Child of a Dream

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘An unusual weapon . . . but I see that you have already begun your investigation.’

  ‘Curiosity is the key to knowledge. What do you know about him?’ he asked, indicating the body again.

  ‘Very little. His name was Pausanias and he was from Lyncestis, originally. He had been recruited to the King’s bodyguard because of his physical prowess.’

  ‘Unfortunately he won’t be able to tell us anything, and this is surely part of the plan. Have you interrogated the soldiers who killed him?’

  ‘One or two, but I didn’t get much from them. They all maintain they didn’t hear King Alexander’s order not to kill him. The shock of Philip’s death had made them furious, they were in a blind rage and as soon as he showed the slightest sign of trying to defend himself, they massacred him.’

  ‘It’s a credible story, but it’s probably not true. Where is the King of Epirus?’

  ‘He left with Alexander, they’re on their way to Pella together.’

  ‘So he has relinquished his first night with his bride.’

  ‘For two reasons, both of them understandable: to support his brother-in-law at this critical juncture in the succession, and as a mark of respect for Cleopatra’s bereavement.’

  Aristotle brought a finger up to his mouth as a signal to his nephew to keep quiet. The sound of a horse galloping reached them ever more distinctly as it came nearer.

  ‘Let’s move,’ said the philosopher. ‘Let’s get away from here. Whoever believes himself to be unobserved behaves more naturally.’

  The sound of the gallop changed into the gentle rhythmic steps of a horse at a walk and then it stopped altogether. A figure draped in black leaped to the ground, walked forward until it stood in front of the corpse nailed to the pole, and then pulled back the hood of its cloak to reveal a fine head of wavy hair.

  ‘Gods above! It’s Olympias!’ whispered Callisthenes in his uncle’s ear.

  The Queen moved closer still, pulled something from the folds of her cloak and then stood up on tiptoes in front of the body. When she turned round to join her escort again, there was a garland of flowers around Pausanias’ neck.

  ‘Oh, by Zeus!’ Callisthenes said. ‘But then this means . . .’

  ‘You think you know what it all means?’ Aristotle shook his head. ‘It’s not so clear at all. If she had commissioned the assassination do you think she would have made such a gesture in front of her escort, well knowing that someone was probably keeping Pausanias’ corpse under surveillance?’

  ‘But if she’s aware of all this, then she might behave in such an absurd way precisely to lead whoever is investigating to dismiss her on these very grounds.’

  ‘This is true, but it is always wiser to attempt to discover the motives that may have pushed a suspect to commit a crime rather than quiz oneself on what that person thinks other people are thinking,’ observed Aristotle. ‘Find me a lamp or a torch and let’s go to the place where Pausanias was killed.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be best to wait for the light of day?’

  ‘Too many things might happen before dawn. I’ll wait for you down there.’

  The philosopher set off towards the wood of oak and elm that was near the place where the assassin had been massacred.

  39

  HEPHAESTION, PTOLEMY, Seleucus and Perdiccas, all four dressed in their armour, arrived tired and dripping with sweat as darkness fell. They gave their horses to the attendants and quickly went up the stairs of the palace to the council chamber where Alexander was waiting for them.

  Leonnatus and Lysimachus were to arrive the following day because they were travelling all the way from Larissa, in Thessaly.

  A guard let them all into the chamber where the lamps had already been lit and Alexander was already waiting together with Philotas, General Antipater, Alexander of Epirus, Amyntas and some commanders of the phalanx battalions and the Companions cavalry. All of them, including the King, were wearing their armour and they kept their helmets and their swords at hand on the table in front of them – a sure sign that the situation was still critical.

  Alexander, visibly moved, came towards them. ‘My friends . . . finally we are back together again.’

  Hephaestion spoke for all of them: ‘We are deeply sorry for the death of King Philip and our grief is most strong. We no longer resent the exile he inflicted upon us. We remember him as a great King, the most valiant of soldiers and the wisest of rulers. He was like a father to us – strict and unyielding, but also generous and capable of most noble gestures. We grieve for him most sincerely. It has been a terrible event, but now you must take his inheritance in hand, and we recognize you as his successor and as our King.’

  This short speech over, Hephaestion walked to Alexander and kissed him on both cheeks, as did all the others. Then he saluted King Alexander of Epirus and those officers present and they all took seats around the table.

  Alexander picked up where he had left off: ‘It will not take long for news of Philip’s death to spread everywhere because the assassination took place in the presence of thousands of people. The reactions that it will inevitably provoke are difficult to predict, but we must be ready to move equally rapidly to prevent anything and everything that might weaken the realm or threaten my father’s achievements in any way. This is my plan.

  ‘We must gather intelligence on the state of the northern borders, on the reaction of our new Athenian and Theban allies and . . .’ at this point he turned to Philotas with a knowing look, ‘on the intentions of the generals who command our expedition to Asia – Attalus and Parmenion. Since they have at their disposal an army of fifteen thousand men, it makes sense to clarify their intentions immediately.’

  ‘What are you thinking of doing?’ asked Philotas with a certain degree of apprehension in his voice.

  ‘I don’t want to put any of you in difficult positions: I will give my message to a Greek officer by the name of Hecataeus, who is in our service in the Straits area with a small division. I have decided to relieve Attalus of his command and I am sure you will all understand the reasoning behind that.’

  No one objected. Indeed, the scene that had been played out a year previously at Philip’s wedding was still vivid in their memories.

