Alexander asked no more questions. He dressed as he had been told to, looked in for a moment at the door of his mother’s apartments to say goodbye, and quickly went down into the courtyard where a small escort from the royal cavalry and two steeds were waiting.
Philip was already on his mount. Alexander jumped onto his own horse and they all galloped out of the palace through the open gate.
They rode for several days towards the east, first along the coast, then through the interior, then again on the coast. They passed Thermai, Apollonia and Amphipolis, stopping at night in small country inns and eating traditional Macedonian food – roast goat’s meat, game, mature sheep’s milk cheese and bread baked in the embers of the fire.
After leaving Amphipolis they started weaving their way up a steep path until, quite suddenly, they saw a desolate landscape there before them. The mountain had been stripped of its wooded cover, and everywhere there were mutilated trunks and carbonized tree stumps. The land, laid bare by the destruction of its greenery, was pitted with excavations in several places and at the entrance to each cave-like hole there stood enormous piles of rubble, like giant anthills.
A relentless drizzle began to fall and the cavalry escort pulled their hoods over their heads as they urged the horses forward. The main bridleway soon forked into a labyrinth of pathways on which a multitude of ragged and emaciated men were walking, their skin darkened and wrinkly, all carrying heavy baskets full of rocks.
A little way beyond, a column of dense black smoke rose into the sky in lazy coils, spreading a thick soot over the entire area which made breathing difficult.
‘Cover your mouth with your cloak,’ Philip abruptly ordered his son.
A strange silence lay everywhere and there was not even any sound from the movement of all those feet, muffled as they were by the thick mud the rain had made of the dust.
Alexander looked around in amazement: this was how he had imagined Hades, the kingdom of the dead, and the sight brought some lines from Homer to mind:
There lie the realm and region of the Men of Winter hidden in mist and cloud. Never the flaming eye of Helios lights on those men at morning, when he climbs he sky of stars, nor in descending earthward out of heaven, ruinous night being rove over those wretches.*
Then, suddenly, the silence was broken by a dark, rhythmic noise, almost like the fist of a giant Cyclops beating monstrously on the tormented slopes of the mountain. Alexander spurred his horse on by digging in his heels; he wanted to see what was making the tremendous noise which now seemed so strong as to make the ground shake.
They came over a rocky crest, and Alexander saw ahead of him the point where all the pathways came to an end. There was a gigantic machine, a sort of tower of large wooden beams and uprights, and it supported a pulley at its highest point. A hemp rope held a colossal drop hammer, made of iron, while at the other end the rope was wrapped around a winch operated by hundreds of poor souls. They pushed the winch to make the rope turn around the drum, thus raising the hammer inside the wooden tower.
When the hammer reached the top, one of the overseers unhooked the brake, freeing the drum of the winch which then spun in the opposite direction because of the weight of the hammer. The hammer fell freely to earth, smashing the rocks that were tipped inside continuously from the baskets carried bodily across the mountain.
The men gathered the smashed mineral material, filled other baskets with it and then took it away along other paths to an open area. Here it was crushed more finely in mortars and then washed in the waters of a torrent, channelled through a series of weirs and ramps, separating the gold granules and dust from the smashed rock.
‘These are the mines of Mount Pangaeos,’ Philip explained. ‘With this gold I have armed and equipped our army, I have built our palaces, I have developed Macedon’s strength.’
‘Why have you brought me here?’ asked Alexander, his profound distress apparent in his voice. While he was asking the question one of the labourers collapsed to the ground and almost ended up beneath his horse’s hooves. An overseer made sure the man was dead, then nodded to another two poor wretches who put their baskets to one side, took the body by the feet and dragged it away.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ Alexander asked again. And Philip saw the leaden sky reflected in the dark expression on his son’s face.
‘You have not yet seen the worst of it,’ he replied. ‘Do you feel up to going underground?’
‘I am not afraid of anything,’ stated the boy.
‘Follow me then.’
The King dismounted and moved towards the entrance of one of the caves. The overseer who challenged him, holding up his whip, suddenly stopped in shock, recognizing the golden star of the Argeads on Philip’s chest.
Philip simply nodded and the overseer stood back, lit a lantern and prepared to guide them underground.
Alexander followed his father, but as soon as he entered the cave he felt himself suffocating in the unbearable stench of human urine, sweat and excrement. They had to crouch, sometimes with their backs almost bent double, in a narrow passageway full of the din of continuous hammering, of a general breathlessness, of coughing, of the guttural rattles of death.
The overseer stopped occasionally where a group of men were working with their picks to extract the mineral-bearing rock. Here and there they stopped at the edge of a pit and down at the bottom the feeble glow of a lantern illuminated a bony back, joined to skeletal arms.
Once or twice the miners, down in these pits, on hearing the approach of footsteps or voices, lifted their heads and so Alexander witnessed the masks of men disfigured by fatigue, by illness and by the horror of living such a life.
Further on, at the bottom of one pit, they saw a corpse.
‘Many of them commit suicide,’ the overseer explained. ‘They throw themselves on their picks or stab themselves with their chisels.’
