The soldiers jokingly referred to Alexander as ‘King’ and Philip as ‘General’, as though the father were subaltern to the son, and this pleased the Sovereign enormously. Philip also asked many artists to create portraits of Alexander, making medals, busts and tableaux of them to be given as gifts to friends and especially to the foreign delegations or those of the Greek cities of the peninsula. In these images Alexander was always represented according to the accepted canons of Greek art as an ephebe, a young military recruit, with the finest features, his golden locks ruffled by the wind.
The young Prince was becoming more handsome by the day. His natural body temperature was higher than normal, which meant that his face was never marked with the sorts of skin problems typical of adolescence. His complexion was smooth, full and free of imperfections with a rosy tint on his cheeks and on his chest. His hair was thick, soft and wavy, his eyes large and expressive and he had a curious way of tilting his head slightly towards his right shoulder which lent a peculiar intensity to his gaze, as though he were scrutinizing others into the depths of their souls.
One day Philip called him to his study, an austere room the walls of which were covered in shelves, some carrying chancellery documents, others carrying the literary works the King enjoyed reading.
Alexander appeared immediately, leaving Peritas outside; the puppy followed him everywhere and even slept in his room.
‘This is a most important year, my son. This is the year in which you will become a man.’ Philip ran his finger across Alexander’s upper lip: ‘Yes . . . there’s some fluff appearing here and I have a present for you.’
He picked up a small boxwood case, inlaid with the Argeads’ sixteen-point star, and handed it to Alexander. The Prince opened it and there was a bronze razor, sharpened to perfection, together with a hone for keeping it so.
‘Thank you. But I don’t think you called me here just for this.’
‘No. Indeed,’ replied Philip.
‘Why then?’
‘You will soon be leaving Pella.’
‘Are you sending me away?’
‘In a certain sense.’
‘Where am I to go?’
‘To Mieza.’
‘That’s nearby. Little more than a day’s journey. Why?’
‘You will spend the next three years there to complete your education. There are too many distractions here at Pella: court life, the women, the banquets. At Mieza, instead, I have prepared a beautiful place – a garden through which runs a stream of the clearest water, a wood of cypresses and bay trees, rose bushes . . .’
‘Father,’ Alexander interrupted, ‘what’s wrong with you?’
Philip was startled. ‘Me? Nothing. Why?’
‘You’re talking of roses, of woods . . . it’s like listening to a bear recite the poetry of Alcaeus.’
‘My son, what I am trying to tell you is that I have prepared the most beautiful and welcoming place I possibly can for you. There you will continue with your schooling and your formation as a man.’
‘You have seen me ride, fight, hunt lions. I know how to draw, I know my geometry, I speak Macedonian and Greek . . .’
‘These things are not enough, my boy. Do you know what the Greeks call me, after my having won their accursed sacred war, after my having secured their peace and prosperity? They call me Philip the Barbarian. And do you know what this means? It means that they will never accept me as their guide and leader because they feel only contempt for me, even though they are afraid of me.
‘Behind us we have limitless plains peopled by barbarous and fierce nomadic tribes. In front of us are the cities of the Greeks – shining and reflected in the sea, where man has reached the highest levels of excellence in the arts, in science, in poetry, in engineering, in politics. We are like someone who sits at the campfire on a winter’s night – our face is lit up and our chest is warmed by the fire, but our back is exposed to the dark and the cold.
‘For this reason I have fought to keep Macedon safe within firmly defined borders, and I will do all that is in my power to make sure my son appears to the Greeks as a Greek – in his thinking, in his habits, even in his physical image. You will have the most refined and complete education that any man alive today could possibly have. You will be able to consult the greatest living mind in the eastern and western Greek world.’
‘And just who is this extraordinary personage?’
Philip smiled. ‘He is the son of Nicomachus, the physician who brought you into this world. Your new tutor is the most famous and the most brilliant of Plato’s disciples. His name is Aristotle.’
11
‘MAY I TAKE ANYONE WITH ME?’ Alexander asked after listening to his father’s plans.
‘Any of the servants.’
‘I want Leptine. And my friends?’
‘Hephaestion, Perdiccas, Seleucus and the others?’
‘I’d like them to come.’
‘They will accompany you, but there will be special lessons which only you may attend, lessons that will make you different from the others. Your tutor will decide on the order of teaching, the subjects you’ll study with the others and those which are reserved for you alone. The discipline will be strict: no disobedience of any kind will be tolerated, nor distractions or lack of effort. And if you deserve it you will receive your punishment just as your companions will.’
‘When am I to leave?’
‘Soon.’
‘How soon?’
‘The day after tomorrow. Prepare your things, get the girl ready, choose which other servants you require and spend some time with your mother.’
Alexander nodded and stood in silence. Philip looked at his son closely and saw that he was biting his lip to hide his tears.
He came closer and placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder: ‘It has to be done, my boy, believe me. I want you to become Greek, I want you to be part of the only civilization in the world which creates men rather than servants, a repository of the most advanced learning, a culture which speaks the language of the Iliad and the Odyssey, which represents the gods as men and the men as gods. This does not mean that you will betray your origins, because you will remain Macedonian to the depths of your soul: the sons of lions will always be lions.’
