‘Stop where you are,’ ordered the officer, ‘or I’ll have you sunk!’ And he asked the helmsman to turn to starboard and to aim the big bronze ram of the trireme against the side of the small vessel.
The men in the boat were frightened and stopped rowing and when the Athenian captain told them to come closer they did so and climbed on board.
There was something strange about the way they behaved, and in their appearance, but when they opened their mouths to speak the Athenian officer had no doubts – they were certainly Macedonian and not Thracian fishermen, as they had claimed to be.
He had them searched and hanging round the neck of one he found a leather cylinder with a message inside. This was definitely his lucky night! He asked one of his men to bring a lamp while he read:
Philip, King of the Macedonians, to Antipater.
Hail, my General Lieutenant!
We find ourselves now with an opportunity to inflict a crushing defeat on the Athenian fleet in the Bosphorus. Send one hundred ships on ahead from Thasos and block the southern exit from the Hellespont. I will send my fleet down from the south and we will have them in a pincer move. There will be no escape for them. You must be at the mouth of the Straits on the first night of the new moon.
Take good care.
‘Gods above!’ exclaimed the captain as soon as he had finished reading. ‘There’s no time to lose.’
He immediately ordered the helmsman and the oarsmen to turn back and row at full strength towards the middle of the Straits where the flagship was floating at anchor. He went aboard and asked to speak to the Navarch, the admiral, an elderly officer of great experience by the name of Phokion, and he gave him the message that had been intercepted. The officer read it quickly and then passed it to his scribe, a competent man who had worked for years as secretary to the Athenian assembly.
‘I have seen other letters from Philip in our archive and this is certainly from his hand. And the seal is his too,’ he added after having examined the document carefully.
Shortly afterwards, from the prow of the flagship, the Navarch had a shield flash the signal for all the ships of the fleet to withdraw.
They arrived off Thasos some three days later only to discover that there was no sign of Antipater’s fleet, which was not really so surprising because Antipater had never actually had a fleet. But in the meantime the Macedonian royal ships had been able to travel down the Bosphorus and the Hellespont peacefully and find shelter in a safe port.
In one of his speeches against Philip, Demosthenes had named him ‘the Fox’; when he heard what had happened he realized that never had such a name been more deserved.
The Macedonian King abandoned the siege of Perinthus as autumn began and marched north to punish the Scythian tribes who had refused to send him reinforcements. He defeated and killed their king, Atas, a man who went into battle in person even though he was more than ninety years old.
On the return journey, however, in the midst of winter now, Philip’s army was attacked by the fiercest of the Thracian tribes, the Triballians. The Macedonians suffered terrible losses and had to abandon all their loot. The King himself was wounded and was barely able to lead his soldiers back to the homeland, fighting to open up the road all the way.
He returned to the palace at Pella sorely tested by his labours and by the stabbing pains from his wounded leg – exhausted and almost unrecognizable. But that very same day he called a session of the council and asked to be informed about events in Greece and in Macedon during his absence.
There was no good news, and had he been able to find the slightest reserve of energy he would have been a raging bull.
Instead he resolved that all he could do was sleep on it and the following morning he called Philip the physician and said to him, ‘Take a good look at me. What do you think?’
The doctor studied him up and down, took note of his dull complexion and his lifeless gaze, the dry, cracked lips, the quavering voice: ‘You’re in terrible shape, Sire.’
‘You don’t mince your words,’ observed the King.
‘What you need is a good doctor. When you need people to worship and flatter you, you well know where to look for them.’
‘You’re right. Now, listen to me. I am prepared to drink any concoction you wish, to have my back broken and my neck twisted by your masseurs, to have your enemas up my rear end, to eat stinking fish instead of red meat for as long as you want, to drink pure spring water until there’s a colony of frogs in my belly, but for the sake of the gods, get me back on my feet because at the beginning of summer I want my roar to be heard as far as Athens and beyond.’
‘Will you follow my instructions faithfully?’ asked the physician diffidently.
‘I will obey.’
‘And you won’t throw my medicines and my infusions at the wall?’
‘I will not.’
‘Come to the surgery then. I have to examine you.’
*
Some time had passed when one quiet spring evening, Philip appeared in the Queen’s apartments unannounced. Olympias, warned by her maids, took a quick look at herself in the mirror before going to meet him on the threshold. ‘I am pleased to see you have recovered, Sire. Come in, sit down; it is an honour for me to receive the King of Macedon here in these rooms.’
Philip sat and for a while was silent with his eyes lowered. ‘Is all this formality necessary? Can we not converse like husband and wife who have been together for many years?’
‘ “Together” is no longer such an appropriate word,’ replied Olympias.
‘Your tongue is more cutting than a sword.’
‘That’s because I have no sword.’
‘I have come to speak to you.’
‘I will listen.’
‘I have to ask you a favour. My recent campaigns have not been successful. I have lost many men and have wasted precious resources. In Athens they think I am finished and they listen to Demosthenes as though he were some kind of oracle.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Olympias, I do not want a direct conflict now and I don’t want to do anything that might lead to one either. For the moment good will must prevail. The desire to somehow undo the rift, the damage . . .’
