Stealing Fire (6 page)

He turned and regarded me solemnly. “We had word that Alexander the Son of Amon was dead, of course. It is reasonable that a man would come to Pelousion soon, and of course I asked the gate guards your name. Did you expect some other answer?”

“Of course not,” I said.

We went into the garden. I saw him look about, his face studiously neutral. It was a very, very Persian garden.

“Do you come from the Great King of Persia?” Manetho asked.

“I come from General Ptolemy, the Satrap of Egypt,” I said carefully.

“And who does he serve?” he asked.

“The Council of Regents,” I said. “Who hold the empire in trust for Alexander's child.”

“Or his brother,” Manetho said.

I nodded. “If necessary.”

Manetho sat down on the bench beneath the fig tree, and it came to me that he was quite young, at least five years my junior. “Egypt will not serve a Persian king,” he said.

“Are you here to warn me of an uprising? Or to threaten one?”

“Not at this time,” Manetho said tranquilly. “We have no prince who shall serve. Nectanebo is dead, he who was our last Pharaoh before the Persians returned and crushed us. His line is gone.” Manetho spread his hands. “There are many noble leaders in Egypt, some from Upper Egypt and some from Lower Egypt, but none who can do the thing that needs to be done.”

“Which is?”

“Keep us free,” he said, and his brown eyes met mine. “Is freedom so little to strive for?”

I nodded slowly. “And what you want is the Satrap Ptolemy to guarantee Egypt the freedoms that Alexander restored, which you did not have under the Persians? Such as the free practice of your own religions and the worship of your gods?”

Manetho nodded. “No doubt you have heard how the Great King of Persia slew the Apis bull and laughed when we wept. But you may not know how it has galled beneath their yoke, following their laws and their ways. We do not lock up our women or let men have ten wives. We do not hold man and wife yoked together when they have decided to part or make eunuchs of young boys. They have taken Egyptian women as concubines and said they may not depart if they wish, and have castrated our sons.” He shifted on the bench, and his mild face was at odds with his words. “And then Alexander the Son of Amon came and restored to us what was ours. It is said that throughout his lands he let every people live according to their customs.”

“That is true,” I said.

“We will not live under Persia again,” Manetho said. “I tell you that as a fact, so that you may tell General Ptolemy.”

“General Ptolemy has no wish to interfere in Egyptian custom or law,” I said carefully, “save in those towns or places founded primarily by Greeks. You know that this new city Alexander founded, the one which is to bear his name, was intended to attract merchants from many lands who may be expected to bring their own customs with them, and to operate under a code of law that was laid down—civic law, one law for all, so that there are not discrepancies in the punishment of crimes between people just because their native language is different or their heritage. I do not think Ptolemy will be willing to abandon that.”

Manetho searched my face, and there was something in him suddenly that reminded me of the King. “I see that,” he said. “Are you then a man of government?”

“I am a plain soldier,” I said. “Not a priest or a philosopher.”

His eyebrows rose. “And yet you know something of governing.”

“I have traveled in many lands,” I said, “and in each I have seen something to like. I do not say this gives me wisdom or has taught me how to govern. I only seek to represent my master.”

“And yet it is said that one can tell a great deal about a master by the conduct of his servants,” Manetho observed.

“That is also true,” I said. “In which case you should perhaps consider General Hephaistion, as until his death I served him for many years.”

Manetho tilted his head back, looking up at the fig tree above. “I understand Alexander ordered a temple built for him in Alexandria. I do not believe the work has begun.”

“I am sure Ptolemy will follow the King's wishes,” I said rather shortly.

Manetho nodded politely. “As one should. Have you been there yet?”

“To Alexandria? I was there when it was laid out, but have not been back.”

I had stood holding Ghost Dancer's rein when Hephaistion came out to see why the King must do the work of a digger and had found him, hat off and sunburned, laughing and talking with the men who were setting out the lines of the streets with stakes and string, the surveyor with his angles and tripod. I stood holding the horse, letting the sea wind lift my damp hair from my neck, watching the wild seabirds wheeling in the air. Ptolemy was anxious to be off, fidgeting, while Alexander would not be satisfied until he had done all himself. I watched, looking out over the cerulean depths of the Middle Sea, watching the black-winged gulls calling on the wind over the vast natural bowl of the harbor. It seemed for a moment that the world tilted beneath me. Perhaps it was only that beauty moved me.