Alexander still had nothing to say and kept his hands busy with the case containing his new razor.
‘We have never been very close, my son,’ Philip began again as he ruffled Alexander’s hair with his big, calloused hand. ‘There has been no time. You see, I am a soldier and I have done what I could for you: I have conquered a realm that is three times as big as the one I inherited from your grandfather Amyntas and I have made the Greeks, the Athenians in particular, realize that here in Macedon there is a great power which they must respect. But I am not able to mould your mind, neither are the teachers you have had so far here in the palace. They have nothing more to teach you.’
‘I will do as you wish,’ Alexander said. ‘I will go to Mieza.’
‘I am not sending you into exile, my son; we will see each other, I will visit you, and your mother and sister will also be able to come sometimes. I simply wanted to make ready a suitable place for your studies. Naturally your weaponry instructors will also go with you, together with your riding instructor and your chief huntsman. I do not want a philosopher, I want a king.’
‘As you wish, Father.’
‘One more thing. Your uncle Alexander is leaving us.’
‘Why?’
‘Up till now he has simply been playing the role of King, like an actor in a theatre. He wore the sovereign’s cloak and crown while his kingdom remained in the hands of Aribbas. But your uncle is twenty years old now: it’s high time he began his life’s work. I will get rid of Aribbas and put Alexander on the throne of Epirus.’
‘I am glad for him, but I’ll be sorry to see him go,’ said Alexander, used as he was to listening to his father’s plans as though they had already been put into effect. He knew that Aribbas ha
d the support of the Athenians and that there was an Athenian fleet at Corcyra, with a contingent of infantry ready to land.
‘Is it true that the Athenians are at Corcyra and are getting ready to invade? You’ll end up in direct conflict with them.’
‘I have no quarrel with the Athenians, in fact I hold them in great esteem. But they must understand that coming near my borders is like putting their hand straight into the lion’s mouth. As for your uncle, I too am sorry that he has to leave. He’s a fine young man and an excellent soldier and . . . I get on with him better than I do with your mother.’
‘I know.’
‘It seems to me there’s nothing more for us to discuss. Do not forget to say goodbye to your sister, and your uncle of course. And Leonidas as well. He is not a famous philosopher, but he is a good man who has taught you all he was capable of teaching and he is as proud of you as if you were his own son.’
From the other side of the door came the sound of Peritas scratching, trying to find a way in.
‘I will,’ replied Alexander. ‘May I go now?’
Philip nodded and then went to the desk, as though looking for some document. But the simple truth was that he did not want his son to see his eyes brimming with tears.
12
ALEXANDER WENT TO VISIT his mother the following day at sunset. She had just finished her meal and the maidservants were clearing up. The Queen gestured for them to stop and had a chair brought.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asked. ‘Can I get you something?’
‘I’ve already had supper – your brother’s farewell feast, Mother.’
‘I know . . . I know, I’ll say goodbye to him in person before retiring. So . . . tomorrow is an important day for you.’
‘It looks that way.’
‘Are you sad?’
‘A bit.’
‘You mustn’t be. Do you realize how much your father’s spending on moving half the Academy to Mieza?’
‘Why half the Academy?’
‘Because Aristotle isn’t alone. Together with him there’s his nephew and disciple Callisthenes, together with Theophrastus, the great scientist.’
‘How much is he spending?’
‘Fifteen talents a year for three years. Zeus knows he can afford it – the Pangaeos mines bring in a thousand a year in gold. Between helping friends, corrupting enemies and financing his projects, he’s put such quantities of gold into circulation that over the last five years prices throughout Greece have increased fivefold! Even the price of philosophers.’
‘I see you’re in a bad mood, Mother.’
‘And why shouldn’t I be? You’re going, my brother’s going. I’ll be left here alone.’
‘But Cleopatra will still be here. She loves you, and indeed I really think she’s like you. She’s so young yet she already has a strong, determined character.’
‘Yes,’ Olympias nodded. ‘Of course.’
Then there was a long silence. From the courtyard came the sound of the rhythmic marching of the guards who were starting the night watch.
‘Don’t you agree, Mother?’
Olympias shook her head. ‘No, that’s not the problem. The truth is that of all Philip’s decisions this is certainly the wisest. It’s just that my life is so difficult, Alexander, and it gets worse every day. Here at Pella I’ve always been looked upon as “the foreigner”; they’ve never accepted me and for as long as your father loved me everything was bearable . . . enjoyable even. But now . . .’
‘I think my father . . .’
‘Your father is a king, my son, and kings are not like other men: they have to marry when the interests of their kingdoms require it – once, twice, three times even – or they have to reject their wives for the same reason. They are required to fight interminable wars, they have to plot, to make and unmake alliances, to betray friends and brothers if necessary. Do you really believe there is a place for a woman like me in the heart of a man like that? But do not feel sorry for me. After all, I am still a queen, and the mother of Alexander.’