Philip turned to look at Alexander. The Prince was silent and apparently numbed by this experience, and the darkness of death had fallen over his eyes.
They exited on the other side of the mountain through a narrow passage, and there were the horses and their escort waiting for them.
Alexander stared at his father. ‘What have these people done to deserve this?’ he asked, his face waxen pale.
‘Nothing,’ replied the King. ‘Apart from being born.’
7
THEY REMOUNTED THEIR HORSES and went down to the pass through the rain which had started falling once more. Alexander rode in silence alongside his father.
‘I wanted you to know that there is a price to be paid for everything. And I wanted you to know exactly what type of price as well. Our grandeur, our conquests, our palaces and our finery . . . all this must be paid for.’
‘But why them?’
‘There is no why or wherefore. The world is governed by fate. When they were born it was written that they would die in that way, just as our own destinies were established at our births, and the outcome will be kept hidden from us until the final moment.
‘Only man, among all living things, is capable both of rising up to touch the dwelling of the gods, and of sinking lower than a beast. You have already seen the home of the gods, you have lived in the home of a king, but I felt it was right that you should see what fate may have in store for a human being. Among those wretches there are men who perhaps one day were chiefs or nobles, and who have suddenly been plunged into this misery by fate.’
‘But if this is the destiny that may await all men, why not be merciful for as long as fortune smiles upon us?’
‘That is what I wanted to hear you say. You must be merciful whenever you can, but remember that nothing can be done to change the nature of things.’
At that moment Alexander saw a girl just slightly younger than himself coming up the path; she was carrying two heavy baskets full of broad beans and chickpeas, probably for the overseers’ meal.
The Prince dismounted and stood in front of her: sh
e was thin, barefoot, her hair dirty, her big dark eyes full of sadness.
‘What is your name?’ he asked her.
The girl did not reply.
‘She probably cannot speak,’ observed Philip.
Alexander turned to his father. ‘I can change her fate. I want to change it.’
Philip nodded. ‘You can, if you wish, but remember that your actions will not change the world.’
Alexander had the girl climb onto the horse, behind him, and he covered her with his cloak.
The sun was setting when they reached Amphipolis once more, and they spent the night in the house of a friend of the King. Alexander ordered that the girl should be washed and dressed and then he sat and watched her as she ate.
He tried to speak to her, but she replied in monosyllables and nothing of what she said was comprehensible.
‘It must be some barbarian tongue,’ Philip explained. ‘If you want to communicate with her, you’ll have to wait until she learns Macedonian.’
‘I will wait,’ replied Alexander.
The following day the weather improved and they continued on their return journey, once again crossing the bridge of boats over the Strymon, but on reaching Bromiskos, they turned to the south along the peninsula of Mount Athos. They rode throughout the day and at sunset reached a point where they could see before them an enormous trench which had been carved through the peninsula from one side to the other. Alexander pulled in the reins of his charger and sat immobile, speechless, looking at the gigantean work.
‘Do you see this canal?’ his father asked. ‘It was excavated almost one hundred and fifty years ago by Xerxes, the emperor of the Persians, to allow the passage of his fleet and to avoid the risk of its being shipwrecked on the cliffs of Mount Athos. Ten thousand men laboured on it, working shifts through day and night. And before this the emperor had had a bridge of boats built across the Bosphorus, uniting Asia with Europe.
‘In a few days’ time we will receive a delegation from the Great King of the Persians. I wanted you to have some inkling of the power of the empire with which we are negotiating.’
Alexander nodded and stared at the colossal feat for a long time without speaking; then, seeing his father set off once more, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and followed on behind.
‘There’s something I’d like to ask you,’ said Alexander as he rode alongside Philip.
‘I am listening.’
‘There is a boy in Pella who comes to Leonidas’ lessons, but he does not sit with us. On the few occasions I have met him he has avoided speaking to me and he is usually so very sad, melancholic even. Leonidas won’t explain who he is, but I am sure you must know.’
‘He is your cousin, Amyntas,’ replied Philip without turning. ‘Son of my brother who died in battle fighting an Illyrian tribe. Before you were born he was heir to the throne and I governed in his place as regent.’
‘You mean he should be king?’
‘The throne belongs to whoever is able to defend it,’ replied Philip. ‘Remember that. And in our country whoever has come to power has always eliminated all pretenders to the throne.’
‘But you let Amyntas live.’
‘He is my brother’s son, and he poses no threat to me.’
‘You have been . . . merciful.’
‘If you like.’
‘Sire?’
Philip turned; Alexander only called him ‘Sire’ when he was angry with him or when he wanted to ask a very serious question.
‘If you were to die in battle, who would be the heir to the throne – Amyntas or myself?’
‘The worthier of the two.’
The boy asked nothing else, but the reply made a deep impression on him and marked his soul for ever.
They reached Pella three days later and Alexander gave Artemisia the job of looking after the girl he had saved from the horrors of Mount Pangaeos.
‘From now onwards,’ he affirmed, with a certain childish haughtiness, ‘she will be in my service. And you will teach her everything she needs to know.’
‘But does she at least have a name?’ asked Artemisia.
‘I know not. I, however, will call her Leptine.’