“Perhaps you will go,” Manetho said.

“If General Ptolemy sends me,” I said.

“Just so,” Manetho said, and took his leave.

After he was gone I walked in the garden a while longer. It was true that if I had not known I was in Egypt I should have thought I was in Persia from the garden. They had erased anything not their own.

And yet it was still fair.

The curves of the fountain were not Egyptian. The fretted screens with their elaborate carving were straight from Susa or Persepolis, that palace that Alexander had burned long ago, Thais throwing the first torch. The flowers that grew—I did not know their names—were things I had seen in Babylon.

And still it was beautiful.

Must beauty only have one form? I wondered. That is like saying that all women must be pale, or all boys doe-eyed. Is there only, as the Persians believe, one right way to live and that is the Truth, all else being Lies? And if many things can be true, how can a man know which way to live?

I wondered, beneath the fig tree, but my heart answered already. By following your heart, I thought. By giving heed always to love and honor. Really, that was all the answer I needed.

I had spoken truly when I told Manetho that if a man's worthiness can be determined from the actions of his servants, that he should consider Hephaistion rather than Ptolemy. After all, I had only served Ptolemy a few short months. If I had a model for how a Companion should behave it was Hephaistion, and if I had learned anything of governing it had been from him.

I had been sixteen and a horseboy still at the Battle of Issos, and had taken no part in the fighting. Afterward, Alexander had ridden down the coast with all haste, making for Egypt, accepting surrenders of the cities along the way as he went. In Sidon the Persian satrap ran at the rumor of our approach and the gates of the city stood open to us. Alexander stayed only a single night before he went on southward, leaving Hephaistion to order things in his wake.

Among the things that needed to be done was an arrangement made for the governing of the city. It was Alexander's custom to only appoint a Macedonian or Greek governor if the task was exceptionally challenging, a city that had resisted with great force. In other cases he returned the governance to some local person of worth who would rule according to their own customs, and thus avoid leaving a trail of anger and resentment behind us, simmering always in our rear.

So it was in Sidon that Hephaistion held a dinner for gentlemen of the important families, seeking to know which might be worthy of being made Sidon's king. Although many men pressed their claims, two young men told him that it was long custom that the king must be of a certain lineage and royal line, as that line was blessed by Ashteret of the Sea, who we call Aphrodite Cythera, and only one of that line might fruitfully rule the city. Hephaistion inquired about and found that a man of that line remained who was well spoken of, though he had fallen on hard times lately and was employed as a gardener.

He sent for this man, named Abdalonymus, but he refused, sending word that he was in the midst of pruning and could not take the time.

At this many men would have been angry, but Hephaistion laughed and called for me to bring out Ghost Dancer, as he would go to Abdalonymus if he would not come to him.

We rode to the outskirts of the city on a beautiful morning. These were not great houses here, but modest dwellings of a room or two, though sturdily built. As I followed Hephaistion along the street I wondered at one we saw first from a distance. Its roof was overgrown with climbing roses, trained in a riot of red and pink, and every bit of the yard was planted tightly, fig trees and almond trees and weeping peach trees bending their heavy branches. Cucumbers and melons and all good things grew tied carefully to trellises, and the bees were in the lavender. It was the most beautiful tiny house I had ever seen, each plant perfect and perfectly cared for.

I went to hold the general's rein and he dismounted. I saw that he was as awestruck by the beauty of the place as I was. There are gardens, and then there are paradises.

A middle-aged man on a ladder was up in the peach tree. Hephaistion came up below. “Are you Abdalonymus?” he called up.

“Yes,” the man said without looking around.

“Will you come down and talk with me?” Hephaistion asked, his hand on his hip.

“Nope. I'm busy.” He didn't even glance down, just kept on doing what he was doing. “What do you want?”

“To make you King of Sidon,” Hephaistion said, and there was a note of amusement in his voice.