‘I will think of you every day, Mother. I will write and I will come to visit you whenever possible. But remember that my father is better than many other men – better than most of those I know.’
Olympias stood up. ‘I know,’ she said, and she moved closer to him. ‘May I embrace you?’
Alexander held her to himself and felt the warmth of her tears on his cheeks, then he turned towards the door and left. The Queen returned to her chair once more and sat there motionless for a long time, staring into space.
*
As soon as Cleopatra saw her brother she burst into tears and put her arms around his neck.
‘Hey!’ exclaimed Alexander. ‘I’m not going into exile, I’m only off to Mieza. It’s just a few hours’ march away and you’ll be able to come and visit sometime – Father has said so.’
Cleopatra dried her tears and blew her nose. ‘You’re just saying that to keep my spirits up,’ she sobbed.
‘Not in the slightest. And then there are the boys here at court. I’ve heard that one or two have started showing an interest in you.’
Cleopatra shrugged her shoulders.
‘You mean you don’t like any of them?’
She made no comment.
‘Do you know what I’ve heard?’ asked her big brother.
‘What?’ she asked, suddenly full of curiosity.
‘That you like Perdiccas. Others are saying that you like Eumenes. I find myself wondering whether you don’t perhaps like both of them.’
‘You’re the only one I love!’ and she threw her arms around his neck once more.
‘That’s a fine lie,’ said Alexander, ‘but because I like the idea so much I’ll pretend it’s the truth. Anyway, even if there is someone you like there’s no harm in it. You mustn’t get any strange ideas of course – it’ll be Father who decides on your marriage and your husband, when the right time comes, and if you happened to be in love with someone else you would suffer terribly.’
‘I know.’
‘If it were up to me I’d let you marry whoever you wished, but if I know our father he won’t let any political advantage to be drawn from your marriage slip past him. And there is no man alive who would not do everything possible to marry you. You really are so beautiful! So, will you promise to come and visit me?’
‘I promise.’
‘And you won’t start crying as soon as I walk through that door over there?’
Cleopatra nodded while the tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Alexander gave her one last kiss and left.
He spent the rest of the evening with his friends who had prepared a farewell celebration and he got drunk for the first time in his life. All the others followed suit, but, not being used to drinking, they all felt ill and vomited. Peritas, so as not to be left out of the debauchery, cocked his leg and peed on the floor.
When Alexander tried to make his way to his bed chamber, he realized that walking was no easy venture. But at some stage someone appeared in the dark with a lamp, gave him a shoulder to lean on and helped him into bed. This person wiped his face with a damp cloth, and moistened his lips with pomegranate juice before leaving. She reappeared shortly afterwards, this time bearing a steaming cup, and made him drink a camomile infusion before tucking the blankets around him.
And in a glimmer of awareness Alexander recognized her – it was Leptine.
*
Mieza in itself was an enchanting place, nestling in the foothills of Mount Bermion in the greenest of hollows, crossed by a stream and surrounded by woods of oak. The residence that Philip had prepared was so beautiful that Alexander wondered if the gardener hadn’t learned some secrets from their Persian guests, so as to create here in Macedon a ‘paradise’ like their Elam or Susiana.
An old hunting lodge had been completely restored and altered so as to create within it living quarters for guests, together with study rooms communicating with the libraries, an odeon for music a
nd even a small theatre for dramatic performances. Everyone knew how highly Aristotle thought of the dramatic arts – tragedy in particular and comedy too.
There was a study room for the classification of plants and a pharmaceutics laboratory, but what amazed Alexander more than anything else was the drawing and painting studio and the foundry communicating with it. It was equipped with all the latest tools and materials arranged in an orderly way on its shelves: clay, wax, lead, copper, silver, all with the Argead sixteen-point star hallmark guaranteeing weight and provenance.
Alexander knew he was quite good at drawing and he had been expecting a small, bright studio with a few white-lead slates and some charcoal sticks. But these impressive facilities seemed to him to be somewhat excessive.
‘The guest we’ve been expecting has arrived,’ explained the custodian, ‘but your father has given me strict orders to tell you nothing. It’s to be a surprise.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Alexander.
‘Come.’ The custodian led him to a ground-floor window that looked out into the building’s internal courtyard. ‘There he is,’ said the custodian, pointing to the eldest of a group of three people walking under the eastern wing of the portico.
He was a man of about forty – slim, erect in his gait and measured and contained, almost studied, in his bearing. His eyes were small and lively and followed every gesture of his companions and it seemed even the movements of their lips, but at the same time he missed nothing of all that existed and happened around him.
Alexander was immediately aware that this man was observing him without having looked at him directly even for an instant. He went outside and stood in front of the door waiting for the guest to finish a half-circuit of the portico before reaching that spot.
Soon Alexander found himself facing Aristotle: his eyes were grey, nestling under a high and broad forehead, marked by two deep frown lines. His cheekbones were prominent and were further accentuated by his lean face. His mouth was regular and shaded by a thick moustache and a very neat beard which functioned as a sort of frame, granting his expression an aura of thoughtful intensity.
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