Child of a Dream

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  His eyes were closed and he sat there completely motionless.

  Alexander stopped right there and contemplated the man in silence. The philosopher showed no sign of having noticed the arrival of his visitors and did not open his eyes at all.

  The young Prince wondered what thoughts could possibly be passing through that forehead, that ponderous head sitting on that very slender neck, on that thin, fragile body. What had led him, after a life dedicated to research into the human spirit, to lie naked and destitute at the edge of the road, object of derision and pity for passers-by?

  He felt moved by this pride in poverty, by this total simplicity, by this body which in the presence of death sought to rid itself of everything, to be as unencumbered as man is at the moment of birth.

  He wished Aristotle were with him; he wished he could have witnessed those two minds duelling under the sun like champions with spear and sword. He wished he could say how much he admired him. Instead he came out with a rather unfortunate offer:

  ‘Hail, Diogenes! He who stands before you is Alexander of Macedon. Ask of me what you will and I will be glad to give it to you.’

  The old man opened his toothless mouth: ‘Anything?’ he asked in a high-pitched voice, without even opening his eyes.

  ‘Anything at all,’ Alexander repeated.

  ‘Well . . . move over a bit because you’re blocking the sun just there.’

  Alexander moved immediately and sat down to one side, at Diogenes’ feet, like a postulant asking for indulgence from a higher order. He turned to Callisthenes:

  ‘Please leave us alone. I do not know if he will say anything to me, but if he does they will be words that cannot be written, my friend.’

  Callisthenes saw that Alexander’s eyes were moist.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, perhaps all of this is a waste – burning wood to sell its ash – but I would give anything to know what goes on behind those closed eyelids. And believe me, if I weren’t what I am, if I weren’t Alexander, I would like to be Diogenes.’

  28

  NO ONE EVER DISCOVERED what was said in their conversation, but Alexander certainly never forgot the meeting, and perhaps Diogenes never did either.

  Two days later, Philip and his entourage set off again on the northern road towards Macedon and the Prince went with them.

  When they reached Pella the King concentrated on preparations for the great expedition to the Orient. Almost every day there was a war council with the participation of the generals Attalus, Cleitus the Black, Antipater and Parmenion, and they worked at organizing the levy of soldiers, their equipment, their supplies. The good relations with Athens now guaranteed them safety at sea and – between the Macedonian navy and the allies’ ships – a feasible means of transport to carry the massed army to Asia.

  Alexander’s time was almost completely taken up by this feverish activity and he didn’t seem to be at all preoccupied by Eurydice’s pregnancy, nor by his mother’s torments, even though Olympias was always sending him messages when he was away from Pella, or sending urgent requests for private talks when he was there.

  Olympias was also engaged in lively correspondence with her brother, Alexander of Epirus, with the aim of securing his support. She felt more lonely than ever now – in decline, relegated backstage in her apartments.

  She thought of nothing else and her plight was her only topic of conversation with those people who remained loyal to her. Her future stretched out before her as a bleak one of reclusion and total isolation. Indeed, Olympias was acutely aware that from the moment when the new Queen was officially granted her royal prerogatives, she herself would no longer be allowed even to appear in public. She would thus have to relinquish the only satisfaction left to her – the official occasions on which she met foreign guests and delegations, when she would entertain the wives and friends of the visitors in her apartments.

  Above all else she was worried that she would lose what was left of her personal power as mother of the heir to the throne.

  Alexander was less concerned, surrounded as he was by his friends who continually displayed their devotion and their loyalty.

  He also enjoyed the deep and sincere esteem of Generals Parmenion and Antipater, the right- and left-hand men of his father the King. Both generals had seen Alexander in action as a man of government and in combat on the battlefield. They knew that the kingdom would be safe if one day it was left in his hands. But in truth the dynastic situation was not by any means certain: Alexander’s cousins, Amyntas and his brother Archelaus, still had some support in certain quarters of the nobility, while his half-brother, Arrhidaeaus, a halfwit, seemed at the moment to pose no threat.

  *

  The date of Philip’s wedding was officially announced at the beginning of winter and although the news had been expected for some time, it came as a thunderbolt.

  Everyone was struck by the extraordinary air of gravitas and grand pomp that the King sought to grant the ceremony.

  Eumenes was now running the royal office single handed, and he kept Alexander informed of every detail: the rank of invited guests, the expenditure for clothes, the ornaments, the food, the wines, the decorations, the jewels for the bride and her bridesmaids.

  Alexander tried to keep most of this from his mother so as to spare her feelings as much as possible, but Olympias was equipped with eyes and ears everywhere and she knew exactly what was going on before he did.

  The great day had almost arrived when the Queen and Alexander received official invitations to take part in the ceremony. They were both well aware that an invitation from Philip was effectively an order, and mother and son started preparing themselves, reluctantly, for the ceremony and the sumptuous wedding feast that was to take place immediately afterwards.

