“Orontes’ position in Pella is not yet secure enough to make any attempt on the Queen. Given the recent attack on Antipater’s life and my new position as chief investigator, I can facilitate a meeting between her and the garrison commander of the Pella city guard located near the agora,” Polyperchon surmised.
“If you can arrange for him to request the audience, it would provide sufficient separation from you in Orontes’ eyes,” Vettias added.
“In two days, the Argead royal retinue, to include Queen Adea, King Philip III, Rhoxane and Alexander IV, will publically preside over Pella’s ritual sacrifices in the agora to allay any fears this assassination attempt has stirred within the populace. I’ll arrange for Queen Adea’s audience to occur immediately afterward.”
“That should give the kid a glimpse of what he is fighting for,” Vettias concluded while shooting me a satisfied grin.
****
The following morning Vettias and I made our way to the agora where we inconspicuously took inventory of the space. We walked the route Queen Adea would take, from the sacrificial altar being constructed in the agora, down the broad thoroughfare to the Pella city guard garrison. Along the way we noted many alleys jutting out along each side between the agora and the garrison. Arriving at the venue, we cased the reinforced stone and wood building while avoiding the suspicion of the sentries posted at its entrance. Feeling confident in our understanding of the environment, we departed to meet with Polyperchon’s familiar goons, Pallas and Ladon, to assign them their tasks for the following morning.
CHAPTER 7
Vettias and I retired early that evening and woke at dawn. We enjoyed a long, hearty breakfast before making our way to the agora for the morning sacrifice. A makeshift temple to Zeus had been erected on the altar, with a magnificent golden eagle hanging in front of its tympanum. Burning incense billowed through its wooden Doric columns wrapped in white orchid garlands. Hundreds of residents lined either side of the main thoroughfare leading toward the royal palace. Vettias and I took up an inconspicuous position within the crowd and awaited our glimpse of the surviving members of the Argead house. After a half-hour, the head of the royal guard could be seen marching toward the altar, guiding a white ox painted with bright ceremonial colors and wearing a wreath of oak leaves around its neck. A troop of musicians playing aulos woodwinds followed next, heralding the arrival of the royal family.
Following the heralders was an ornately decorated, over-sized golden chariot drawn by two white horses, carrying Alexander’s widow, his son and a driver. Rhoxane wore a pure white, ankle-length tunic underneath blue and gold eastern silks. Her gold necklace and earrings were in the Greek style, but her extravagant bracelets and rings were from the east. Her skin held a slight hue of bronze – more so than the pale color of Greek women of the aristocracy that was currently in fashion. Her eyes had an eastern shape and her hair was thick, straight and deep black. She carried herself with amazing dignity and grace, and it was apparent she held the respect of Pella’s citizenry.
Young Alexander’s head barely made it over the front edge of chariot. It wasn’t until the chariot passed that I was able to get a good look at him. He wore a knee-high white tunic with gold embroidery throughout the collar and shoulders. A singular gold necklace hung from his tiny neck and he wore a gold bracelet and tiny signet ring. His skin was lighter than his mother’s, but he had her unmistakable eyes. His hair was brown with golden flourishes and hung down to his shoulders. The royal youth was strikingly good looking and carefree – he appeared to still retain his childish innocence and did not yet understand the enormity and precariousness of his situation. He smiled and waved at the spectacle of adoring citizens while he clung to his mother’s leg. As he rode by, I suddenly felt deeply sad and wanted to grab the youth, hold him, and take him far from this den of vipers.
Young Alexander’s chariot was followed by King Philip III and Queen Adea. The Queen remained elegant and stoic amid the affectionate crowd. She knew how to keep the perfect regal composure amidst such public displays of affection. Her husband stood as a stark contrast to her grace. He waved to the throng while brandishing a juvenile smile which looked to cause drool to form on one side of his mouth. He had unmistakable Argead facial features but they were over-pronounced to the point of deformity – his forehead too prominent, his eyes too small. Despite his disfiguration, he was well groomed and clothed which made for the semblance of normalcy. I clearly witnessed the source of Adea’s longing for love and compassion. Had the two been strangers meeting by chance on the street, Adea would have scoffed with disgust at such a man before quickly continuing on her way.
The crowd threw barley seeds at the condemned beast marching toward the altar for sacrifice in solidarity with the ceremony and the animal’s executioner. The white ox was led up the platform stairs in front of the makeshift temple and tied to one of the columns. Rhoxane and young Alexander than ascended and were introduced to the crowd which responded with roars of approval. They were followed by Queen Adea and Philip III who received a decidedly quieter round of applause. The presiding priest ushered young Alexander and Philip to the restrained animal where they placed a hand on its forehead, signaling the royal approval of the sacrifice. The priest then produced a ceremonial knife from a bowl of barley seeds and neatly slit the ox’s throat. The beast let out a deep bellow before convulsing and falling to the ground. Assistant clerics quickly removed the entrails and pronounced the sacrifice pleasing to Zeus.