At that he did look around, a pair of shears in his hands, keen bright eyes in a stubbled face. “Why?”

“Because if this is how you care for what is yours, you are the man to rule the city,” Hephaistion said. “Will you come down and talk with me? I am Hephaistion son of Amyntor, and the King of Macedon has charged me with finding a good shepherd for this people.”

At that he came down. “What if I don't want to be King of Sidon?” he said.

Hephaistion rubbed his nose ruefully. “Well, I can't make you be King of Sidon, can I? But someone's got to be. Better for all if it's a man who builds and brings fruit rather than a man who despoils, don't you think? If you don't, whenever something goes wrong you'll wonder if you might have mended it.”

“Hephaistion son of Amyntor?”

“Yes.”

“Come inside, Hephaistion son of Amyntor. Have some wine and fill me in a bit about this king job,” he said, and they went into the house, Hephaistion hanging behind as a young man should to let his elder precede him.

I stood in the street under the peach tree, holding Ghost Dancer's rein.

DREAMS AND
NIGHTMARES

R
oxane was delivered of a son, a healthy enough child they said, who was promptly proclaimed Alexander IV. This averted civil war for the moment, which surely would have erupted if the baby had been a girl. The Regents settled in for the long term—it would be sixteen years before the boy could wield real power, almost an eternity. Rather than remain in Babylon, Ptolemy arrived in Pelousion ten weeks later with nearly a thousand men.

His baggage train was larger still. Most of the men had brought all their goods and their families as well. I watched them file into the walls of Pelousion, the women with their wary eyes, veterans of too many camps and too many years on the road, their children running around them like puppies, taking in the sights. The oldest were nearly youths and maidens, ten or eleven years old, fair-skinned and light-haired, children of Greeks and Ionians. Then there were the dark-haired children of Carians and Persians, and the green-eyed children of the Medes from the middle of the campaign. One or two honey-skinned women fell to their knees in thanksgiving, women of Egypt who had at last come home.

Next there were the Bactrians and Sogdians, small-boned and quick like their ancestors on the plains near the Caspian Sea, and the sons and daughters of the Indians with their dark eyes, still carried or riding in carts as they were too small to walk all the way. Last were the Babylonians, worn in slings on their mothers’ hips, or swelling the bellies of the women in the carts.

Sikander would have been three and a half, I thought. He should have been riding in a cart beside his mother, waving and pointing at the high gates painted with blue and gold. My heart ached in my chest.

Alexander had dreamed of establishing an Ile to be called the Successors, made up of the sons of his soldiers, boys from many lands who should all learn together and all fight together as brothers, as though humanity itself were nothing but a tribe. It had not happened. And yet here, watching the children of Ptolemy's men enter into Pelousion, I knew I saw a new thing. They did not see Greeks and Persians, Egyptians, Medes, Bactrians, Indians. They only saw each other, the playmates of the journey, gabbling together in a bastard Greek liberally spiced with words from their mothers’ tongues. They did not see Humans and Barbarians.

Standing there upon the wall, waiting for Ptolemy, I saw it in a flash, all that could be, all that Alexander had intended. His sacred fire was gone, broken into a thousand sparks, and I saw them all in the tired faces of women of a dozen nations eager to find the best quarters, in the faces of their children.

“A new thing,” I whispered, and felt it prick through me like pain.

“Yes,” Ptolemy said. I had not heard him join me on the wall, Thais beside him with her arm about his waist beneath his traveling cloak. The sun had burned his forehead where his hair was receding.

“General,” I said and turned, pulling myself together.

Thais’ blue eyes were compassionate, and I thought that she guessed what I felt, that my wife and son were not among them. “The Hipparch Lydias was the most gracious companion possible,” she said. “I am grateful for his escort.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Ptolemy looked out at the rapidly filling courtyard. “I don't know what we're going to do with them all tonight, but I suppose we'll work it out.”

“They've worked it out before a thousand times on campaign,” Thais said practically. “Let me go down and tell the leaders among the women where the water supply and the privies are, and that they can cook in the courtyard but not in the stableyard.” She gave him another quick squeeze and started along the wall to the stair, pulling her himation up to cover the back of her hair.