  Eumenes had performed miracles of diplomatic dexterity in arranging the guests’ dining beds and tables so as to avoid contacts that would inevitably have led to arguments or even fights. The tribal chiefs and the Macedonian princes were all lined up more or less on one side or the other and when the wine started flowing, it would be quite possible for the blood to start flowing too as a result of a badly interpreted phrase or gesture.

  The bride was enchantingly beautiful, dressed like a true queen, but the signs of her pregnancy were clearly evident. She wore a golden diadem and her hair was tied up above her neck in a chignon held in place by pins of gold with coral heads; her gown was woven with silver and decorated with extraordinarily beautiful embroidery in imitation of the style of the ceramist painters, reproducing a scene of maids dancing in front of a statue of Aphrodite. Over her face was the nuptial veil which partially covered her forehead.

  Alexander, by virtue of his role as heir to the throne, was required to take up position near the King and his new bride and later too, during the banquet, he was expected to stretch out near his father.

  Olympias on the other hand, with her own maids, was opposite Philip at the far end of the large dining hall. Alongside her was Princess Cleopatra, who had apparently chosen to remain with her mother because she didn’t get on with Eurydice, even though they were of the same age.

  The dining beds were arranged along the four sides of a rectangle and only at the end of the long right-hand side was there an opening which allowed the cooks to enter with the dishes and the waiters to keep the wine flowing and the floor clear of leftovers.

  A group of flute players had started the music and some dancers were swaying among the tables and in the central area in the middle of the large rectangle of the dining hall. Things were beginning to warm up and Alexander, who hadn’t touched a drop of wine, was keeping an eye on his mother without being obvious about it. She was the personification of beauty and pride, her face pale, her gaze icy; she seemed to transcend this bacchanalia, the shouting of the drunken revellers, the piercing music of the flutes. She was like a statue of some implacable goddess of revenge.

  She neither ate nor drank throughout, while Philip let himself go in all sorts of
debauchery not only with his young bride, whose resistance consisted only of coy giggling, but with the dancers as well as they passed by. All the other guests, especially the Macedonians, did the same.

  Then came the moment when everyone had to toast the newly wed couple and, in accordance with ceremonial procedure, it was the bride’s father’s duty to lift the cup and drink to their health. Attalus was no less under the influence than the others: he stood up, staggered and raised the brimming cup, managing to splash wine not only on his own bed, but also on those of his neighbours. Then, in a rather quavering voice, he said, ‘I give you the royal couple! To the groom’s potency and to the beauty of the bride. May the gods grant them a legitimate heir to the throne of Macedon!’

  This was the most unfortunate thing he could have possibly uttered at that moment. Indeed, it simply reinforced the rumours that were doing the rounds among the Macedonian nobility regarding the Queen’s purported infidelity. And of course it was a grievous offence to Alexander, the heir designate.

  Olympias turned deathly pale. Everyone who had heard Attalus’s toast went silent and turned towards Alexander who had jumped to his feet, his face crimson, in a terrible fit of rage.

  ‘You idiot!’ he shouted. ‘You son of a bitch! So what am I then? A bastard? Eat your words or I will slit your throat from ear to ear!’ And he drew his sword from its scabbard to give substance to his threat.

  At this Philip, furious with Alexander for having insulted his father-in-law and for having ruined his wedding feast, wine-sodden and out of his mind, unsheathed his own sword and set off on the short trip to deal with his son. The hall suddenly filled with shouts, the dancers fled and the cooks ducked for cover in view of the storm that was breaking out.

  But as he sought to jump from one dining bed to another to reach Alexander, who stood his ground waiting for the attack, Philip slipped and fell noisily to the floor, pulling drapes, crockery and leftovers with him and ending up in a pool of red wine. He tried to stand up, only to slip once more and fall face down.

  Alexander moved closer with his sword still held firmly in his hand. A tomb-like silence descended on the hall. The dancers crowded together trembling in one corner. Attalus was waxen pale and a thread of spit dribbled from the corner of his half-open mouth. The young bride sobbed, ‘Stop them, in the name of the gods, someone do something!’

  ‘Here he is!’ exclaimed Alexander, laughing. ‘Just take a look at the man who wants to move from Europe into Asia and yet isn’t even capable of stepping from one bed to another without taking a tumble.’

  Philip crawled through the wine and the leftovers of the meal growling, ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’

  But Alexander didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘It will already be quite an achievement if you can manage to get up onto your feet,’ he said. Then, turning to the servants, ‘Pick him up and wash him down.’

  Then he went to Olympias. ‘We must leave now, Mother, you were right. This is no place for us.’

  29

  ALEXANDER LEFT the palace quickly, arm in arm with his mother, the pair of them followed by Philip’s furious shouting. As soon as they reached the courtyard Alexander asked Olympias, ‘Do you feel up to riding or shall I have a carriage prepared?’

  ‘No. I will ride on horseback.’

  ‘Get changed and make sure you’re ready at the entrance to your apartments. I’ll be with you soon. Don’t forget your cloak and your warm clothes. We’re heading for the mountains.’

  ‘At last!’ exclaimed the Queen.

  Alexander ran to the stables to collect Bucephalas together with a Sarmatian bay complete with tack, caparison and satchels for a journey. He took them both to the northern corner of the palace.