The spectacle was powerful and I sensed all in attendance felt a strong unity and attachment with the survivors of Alexander. These ceremonies were more important now than ever without a strong male Argead holding the reins of power. At its completion, Rhoxane and young Alexander descended the altar to their chariot and the procession returned back through the agora in the direction of the royal palace. Vettias and I took our leave while Queen Adea and Philip III made their way to the Pella city guard garrison with the remaining royal guardsmen.
I met Pallas outside the garrison while Vettias entered the building discreetly through a back entrance sheltered from the visibility of any main thoroughfare. Ladon lay in wait in an alley adjacent to the garrison with a clear line of sight to Vettias’ rear entry since he would also be leaving from there to further sell the ruse of maintaining operational secrecy. Pallas would be positioned near the front entrance of the garrison while I would be moving along the perimeter and passing any pertinent information between the two. As the King and Queen entered the garrison, there was still no sign of Orontes.
I did however recognize two familiar faces from Queen Adea’s personal guard – out of uniform and lingering within the vicinity. It appeared the Queen hadn’t fully trusted her safety to Vettias after all. Their aggressive posture and over-interest in their surroundings was too alerting for the discreet role they attempted to play and were certain to be spotted by Orontes’ network. Their conspicuous presence would either spook Orontes from making his move on Vettias or it could draw his attention away from me and my boorish colleagues – allowing an opening for us to strike. Our orders were to identify, follow and kill at the first availability – in broad daylight if necessary.
The royal party entered the front entrance to the garrison, accompanied by several uniformed members of the royal guard. The city guard stationed four sentries at the front and two at the rear of the garrison, who allowed Vettias access to the building. I began my roving overview of the situation, moving between Pallas and Ladon while avoiding the Queen’s undercover men. The fact I did not see Adea’s head bodyguard, Markos, enter the garrison meant there was another dangerous variable lurking in our midst.
I continued this routine for the next twenty minutes when I noticed upon returning from the front of the garrison that Ladon was not at his post. I went to investigate further and saw the silhouette of a man quickly entering a door within the alley Ladon was to be stationed. I drew my sword and chased after the man – kicking the door in and violentl
y entering the small building. There I found six men from the royal guard with swords drawn and the lifeless body of Ladon before them with his throat slit and dead eyes staring directly at me.
“What treachery is this?” I exclaimed while looking to retreat from the ambush. As I turned to exit, the door was slammed shut by Queen Adea’s head bodyguard, Markos.
“I am here assisting an operation on behalf of the Queen. That man you just killed was doing the same. You are acting counter to her wishes!” My lecture did not have its intended effect as the armed men remained in a combative stance awaiting orders.
“You may be acting on behalf of her wishes, but we are acting on behalf of her interests,” the Queen’s chief henchman, Markos, responded with noticeable satisfaction. “I’ve stood by and watched her emotions overcome her judgment in agreeing to connive with you and that arrogant prick, Vettias, for too long. I sat back and watched her almost lose her life back in Triparadeisus. And were you and Vettias there to protect her? Certainly not. I was … dutifully standing by her side … on the brink of fighting my own men from opposite factions of the royal guard while you two slithered away in the dark of night like the snakes you are. Seize him!”
The palace guardsmen moved toward me and I dropped my sword after accepting the futility of my predicament. Two men grabbed each of my arms while a third held his sharpened blade against my throat. Markos walked toward me and struck me in the face. The trauma from his strong blow induced a mental blur, with several colors vying for dominance over my vision like staring through thin eastern silks of different colors.
“Don’t hurt our guest too seriously,” an unfamiliar voice hissed in a low tone. “We need him coherent a little longer.”
Before the voice’s owner came into view I already knew its possessor. Orontes’ hideous façade emerged from his hood like a serpent. His skin was severely weathered to the point of disfiguration. His stature was sleight, with his gangling physique barely filling out his eastern-style cloak. His arms and fingers seemed abnormally elongated and his sharp facial features further promoted a reptilian appearance.
“You are one of Vettias’ little minions? Then I assume I need no introduction. Too young to know any better and certainly unaware of the dangerous world he has thrust you into. He always chose his underlings well. You no doubt idealize him – his skill, his commitment to the Argeads. You have no concept of the depraved House you serve. You haven’t seen what I have seen. Vettias was always too enamored with Alexander’s cult of personality to understand the monolithic instrument of despotism and destruction he had become. Alexander was a beautiful man. He died a paranoid, vindictive, murderous addict. I watched this foul mutation. I was there when he burned Thebes and Tyre to the ground; his drunken destruction of the Achaemenid Palace in Persepolis; his murder of his childhood companion, Cleitus. I watched his metamorphosis from an enlightened Greek Philosopher King to a Persian tyrant, forcing his Macedonian equals to bow in his presence. His descent broke my heart in a way a silly boy like you could never understand.”
Orontes’ characterization of everything I now held dear overwhelmed my mental faculties. I could not form words to refute his narrative and continued listening in silence. It was like watching a shipwreck knowing there was nothing to be done for the screaming crew.
“It was I who nurtured the Macedonian mutiny in India. And when I stood with Vettias in Alexander’s tent whilst he divulged the new purpose of The King’s Hand along the Indus River, I knew his malignant transformation was complete. In the end, he never forgave his men for abandoning him on the banks of that exotic and beautiful land. Men who bled with him for over ten years – over the span of the entire Eastern world – who did everything ever asked of them – whose only request was to return home to see their farms and families one last time before their death.”