‘How can I help you?’
‘I cannot send a mission to Athens at this juncture, but I thought that if you were to do it – the Queen – then that might change many things. You have never undertaken any initiative against them. Some Athenians even maintain that you are a victim of Philip.’
‘I cannot send a mission to Athens at this juncture, but I thought that if you were to do it – the Queen – then that might change many things. You have never undertaken any initiative against them. Some Athenians even maintain that you are a victim of Philip.’
Olympias made no comment.
‘To cut things short, it would be like an embassy from a neutral power, don’t you think? Olympias, I need time, please help me! And if you don’t want to help me, think of your son. It is his kingdom I am building, his hegemony over the entire Greek world – that is what I am preparing.’
He fell silent and composed himself after his emotional plea. Olympias turned towards the window as if seeking to avoid his gaze and she too was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘I will do it. I will send Oreos, my secretary. He is a wise and prudent man.’
‘An excellent choice,’ Philip said approvingly. He simply had not expected such accommodation.
‘What else can I do for you?’ the Queen asked again, but the tone was one of cold dismissal.
‘I wanted to tell you that in a few days’ time I will go to Mieza.’ At this news Olympias suddenly changed expression and her pale cheeks flushed pink. ‘I am going there to bring Alexander home,’ he added.
The Queen hid her face in her stole, but she could not hide the emotions that came over her in that moment.
‘You haven’t asked whether I’ve eaten or not,’ Philip said to her.
Olympias lifte
d her moist eyes. ‘Have you eaten?’ she repeated mechanically.
‘No. I . . . I was hoping that you might have asked me to stay here with you this evening.’
The Queen lowered her head. ‘I don’t feel well today. I am sorry.’
Philip bit his lip and left, slamming the door.
Olympias leaned against the wall as though in a faint and listened to her husband’s heavy steps resound along the corridor and fade away to nothing down the stairs.
18
THE MEADOW WAS FLOODED with spring light and dotted with flowers as Alexander ran across it. Half naked and barefoot, he moved quickly against the wind that blew through his hair and brought with it a slight smell of sea spray.
Peritas was running alongside, checking his pace so as not to overtake his master and lose him. Now and again he barked to attract Alexander’s attention and the Prince turned towards the dog and smiled, but without stopping.
It was one of those moments in which Alexander gave free rein to his spirit, in which he flew like a bird, galloped like a steed. It was then that his ambiguous and mysterious centaur-like nature – violent and sensitive, dark and sunny at one and the same time – seemed to find expression in harmonious movement, in a sort of initiatory dance under the shining light of the sun or in the sudden shade of a cloud.
With each stride his sculpted body first contracted and then extended in a long movement, his golden hair bounced soft and bright on his back like a mane, and his graceful arms accompanied the rise and fall of his chest in the brisk labour of his running.
Philip watched him in silence, sitting immobile on horseback at the edge of the wood. Then, when he realized they were close now and heard the dog’s barking suddenly increase on spotting him, he spurred on his steed and came alongside his son, waving his hand, smiling even, but without stopping him, enchanted as he was by the power of that running and the wonder of those indefatigable limbs.
Alexander stopped on the bank of a small river and dived into the water; Philip dismounted and waited for him. The boy leaped out of the stream together with the dog and they both shook the water from their bodies. Philip embraced his son hard and felt Alexander’s equally strong grip – tangible proof that his child had become a man.
‘I have come to collect you,’ he said. ‘We’re going home.’
Alexander looked at him in disbelief. ‘Is that the King’s word?’
‘The King’s word,’ assured Philip. ‘But the day will come when you will remember this period of your life with regret for its ever having come to an end. I never had such fortune; I had no songs, nor poetry, nor wise lectures. And this is why I am so tired, son, for this is why my years weigh so heavily on me.’
Alexander said nothing and they walked together through the meadow, towards the house: the young man followed by his dog, the father holding his horse by its bridle.
Suddenly, from behind a hill that hid the view of the Mieza retreat, there came the sound of a horse neighing. It was an acute, penetrating sound, a powerful call like that of a wild beast, or a chimerical creature. And then there came the sound of men shouting, calling, and powerful hooves all shod with bronze that made the earth tremble.
The neighing came again, more acute and angrier this time. Philip turned towards his son and said, ‘I have brought you a present.’
They reached the top of the hill and Alexander stopped in amazement: below, there before him, a black stallion reared up onto its hind legs, shining with sweat like a bronze statue under the rain, held by five men with ropes and bridles in their hands, all trying to keep the animal’s formidable power under control.
It was blacker than a raven’s wing and it had a white star on its forehead in the shape of a bucranium, an ox’s skull. With every movement of its neck or its hindquarters it scattered the grooms to the ground and dragged them across the grass like lifeless puppets. Then, head down, it leaped onto its front hooves, kicking out wildly with its hind legs, whipping the air with its tail while the long mane flowed from one side of its neck to the other, shining in the light.