  ‘Alexander! Wait!’ shouted a voice behind him.

  ‘Hephaestion! Go back, my father will pick on you next if you don’t.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter . . . I’ll be damned if I leave you on your own. Where are you going?’

  ‘To Epirus, to my uncle’s.’

  ‘Which road are you taking?’

  ‘Beroea.’

  ‘You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘Good. Say goodbye to the others for me and tell Eumenes to look after Peritas.’

  ‘Of course . . . don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,’ and Hephaestion ran off.

  ‘At least one bone every day!’ Alexander shouted after him. ‘For his teeth!’

  His friend made a gesture indicating that he’d understood and disappeared again inside the stables.

  Olympias was ready. She had gathered her hair in a bun, put on a leather jerkin and a pair of Illyrian trousers and over her shoulders were two satchels with blankets and supplies and a purse. One of her maids followed her crying, ‘But my Queen . . . my Queen . . .’

  ‘Go back inside into your room,’ Olympias ordered her.

  Alexander handed her the bridle and asked, ‘Mother, where is Cleopatra? I can’t leave without saying goodbye to her.’

  ‘She sent a maid to say she’s waiting for you in the atrium of the women’s quarters, but you do realize that every instant we waste could prove fatal, don’t you?’

  ‘I won’t be long, Mother.’

  He covered his head with the hood of his cloak and ran to his sister. She was pale and trembling, still dressed in her wedding feast finery.

  As soon as Cleopatra saw him she threw her arms around his neck and started crying:

  ‘Don’t go! Please don’t go. I’ll ask him to forgive you, I’ll get down on my knees before him . . . he won’t be able to refuse me.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘They’ve taken him to his apartments.’

  ‘Dead drunk?’

  Cleopatra nodded.

  ‘We must leave now, before he regains consciousness. There is no place for me here now, neither can our mother remain in this palace. I will write, if I can. I love you, little sister.’

  Cleopatra burst into even more desperate tears and Alexander almost had to prise himself from her embrace.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ the girl shouted after him.

  ‘When the gods will,’ replied Alexander. ‘But you will always be in my heart!’

  He quickly returned to his mother who was still ready and waiting.

  ‘Let’s go!’ he exclaimed. Then he looked at her quickly and smiled. ‘Mother, you’re beautiful. You look like an Amazon.’

  Olympias shook her head. ‘A mother is always beautiful in her child’s eye. But thank you anyway, my boy.’ She spurred her horse on as Alexander, with an agile leap, mounted Bucephalas and galloped off to join her.

  They kept clear of the busiest roads, at one point taking a country lane Alexander had used several times before when he was at Mieza, and they travelled a good distance without encountering any problems before darkness fell.

  They stopped a couple of times to let their mounts get their breath back and to water them before reaching the large forest which covered Eordaea and the Haliakmon valley. They took shelter in a cave with a gurgling spring at its entrance and Alexander left the horses to graze freely outside. Then he set to work lighting a fire with two sticks and a bow.

  ‘Aristotle taught me,’ he explained. ‘The friction creates heat.’

  ‘Was Mieza a good experience for you?’

  ‘They were wonderful years, but a life like that is no life for me.’ He arranged some dry leaves around the sticks and started blowing on them when he saw the first smoke rising.

  A weak flame started and it grew stronger as Alexander added more and more leaves and sticks.

  When the flames had taken good hold, he put larger pieces of wood on the fire and spread his cloak on the ground before it.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable, Mother. I’ll get your supper ready this evening.’

  Olympias sat and stared, almost spellbound by the dance of the flames in the solitude of the forest, while her son opened the satchels, took out some bread and to
asted it on the fire. Then he cut a piece of cheese with his knife and handed it to her.

  They began eating in silence.

  ‘This is the best supper I’ve had in many years,’ Olympias said, ‘and in a setting more beautiful than any palace. I feel as though I am a child again, up here in my mountains.’

  Alexander dipped a wooden cup into the springwater and offered it to her. ‘And yet even this wouldn’t satisfy you. You would soon miss the politics, your connections, your intrigues. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Perhaps. But for the moment just let me dream. The last time you and I slept in the same room you had only just learned to walk. And your father loved me.’

  They sat there talking quietly and listening to the rustling of the evening wind through the branches of the oaks and the crackling of the flames in their lone camp. In the end they fell asleep, exhausted by their long, eventful day.

  A deep melancholy had descended on both of them: they were exiles and fugitives, homeless and friendless. And they both bitterly resented their separation from a man who was hard, violent, despotic, but capable like no other of making people love him.

  During the night Alexander opened his eyes, woken by an almost imperceptible noise, and he was immediately aware that his mother was no longer beside him. He looked round and in the moonlight saw a shadow along the path that wound its way among the age-old oaks. It was Olympias. She was standing in front of an enormous tree and seemed to be speaking to someone. He moved quietly, crawling over the moss until he was close to her and heard her murmuring something in an unknown language, then she would become silent as if receiving a response and then start up again, whispering yet more mysteries.