Ptolemy sighed. I thought he looked tired and strung out.

“How many are there?”

“Hundreds. I suspect that some of them aren't with men in my Ile or phalanx. But if they've lost their men or been abandoned by men who went with Krateros, they've got to go somewhere or beg in Babylon. They've no place there, and I suppose they think their chances are better here. Alexander intended a school for the campaign orphans, but…”

“It will never happen now,” I said. I had been a child sold as a slave. And now I knew what good fortune it had been to be bought by Tehwaz.

“Death can come for us at any time. I'd like to think someone would take care of Thais and the children.”

“I imagine Thais does a fair job of taking care of herself,” I said.

He smiled at that. “She does. But Chloe and her brother, Lagos…” He took a deep breath. “It's not good in Babylon, Lydias. Krateros and the Macedonian party want to put everything back the way it was, just go home to Pella and forget that any of this ever happened, except for being richer men.”

I nodded. There had always been that faction, Macedonians who had followed their king to make war on the Persian barbarians, and who could not understand why, having won, there was anything to think of besides the money and going home. They had been the ones who had the least patience for ruling, and who had grumbled that the King adopted too much Persian dress, ate too much Persian food, and had too many Persians about him.

Ptolemy continued. “Perdiccas wants to be Great King of Persia, and he's got a bunch of Persian nobles backing him. He has a Persian wife from one of the greatest families, and he's making a play for Alexander's sister Cleopatra at the same time. Add to that a bunch of half-baked contenders who want the entire pudding, and you have a disaster. Everyone wants to be Alexander.”

“No one is,” I said.

Ptolemy looked at me sideways. “That was a happy conjunction of circumstance and talent that will not happen again.”

“The gods willed it,” I said.

“Yes, that too. But in any event, the effects of the experiment are unreproduceable.”

“And Roxane's son?” I asked.

Ptolemy looked out over the courtyard, where Thais and his daughter had joined the others below. Thais was gesturing and talking with three women, one a dark-haired Indian in a threadbare printed sari. “Do you really think he will be allowed to grow up? Is it in anyone's interests for him to live more than a few years?”

“It's in Roxane's interests,” I said, and felt my stomach clench.

“Roxane, yes,” he said. “She's a tiger. Just exactly like Alexander's mother, Olympias. She murdered anyone who got in her way. If you wanted to live, you gave her no reason to fear you.” Below, Thais seemed to have made clear where the privies were, involving elaborate hand gestures for women who it seemed spoke little Greek. “Roxane had Queen Stateira killed. Which is the reason Oxathres won't support Perdiccas. Stateira was his niece, and he is not about to be of any party that countenanced her murder.” Ptolemy shook his head. “Which means if it comes to war the Persian nobility will split along blood and clan lines. That's why Artashir came with me. He will not support anyone who is with Roxane. Not only have we split along the lines one would expect, the old-style Macedonians against the new men, but now this as well. Artashir and Perdiccas should be of the same party—Perdiccas was always one of the new men, always one who got on well with Persians. But if he's with Roxane, then he's lost Stateira's kin.”

“That's not good,” I said. I had expected that it would fall out with the old Macedonians, the men who had served Alexander's father like Antipatros and Krateros, against the younger Companions lately raised to prominence by the King. But if both those sides were split as well, then who knew how it might end?

Ptolemy went on. “And meanwhile Athens and several other cities in Greece are on the verge of revolt against Antipatros.”

I let out a long breath. “Civil war in Persia and Greece both. What does that leave us?”

“Egypt,” Ptolemy said.

“And when Perdiccas and Antipatros both call for troops?”

Ptolemy ran his hand through his hair. “We'll face that when we come to it. In the meantime, we must do our best to put Egypt in order. Now what is this problem I hear about Cleomenes? He's a friend of Perdiccas, so I must walk softly there.”

“There is more,” I said. “A priest named Manetho has come from Memphis, and I think you should talk with him.” And so I told him all I knew.

W
E LEFT FOR
Alexandria by sea a month later, leaving a garrison at Pelousion. Ptolemy had more men coming, another phalanx and their baggage train that had started later, some thousand men. They would reinforce Pelousion when they arrived.