“Alexander finally relented and marched those men to Babylon through the Gedrosian Desert as punishment. It was there I underwent my transformation – both physically and mentally. Many others fared far worse – brave, loyal men whose carcasses now litter that hellish land, never to return home. It was in that desert – starved, dehydrated and on the verge of death – that I knew what had to be done.”
“That is the man on whose behalf you commit murder so freely. That is the character your precious Vettias wishes to reinstitute in this land – and he is willing to kill anyone in his path of achieving it. It was I that ended Alexander’s life in Babylon.”
As he finished this last sentence he casually pierced my finger with his dagger point, drawing a small amount of blood. I barely noticed as the weight of Orontes’ words hung heavy in the room as the utter sacrilege of his statement sunk in.
“Hold his finger out!” Orontes commanded. “Don’t worry; I’m not here to mutilate your flesh like your precious mentor, Vettias. He was always too quick to inflict pain on perceived Argead enemies. You’ve no doubt seen the pleasure he takes in such matters.” He produced a small clay jar and removed the stopper.
“In this jar I hold the world’s most lethal poison. Alexander’s campaign to India brought us into contact with men of unbelievable spirituality, men whose very being resides in an existence inconceivable to those whose only notion of reality is what they can see and touch in the physical world. We had become the greatest scourge to the balance and harmony of humanity – you can imagine how ridiculous Alexander and his army of power-crazed megalomaniacs looked to men who shed all notion of personal possession and want of base ambition. While Alexander embraced the oppressive and decadent ways of Persia, I began to learn the balance and harmony of Indian mysticism.”
“There was a man in India, a young man, just short of Alexander’s age. He held all of Alexander’s cunning and strategy, yet lacked all his ego and insecurities – a practitioner of the enlightened ways in which I speak , a true Philosopher King, more so than Alexander ever was. He met with us briefly after the battle along the Hydaspes River with King Poros. He offered friendship and alliance with us against the decadent and corrupt Kingdom of Nanda further south. Alexander and his generals did not take him seriously and rudely declined his offer through mockery and ridicule. They did not see his potential, but I did. His name is Chandragupta Maurya and soon all of the empire will know him as King of India. While Greeks and Macedonians were too arrogant to listen to these men of unsurpassed enlightenment, I picked up a thing or two. One little secret resides in this jar,” he taunted as he showed me the clear liquid contents.
“Cobras of India have a venom far more potent than Adders of Greece. This particular venom is from the spitting cobra. It’s relatively harmless to the skin but just a dab in the small wound I’ve opened in your finger would induce an episode of immeasurable pain. You would probably lose your entire hand, perhaps even die. If any were to get in your eye, you’d be sure to go blind.”
“Now that I’ve explained your potential fate, I trust we’ll have no issues. Correct? So, let us begin. Who is Vettias’ Pella contact within The King’s Hand? How did you infiltrate the palace?”
These were questions to which Orontes already knew the answer. Vettias and Polyperchon already explained their former relationship with Orontes, thus I would cooperate to stall for time.
“General Polyperchon is the King’s Hand chief operative in Pella. He has an extensive network of agents, some with access to the palace. One of them is lying dead on the floor before you.”
“Good. I know Vettias and the old fool orchestrated that absurd attempt on Antipater’s life. Unfortunately, Antipater is decrepit enough to believe his son was behind the false attack. It’s a shame when a man outlives his mental faculties. Where is Vettias’ quarters in Pella?”
“He has a room at an inn on the outskirts of Pella.” I proceeded to give him the exact directions to our quarters since Vettias would not dare return there if I was not rescued.
“And how do Vettias and Polyperchon communicate?”
“Polyperchon’s residence near th
e agora. They’ve kept contact to a minimum however and Vettias’ primary task while in Pella had been to assist Polyperchon in striking a blow to Cassander’s network of agents.” These answers were true and were no doubt already known to Orontes so I did not believe their divulgence to be problematic. If my tormentor pressed much further, however, I would have to make a more difficult choice.
Queen Adea’s chief bodyguard, Markos, who had been intently watching my slow demise, suddenly raced to the door as loud shouting could be heard from the alley outside.
“Get over here!” he yelled to the royal guards. “Barricade this door!”
The men snapped to action and ran across the room to bar the entry but arrived a moment too late. The door violently flung open, slamming into Markos’ face, breaking his nose and throwing him to the floor. Five city guardsmen armed with short spears poured into the small room and formed an aggressive line standing shoulder to shoulder. Polyperchon entered last.
“Lower your weapons!” Polyperchon shouted at the royal guard. “This man is wanted in the assassination attempt of Lord Regent Antipater,” Polyperchon asserted while pointing at Orontes. “You are harboring a traitor and if you do not lay down your weapons immediately you will be killed for abetting this villain.”
The royal guard nervously looked to Markos for instructions. Polyperchon’s imposing entrance had succeeded in shaking their resolve. Markos was still struggling back to his feet and a tense silence settled on the room.
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