The Persian Boy (45 page)

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.

-27-

THE VETERANS were sent off with love and money. Krateros was leading them. In Macedon, he was to take the regency; Antipatros would come out in his place.

This was high politics. Alexander just said that Krateros needed sick-leave. Som?e said he wanted sick-leave himself from his mother’s and regent’s endless intrigues and bickerings, which might end in civil war; others, that he thought Antipatros had ruled like a king so long, he might start to think he was one. He had been faithful; but all this while he’d expected Alexander to be coming back. He was getting rather too purple, was what Alexander said.

In his parting speech to the veterans, he said, “I honor you by trusting you to Krateros, my most loyal follower, whom I love as my own life.” Most loyalÉ? It passed well enough, in a speech of thanks and farewell.

To shake hands with Eumenes may well have been the first thing Hephaistion had refused to Alexander.

Now every day made it harder. Eumenes had humbled himself to come forward first; no man of his standing, once rebuffed, was going to do it twice. Meeting they exchanged cold stares; apart, each said what he thought of the other to whoever would pass it on.

You may say that here was my chance. Anyone used to courts will say so. I would have said it once; I knew better now. Alexander, of whom men tell many legends, lived by his own. Achilles must have Patroklos. He might love his Briseis; but Patroklos was the friend till death. At their tombs in Troy, Alexander and Hephaistion had sacrificed together. Wound Patroklos, and Achilles will have your blood. Eumenes knew; he’d known them since they were boys.

So, instead of telling tales and making mischief, I gave no sign that I even knew of trouble. That legend was a limb of Alexander. His very blood flowed into it. If anyone bruised it, let it be Hephaistion himself, not I. Besides, there was that morning in the desert.

The court set out for Ekbatana. Stateira was left with her grandmother at Susa. Roxane was brought along.

We had a diversion on the way. Atropates satrap of Media, who’d heard of Alexander’s dealings with other satraps, planned a little treat for him. The first time he’d passed that way, he’d asked whether the race of Amazons, mentioned by Herodotos, was still alive. Atropates had had none to offer, and must have been brooding on it ever since.

One morning, a silvery bugle-call echoed back and forth along the pass we’d camped in. Up pranced a troop of cavalry, daintily armed with round shields and little axes. The leader leaped from her horse, saluted Alexander, and told him they had been sent by Atropates. She had the right breast bare, as in all the legends, and small enough. As the left was covered, there was no knowing if that one was any bigger.

Having rejoined her troop, the lady put them through a very dashing display. The soldiers, eyeing all those bare breasts, nearly cheered their heads off. Alexander said to Ptolemy, “Atropates must be out of his mind. Warriors? Those are just girls. Do they look to you like whores?”

“No,” Ptolemy said. “They’ve been picked for their looks and riding.”

“What kind of fool does he take me for? Well, we must have them out of camp before the men get at them. Bagoas, do something for me. Tell them their show was so delightful, I’d like to see the musical ride again. Hydarnes, can you raise me an escort of sober, middle-aged Medes? And quickly?”

They looked prettier still, flushed from their riding; the men were licking their chops like dogs at a kitchen door. There were whistles and calls when the ride began again. In a great hurry, Alexander collected presents. He chose jewelry, not weaponry, but it was well received. The grizzled Medes led off their charges to a sound of groans.

We camped in the upland pastures of Nysa, the royal horselands. The brood-mares were still about fifty thousand, though so many had been lifted in the years of war. They were a delight to Alexander, who established a guard for them, and chose out some likely colts. He gave one to Eumenes. If it was by way of thanks for his thankless offer to Hephaistion, and a salve for pride, none of that was said; but Hephaistion, who had done the first wrong in the quarrel, may have read that into it. Certainly Eumenes’ factio?n did, and were saying that pride went before a fall.

I know, having seen the list, that Alexander had planned asking Hephaistion to dinner that night with some old friends. He’d have been charming to him before everyone, smoothed down his feathers, shown that Patroklos was Patroklos still.

That day, he came face to face with Eumenes in the camp.

I don’t know if it was design or chance. I had ridden out to see the horse-herds, and was coming back; they were well away by the time I heard the shouting. Hephaistion was saying that Greeks had been played out for a hundred years, that Philip had thrashed them everywhere, and Alexander had found them with only tongues for weapons; those they knew how to use. Eumenes said that swaggering braggarts needed no talebearers; their own noise told enough.

Each faction booed and cheered; the crowds were growing. It would be blood before long. I began to edge out. Already I heard the rasp of swords in scabbards; when there was a drumming of violent hooves, brought to a clattering halt. A high fierce voice shouted, once. All other sounds failed. Alexander, his bodyguard behind him, sat staring down, his mouth shut, his nostrils flaring. In the hush, one heard the shake of the horses’ bridles.

The long pause ended. Hephaistion and Eumenes stepped towards him, each starting to blame the other.

“Be silent!”

I jumped down and held my horse, making myself small in the crowd. I did not want my face ever remembered, along with what was coming.