In the meantime, we and the men and their dependents who had first come to Pelousion would go on to Alexandria. As it was a new city, Ptolemy was offering each man land as part of his pay, a bonus for signing on with him. Each man should get a house lot of a size commensurate with his rank, thus settling the city. Alexander had done this, giving land in new cities to veterans who were retiring. Ptolemy gave it to men who were serving as well.

“They will serve all the better,” he said to me, “when it is their own homes they are defending.”

“And the women will bless your name through all eternity,” I said.

When I had seen Alexandria last it had been nothing but string and stakes. Now I could begin to see the shape of the city to come. Broad streets crossed at sharp right angles, some already clad in white sandstone pavers. The city curved around the natural harbor, the first quay already built, while another was under construction, heavy concrete piers sunk in the mud of the harbor but not yet topped. Out on the barrier island there was a watchtower, but the city walls were not yet built. I could see where they would go, pierced by great gates.

The neighborhoods were odd—each street laid out, treeless, with perhaps one house in ten rising from the dirt, bare walls freshly painted or plastered, with occasionally a struggling vine staked up. The other houses were no more than bare dirt with a stake in it painted with a number.

I saw the women walking in groups through the streets, their children puttering along, trying to find the right number, then stopping and pointing when they did, imagining the houses that would go there, counting the distance to the houses of friends. “Here will be your house and there will be mine.”

Sati would have liked it, I thought. She would have wanted a fountain and a peach tree. I had brought her peaches, once, and she had laughed and kissed me, the taste of peaches on her mouth.

One of the public markets had been built, and the stalls were crowded with traders up from Canopus and other towns, bringing vegetables and fish at exorbitant prices. Something would have to be done about that, I thought. Although there was something to be said for making yourself welcome with your spending money.

The temples were no more than roped-off cordons. Quays were more important just now than temples.

Of course much of the construction was not evident. The huge cisterns that should store fresh water and the sewers that underlay everything were not visible. The vast mountains created by dredging in the harbor were beneath the surface. All of those things could not be seen, yet when it was finished Alexander's city would be the most beautiful in the world.

The original plan had included a palace, and orders were left to build it, but very little had actually been done. The building was long and low, looking more like a stoa or a marketplace than a palace. I supposed another story could be put on eventually. Situated as it was at the base of the Lochias Peninsula, the far right end of the crescent of the harbor, the site could not have been more lovely. It caught the sea breezes, and from the portico looking left the entire city spread before one.

Ptolemy had an office in what looked like it should have been a market stall, three walls and a side open to the portico, and I wondered again what designer of marketplaces had been given the palace to build. But then there had not been architects of note here, after Dinocrates left with the King.

He looked up from his work when I came in, a litter of scrolls before him and a wax tablet, the stylus in his hand. “Settled in, Lydias?”

“I suppose,” I said. I had nothing to settle but a tent. I had not looked at the plan to see if there was a number with my name beside it. I supposed there was. The Hipparch of an Ile should have a substantial lot, but I didn't see any reason to look at it. There was no one who would care if anything were ever built there.

“Good, because three days from now you and I are leaving for Memphis.”

I must have looked startled. Ptolemy stretched his legs out under the writing table. “I need to see Cleomenes and work this out in person. He's a friend of Perdiccas, which makes it politically difficult, as he seems to have problems with Persians and Egyptians alike. Not to mention that the taxes he's supposed to have been spending on construction in Alexandria for the last three years haven't been spent here. The city walls haven't even been begun, not so much as a foundation laid. You're coming with me as my aide because I need a man who can handle the politics.”

“Sir, I am no politician,” I began.

Ptolemy frowned. “You handled Artamenes in Pelousion ideally. The only other who can do as well is Artashir, but I can't bring him to Memphis. Bringing a Persian will give insult to the clergy in Memphis, and I need their support. Artashir is staying here to handle the fortification issues and you're coming with me.” He raised a hand before I could say anything. “Yes, I know Artashir is a mounted archer, not a siege engineer. But we must all turn our hand to new things as our duty requires.” He looked at me and his eyes twinkled. “Besides, is politics so different than dealing with horses?”