‘That’s nice . . . suits a little girl.’
That day news came of the death of old Nicomachus. The King was most sorry because he had been an excellent physician and had brought his son into the world.
In any case Nicomachus’s surgery was not closed, even though his son, Aristotle, had taken quite a different direction in life and was then in Asia, in the city of Atarneus, where he had founded a new school of philosophy on the death of his teacher, Plato.
It was Nicomachus’s young assistant, Philip, who continued to work in the surgery and he practised the profession with great skill and ability.
The youngsters who lived at court with Alexander had grown by now in both body and spirit and the inclinations they had displayed as infants were now for the most part consolidated. Those companions who were close to Alexander’s age, such as Hephaestion, who was by now his inseparable friend, Perdiccas and Seleucus, had become close to him and they formed a compact group, both in play and in study. Lysimachus and Leonnatus, with the passing of time, had adapted to communal life and they found outlets for their energies in games of physical effort and skill.
Leonnatus, especially, was keen on wrestling and for this reason he was always untidily dressed and covered in scratches and bruises. Older companions such as Ptolemy and Craterus were young men by now and had already for some time been receiving tough military training in the cavalry.
In this period a Greek by the name of Eumenes came to join the group. He worked as an assistant in the King’s chancellery and was much appreciated by virtue of his intelligence and wisdom. Philip wanted him to have the same schooling as the other youngsters and so Leonidas found a place for him in the dormitory. Leonnatus, however, immediately challenged the newcomer to a wrestling match.
‘If you want to earn your place here, you have to fight for it,’ he said, taking off his chiton and strutting around bare-chested.
Eumenes did not even look at him. ‘Are you crazy? I wouldn’t even dream of it.’ And he set about sorting out his clothes in the chest at the foot of his bed.
Lysimachus started making fun of him. ‘I told you. This Greek is just a little fart.’ Even Alexander started laughing.
Leonnatus gave the new lad a push and sent him rolling across the floor. ‘Come on then, are you ready to fight or what?’
Eumenes got up angrily, straightened his clothes and said, ‘Just a moment, I’ll be right back.’ He walked to the door, leaving them all speechless. As soon as he was outside he approached a soldier on guard duty on the upper balcony of the palace, a Thracian built like a bear. Eumenes pulled out some coins and put them in the soldier’s hand. ‘Come with me, I have a job for you.’ He entered the dormitory and pointed to Leonnatus: ‘See that one there with the freckles and the red hair?’ The giant nodded. ‘Good. Pick him up and give him a good hiding.’
Leonnatus realized immediately that the odds were stacked against him and he shot through the Thracian’s legs much as Ulysses must have done in giving the Cyclops Polyphemus the slip before taking off down the stairs.
‘Does anyone else have anything to say?’ asked Eumenes, starting to sort out his personal effects once again.
‘Yes. I do,’ said Alexander.
Eumenes stopped and turned towards him: ‘I’ll listen to you,’ he said, with evident respect in his voice, ‘because you’re the master here, but none of these birdheads has any right to call me “little fart”.’
Alexander burst out laughing. ‘Welcome to the gang, Mister Secretary General.’
From that moment onwards Eumenes was truly part of the group and he became ring leader in all sorts of jokes and pranks carried out at the expense of people throughout the palace, but more often than not it was their teacher, old Leonidas, who took the brunt of it all: lizards i
n his bed and live frogs in his lentil soup for example. Such activities constituted revenge for the tutor’s liberal use of the cane when his pupils failed to apply themselves sufficiently to their studies.
One evening Leonidas, who still directed their schooling, announced proudly that the following day their King would receive the Persian envoys and that he, too, would take part in the diplomatic proceedings because of his knowledge of Asia and the customs of the peoples there. He told them that the oldest among them would serve in the King’s guard of honour, wearing dress armour, while the youngest would carry out similar duties alongside Prince Alexander.
The news created much excitement among Leonidas’ pupils: none of them had ever seen a Persian before and what they knew of Asia came from their readings of Herodotus or Ctesias or the famous diary of Xenophon the Athenian – the Anabasis, also known as the ‘march of the ten thousand’. They all set to polishing their weapons and preparing their ceremonial clothes.
‘My father once spoke to a man who was on the expedition of the ten thousand,’ Hephaestion recounted, ‘a man who saw the Persian armies line up against him at the battle of Kunaxa.’
‘Can you imagine, lads?’ Seleucus joined in. ‘A million men!’ and he put his hands in front of his face, opening them out like fans as though representing the huge advance of the warriors.
‘And the scythed chariots?’ Lysimachus exclaimed. ‘They fly like the wind across the plains, with scythes sticking out from underneath the carriage and from the hubs of the axles, and they mow down men like wheat. I wouldn’t like to find myself up against them on the battlefield.’
‘Tricks that create more fuss and panic than they cause real damage,’ Alexander said. Up until that moment he had been quiet, listening to his friends’ comments. ‘Xenophon says so in his diary. Anyway, we’ll all have a chance to see how the Persians really handle their weapons because my father the King has organized a lion hunt in Eordaea, in honour of our guests.’
Child of a Dream Page 5