“Not a word. Either of you.” His speed had flicked back the hair from his brow; he had it rather short, for the summer heat. His eyes had paled, anger furrowed his brow like pain. “I demand discipline from men I appoint to keep it. You are to lead my soldiers in battle, not in brawls. Both of you deserve to be put on a charge of mutiny. Hephaistion, I made you what you are. And not for this.”

Their eyes met. It was as if I saw them bleeding, letting the blood run down unheeding with faces of stone.

“I order you to renounce this quarrel. Under pain of death. If it breaks out again, you will both be on trial for treason. The proved aggressor will suffer the usual penalty. I shall not commute it.”

The crowd held its breath. It was not just the public reprimand of two such men, in itself a thing unheard of. They were Macedonians. They knew the legend.

The factions were sheathing their swords in furtive quiet. “At noon,” he said, “you will both report to me. You will shake hands before me and swear a reconcilement, which you will keep to in look, and word, and deed. Is that understood?”

He wheeled his horse and rode off. I slipped away in the crowd. I dared not look at Hephaistion’s face, in case he saw me there. I did not see it either when he took the oath before Alexander.

That night he had them both to supper. A gesture of forgiveness; but to both alike. That special kindness to Patroklos must be for another day.

I’d barely seen him, till it was time to dress. It was worse than I’d thought. He looked haggard, and hardly spoke. I dared say nothing. But when I was doing his hair, I took his head in my hands and laid my cheek on it. He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “I had to do it. Nothing else was possible.”

“There are wounds that only kings must suffer, for the sake of all.” I had been a long time thinking what to say, that he’d forgive me after.

“Yes. That is the thing.”

I longed to embrace him, and tell him I would never have made him suffer it. But, I thought, they will make it up; what then? Besides, there was always the desert. So I just kissed him once, and went on with what I was doing.

Supper broke up early. I thought he’d just been afraid of their getting drunk and starting again. But he loitered in his tent instead of coming to bed; then put a dark cloak on and went out. I saw him throw a fold about his head; he didn’t want it seen where he was going, though he must have known I’d guess.

He was not very long away. They must have patched it up, after a fashion;? one could tell that after. But if it had gone as he wished, he’d not have finished the night as he did with me. Nothing was said in words; much was said all the same, perhaps too much. I loved him, and could not help it.

Time passes, edges wear down. We camped three or four days more among the tall glossy horse-herds. Hephaistion and Eumenes addressed each other with quiet courtesy. Alexander went riding with Hephaistion, to choose him a horse. They came back laughing, much as they used, except that one knew it had been worked for. Time alone will not heal it, I thought; only the will to forget. “I shall not commute it.” The one knows those words were forced from him, the other that they were said. None of it can be undone, or talked away. But they have been bound so long, they will agree to forget; it is necessary, nothing else is possible.

We went up the passes, eastward to Ekbatana.

No snow, now, on the sevenfold ramparts; they glowed like jeweled necklaces on the mountain’s breast. Not sleet, but cool delightful breezes blew through the high airy rooms. The make-shift shutters were cleared away; it was a summer palace, with the King expected. Beautiful carpets covered the royal floors. Lamps of fretted silver and gilded bronze hung from the gold-leafed rafters, in the Bedchamber where Darius had struck my face, and I had stumbled out weeping into Nabarzanes’ arms.

The hills were green and full of streams; one could smell the heights. I would ride in them at last; we were to stay all summer.

At night he walked out on his balcony, to cool his head from the wine. I stood beside him. The plant-tubs smelled of lemon flowers and roses; the breeze came pure from the mountains. He said, “When first I came here, chasing Darius, though it was full winter, I said to myself, Someday I must come back.”

“I too. When I was with Darius, being chased by you, I said the same.”

“And here we are. Longing performs all things.” He gazed at the brilliant stars, conceiving new longings, as a poet conceives a song.

I knew the signs. He was absent and exalted, and would pace with brows creased in thought, which I always knew from trouble. One must never ask till he was ready. He would come out with it of a sudden, as if he’d given birth.

He was delivered one morning, so early that I was the first to hear. I found him up and walking about stark naked, as he must have been doing since before dawn. “It’s Arabia,” he said the moment he saw me. “Not the inland parts, that’s just a matter of seeing the tribesmen don’t raid the ports. It’s the coast we need; and no one knows how far it runs south or west. Just think. We can make harbors along Gedrosia, now we know where there’s water. From Karmania up the Persian Sea, that’s easy sailing. But we need to round Arabia. Once up the Arabian Gulf-that end’s well charted-you’re in Egypt. And from there, do you know this, there’s a channel right through to the Middle Sea? Their King Neko started it; and Darius the Great carried it through. It needs clearing and widening, that’s all. Once we round Arabia, if we can, ships can go all the way from the Indus, not just to Susa-to Alexandria, Piraeus, Ephesos. Cities made from small towns, villages where there was nothing; poor savages like Niarchos’ Fish-Eaters brought into the world of men; and all the great peoples sending their best to one another, sharing their thought. The sea’s the great road. Man has hardly set his foot on it.”