably was; he was an old man and he’d been up half the night chasing after them, reflected Lugorix. Matthias got to his feet.

“When do we sail?” he asked.

“This evening,” said Demosthenes. “In the meantime, I suggest we all get some sleep.”

Eumenes slept fitfully in the bedchamber he’d been alloted in Philip’s palace. He dreamt of vast interlocking sets of gears; of metal mouths belching fire. Huge wheels rolled across his consciousness, crushing all before them. He felt himself a tiny speck in their wake, dragged by them to the ends of the earth and beyond while flames raged about him, burning endless pieces of papyrus containing endless diagrams of devices, all of them consumed by the fire which swept through Eumenes’ head.

Only to be snuffed out in an instant.

Eumenes opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake. He sat up in bed. It was dark, but he could still tell there was someone in the room with him. Someone sitting right on the edge of his bed. He fumbled for the dagger he kept under the pillow.

“Put that away,” said Alexander.

As he said that, he turned his head into the moon’s light that shone through the window. Eumenes could see that the prince’s eyes were bloodshot. He smelled strongly of wine. But there was no slur to his voice.

“Contradict me again in front of the king and I’ll send you to join Harpalus,” he said.

Eumenes wondered if he was still dreaming. At first he couldn’t remember how he might have offended Alexander. Still groggy with sleep, he could barely recollect the details of the meeting in Philip’s throne room. The only reality for him was the dream he’d just been in and the long hours in Aristotle’s work room before that. But then it all came rushing back—the maneuvering between father and son, the discussion over grand strategy; his own rash questions as Alexander outlined his mad plan to march across half of Europe and cross over to Africa.

“Alexander,” he said. “Your pardon. I merely acted as I would have were we in your own council chamber.”

“But we weren’t,” said Alexander. “We were in front of Philip. Where I look to you for support rather than challenge. Is that understood?”

Eumenes nodded.

“In front of me alone—in private—you can say anything you want to. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then I would beg that you reconsider the march you’re planning.”

There was a long pause. Eumenes wondered if once again he’d gone too far, Alexander’s invitation notwithstanding. But finally Alexander just exhaled deeply. “Why?” he asked.

“I don’t believe your father thinks you’ll return from it. If he can’t beat Athens, he’ll at least be rid of you.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know
what
you think, Alexander.”

Alexander got up. Walked to the window, looked out at the flickering lights of Pella. Turned back to Eumenes.

“This march will be easier than Persia. We’ll be fighting tribes instead of civilized nations.”

“Nations know when they’re beaten. Tribes don’t.”

“They will when I get through with them.” Alexander laughed softly. “Don’t lose your candor, Eumenes. I have need of it now, more than ever. But keep it just for me. No one else.”

Not even Hephaestion?
Eumenes wanted to ask, but he didn’t. There was something troubling the prince—probably all too many things, and Eumenes had no idea which one was foremost. The fact that there was still one human being in the world to whom he had to bow? The fact that one of his confidantes had proven to be a treacherous half-brother? The fact that even his military genius might not be able to reach Gibraltar? Or was it what lay at Gibraltar itself? And what did all this have to do with what he’d seen at Siwah? Eumenes heard himself murmuring assent, saw Alexander nod in satisfaction—saw the prince sit back down on the bed.

“What did you find among Aristotle’s papers?” he asked.

Eumenes sighed. He’d wondered why Philip had sent Alexander’s own men to look over Aristotle’s recently vacated laboratory. Why didn’t he send in his own sorcerors? But of course he must have already done so. At first, Eumenes decided that the king simply wanted a fresh perspective. Hephaestion, Eumenes and Ptolemy were used to working together—and yet since Ptolemy was Philip’s man, he would ensure that any insights made it back to the king. But insights regarding what? What was it that made it so imperative to have extra sets of eyes inspect the room? Eventually Eumenes had realized that there was only one question that mattered.

“It’s what we
didn’t
find,” he said.

Alexander nodded. “Exactly,” he said.

“Aristotle didn’t leave just because he disagreed with you,” said Eumenes. “He stumbled upon something.”

“Of course. But what?”

That was the problem. Too much had been removed from the lab. Too much that was easy to carry off. Pages had been torn from bestiaries. Maps were missing. Explorers’ journals had been stripped. Papers had been rifled of their contents. And though specifics were lacking, the overall pattern was difficult to mistake….

“It relates to the West,” said Eumenes slowly. “He’s looking for something there.” Alexander’s multi-hued eyes bored into him in a way that made it seem like he already knew all of Eumenes’ secrets. Did he suspect the conversation with Harpalus? What was it that Harpalus had taken to his grave?

“The king blames me,” said Alexander. That wasn’t quite what Eumenes had been expecting him to say, so he held his tongue and waited for more. “The king blames me,” repeated Alexander as though it was the height of injustice.

“Why should he do that?”

“Those scrolls we discovered in the East.”

Now Eumenes understood. They’d found rather a lot that didn’t make sense in all those years of trekking through the eastern reaches beyond Persia. All those lost caves and temples—all those devices that admitted of no clear purpose, all those scrolls that couldn’t be translated—they’d all been sent to Pella for Aristotle’s perusal.

And all the notes on them had gone.

“He took those papers with him,” said Eumenes.

“Of course he did.”

“We need to find him.”

“And so we shall. What about what was left?”

“Left?”

“In his lab.”

“I’m not sure where to begin,” said Eumenes carefully.

“With the most interesting thing in there.”

Eumenes hesitated. “He has something called a steam engine.”

“What does it do?”

“It seems you boil water in order to turn levers that can do work. That could hurl boulders or power ships, in theory.”

“In theory,” said Alexander.

“You’re skeptical?”

“I’m skeptical of anything that old man left behind in that chamber. Anything he wanted us to believe might be of value.”

“Or that he forgot to burn,” said Eumenes.

“He could have torched that whole chamber.”

“Not if he wanted to get out of Pella without being noticed.”

Alexander scratched his head absently. “What about Ptolemy?”

“Um… what about him?”

“Did he say anything about what I did to him in the throne room?”

Why don’t you ask Hephaestion?
thought Eumenes. Was Alexander no longer trusting his lover? Or was he simply checking up on Eumenes? He and Ptolemy had always been friendly, and even now he really had nothing against the man. He chose his words carefully: “Ptolemy seemed to share our opinion that it was pointless to bring that up.”

“Pointless because?”

“Tempers were short as it was. If we all ended up putting daggers through each other, that would serve neither you nor your father.”

“He’s not my father,” said Alexander.

Shit
. “I know that,” said Eumenes. It seemed dangerous to say anything else.

“He used to whip my mother.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yes. When he was drunk. He was drunk a lot. She told me how Zeus came to her in the form of a dove and impregnated her with me. He can deny that, but it’s still true. I’ll visit her tomb tomorrow. I’ll swear on her grave that I’ll avenge her. He’s going to pay.” Alexander was rambling now. “Perhaps he really
does
want to put Ptolemy on the throne. Could Ptolemy lead our armies? Could Ptolemy really be a king? I don’t see how. I always thought of the man as a brother. It’s beyond me how he could betray me. If I ever get the chance I’ll strangle him until his eyes pop out.”