Around the wondrous animal’s mouth was a bloody froth and every now and then it stopped struggling, its neck bowed so as to inhale as much as possible, filling its chest with air and then exhaling like a breath of fire, like a dragon blowing. And again it neighed, shook its splendid neck, stretched the tightened muscles that swelled its withers.
Alexander, as though struck by a whip, suddenly came to and shouted, ‘Leave it! Let that horse free, by Zeus!’
Philip put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait a little while more, my boy, wait until we have broken it in. Just a little patience and it will be yours.’
‘No!’ shouted Alexander. ‘No! Only I can tame it. Leave it! I’m telling you to let it go.’
‘But it will escape,’ said Philip. ‘My boy, I paid a fortune for that horse!’
‘How much?’ Alexander asked. ‘How much did it cost, Father?’
‘Thirteen talents.’
‘I’ll bet you the same amount that I can break it in! But tell those fools to let it go! I beg you!’
Philip looked at him and saw that he was very nearly out of his mind with emotion, the veins in his neck were thick and swollen like those of the raging stallion.
He turned to the men and gave the order, ‘Let it loose!’
They immediately obeyed. One by one they undid the ropes and the bridles. The animal ran off onto the plain straight away. Alexander ran after it and managed somehow to catch up as the King and his grooms watched on in disbelief.
Philip shook his head and mumbled, ‘Oh, by the gods, the boy’s heart will burst, his heart will burst.’ Peritas, held by one of the men, bared his teeth and growled and barked but the groom quietened him and gestured to the others to listen. They all heard Alexander speaking to the horse in the midst of their breathless running – shouting something, his words snatched away by the wind as was the neighing of the stallion which somehow seemed to be replying.
And suddenly, when it seemed the young man must collapse because of the effort, the steed slowed down, trotted for a while and then started walking, shaking its head and breathing deeply.
Alexander once again approached it slowly, with the sun behind him. He could see it now, fully illuminated, he could see its wide, black forehead with the white mark in the shape of an ox’s skull.
‘Bucephalas,’ he whispered. ‘Bucephalas . . . there, that’s your name, that’s it. What do you think . . . do you like it? Like this name, do you?’ And he came closer and closer, to the point where he could almost touch it. The animal shook its head, but still it did not move and the boy put out his hand and touched its neck, delicately, and then the cheek and its muzzle, as soft as moss.
‘Do you want to run with me?’ he said. ‘Do you want to run?’
The horse neighed and lifted its proud head and Alexander understood that it was saying yes. He stared into its burning eyes for a moment and then leaped swiftly onto its back and shouted, ‘Go, Bucephalas!’ And he touched its belly with his heels.
The animal sped off at a gallop, stretching its shining back, lengthening its head and its legs and its long tail. He ran as fast as the wind across the plain as far as the wood and the river, and the hammering of his hooves was like thunder.
They stopped in front of Philip, who found himself wondering whether to believe his eyes.
Alexander slipped to the ground. ‘It’s like riding Pegasus, Father, it’s as though he had wings. Achilles’ horses, Balius and Xanthus, children of the wind, must have been like this. Thank you for the gift,’ and as he said this he stroked the horse on its neck and sweaty chest. Peritas began to bark, jealous of what he felt must be a new friend of his master and Alexander petted him too, to reassure him.
Philip looked on in amazement, struggling to take in all that had happened. Then he kissed Alexander on the head and said, ‘My son, you must seek out another kingdom for yourself. Macedon alone is clearly not big enough for yo
u.’
19
‘DID YOU REALLY pay thirteen talents for him?’ Alexander asked as he rode alongside his father.
Philip nodded. ‘I think it’s the highest price ever paid for a horse. It’s the most handsome animal that Philonikos’s stables in Thessaly have produced in many years.’
‘He’s worth more,’ said Alexander, stroking Bucephalas’ neck. ‘No other charger in the world would be worthy of me.’
They ate with Aristotle and Callisthenes. Theophrastus had returned to Asia to continue with his research, occasionally sending news of his discoveries to his master.
Sitting with them at the table were two ceramic painters Aristotle had called from Corinth, not to paint pots, but to work at another, much more delicate that job which Philip himself had commissioned – a map of the known world.
‘May I see it?’ asked the King impatiently when they had finished eating.
‘Certainly,’ replied Aristotle. ‘Indeed, it is thanks to your conquests that we have been able to include all these different lands.’
They moved to a spacious, well-lit room dominated by the large map, painted on a tanned ox skin fixed by means of some studs to a wooden board of the same size. The colours used by the artists to represent seas, mountains, rivers and lakes, gulfs and islands were bright and striking.
Philip looked at it spellbound. His gaze ran over its lines from the eastern to the western extremities – from the Pillars of Hercules to the spread of the Scythian Plain, from the Bosphorus to the Caucasus, from Egypt to Syria.
He stroked it gently with his fingers, almost afraid to touch it, searching for countries – friends and enemies alike. His eyes shone as he recognized the city he had recently founded in Thrace and which bore his name – Philippopolis. Thus it was that he finally saw a physical representation of his dominion.
Towards the east and the north the map faded into nothing, just as it did towards the south and the endless sands of the Libyans and the Garamantes.
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