  ‘I believe,’ said Alexander, ‘that the consequences of the King’s death will soon make themselves felt. Some people will see this as an opportunity to move backwards in time, to restore old ways, and we will have to persuade them that they are wrong. Only once we have dealt with this danger will we be able to start again with my father’s plans.’

  Alexander fell silent and at that moment everyone realized that time had in fact stopped, that in this very room a future beyond anyone’s imagination was being prepared. The young man Philip had had educated and groomed through years of hard work and sacrifice now sat on the Argead throne and, for the first time in his life, the devastating power that he had only ever seen wielded by the heroes in epic poems now rested firmly in his hands.

  *

  Alexander went with his namesake brother-in-law to Aegae, leaving command of the various units of the phalanx and the Hetairoi cavalry to his friends, while Hephaestion was entrusted with the royal palace. Philip still had to be buried and there were other serious matters to be dealt with in the old capital.

  Halfway there they met a messenger who had been sent by Eumenes with an urgent despatch.

  ‘It is just as well I found you, Sire!’ exclaimed the messenger, handing him a sealed roll of papyrus. ‘Eumenes wants you to read it immediately.’

  Alexander unrolled it and read the succinct message:

  Eumenes to Alexander, King of Macedon, Hail!

  Eurydice’s baby boy has been found dead in his cradle and I fear for the life of Eurydice herself.

  Queen Olympias arrived here the night you left for Pella.

  You must come immediately.

  Take good care.

  ‘My mother arrived there immediately after we left? Did you kno
w about that?’ Alexander asked his brother-in-law.

  The King of Epirus shook his head. ‘She said nothing to me when I left Buthrotum, but I never thought she really intended to go to the wedding. For her it was another affront. She thought this was Philip’s way of alienating her completely, since I would be formally obliged to provide him with security for his western borders following the wedding. I never thought she really meant to join me at Aegae.’

  ‘In any case, she’s there now. And it appears she has taken some very drastic initiatives. Let’s move, before she does something completely irreparable,’ said Alexander, and he spurred Bucephalas into a gallop.

  They reached Aegae the following evening, as the sun was setting, and from a distance they could hear heartrending cries coming from the palace. Eumenes came to meet them at the entrance.

  ‘She’s been crying like that for two days. She says it was your mother who killed her boy. And she refuses to relinquish the body. But time passes and . . . you can imagine . . .’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the southern wing,’ replied Eumenes. ‘Come with me.’

  Alexander nodded to his bodyguard to follow and strode through the palace, every sector of whicwas heavily guarded by armed soldiers. Many of them were from Epirus – members of his brother-in-law’s escort.

  ‘Who posted them all here?’

  ‘Your mother, the Queen,’ replied Eumenes as he walked, breathless, behind Alexander.

  As they approached, the wailing became louder. Now and then it would explode into raucous shouting, then fade into a long, drawn-out sobbing.

  They came to the door and Alexander opened it without hesitating, but what he found in the room froze him instantly. Eurydice was lying in a corner, her hair dishevelled, her eyes swollen and red, a mad look in her eyes. She was holding the lifeless body of her baby to her breast. The boy’s head and arms dangled backwards and the blue colour of his limbs was a sure sign that decomposition had already started.

  Her clothes were torn to shreds, her hair was plastered with dried blood, her face, her arms and legs were covered in bruises and cuts. The whole room exuded a revolting stench of sweat, urine and putrefaction.

  Alexander closed his eyes for an instant and saw Eurydice at the height of her splendour as she sat alongside the King his father – a young girl who was loved, spoiled, envied by everyone. He felt the horror rise in his mind and wrath fill his chest and the veins in his neck.

  He turned to Eumenes and asked, his voice cracking with anger, ‘Who did this?’

  Eumenes lowered his head in silence.

  Alexander shouted, ‘Who did this?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Call someone to take care of her immediately. Bring Philip, my physician, and tell him to attend to her, to give her something to make her rest . . . to make her sleep.’

  He started to move away, but Eumenes held him back. ‘She won’t leave the child. What can we do?’

  Alexander stopped and turned towards the girl, who crouched down even lower in the corner, like a frightened animal.

  He moved towards her slowly and knelt down in front of her, his eyes fixed on hers. Gently he moved his head to one side as if to lessen slightly the strength of his gaze, as if to envelop her in an aura of compassion. Then he put out his hand and gently caressed her cheek.

  Eurydice closed her eyes, leaned backwards until her head rested on the wall and let out a long, painful sigh.

  Alexander held out his arms and said quietly, ‘Give him to me, Eurydice, give me the little one. He’s tired, don’t you think? We have to put him to bed.’

  Two big tears slipped slowly down the young girl’s cheeks until they reached her lips. She whispered, ‘Sleep . . .’ and loosened her grip on the child’s body.

  Alexander took him carefully, as if he really were asleep, and went out into the corridor.

  Eumenes, in the meantime, had sent for a woman who arrived just then. ‘Give him to me, Sire,’ she said. Alexander put the baby in her arms and ordered, ‘Lay him alongside my father.’

  *

  ‘Why?’ he shouted as he burst into the room. ‘Why?’

  Queen Olympias stood there before him, her eyes burning with rage: ‘You dare enter my rooms armed?’

  ‘I am the King of Macedon!’ shouted Alexander. ‘And I go wherever and however I like! Why did you kill the child and why did you do those barbaric things to his mother? Who gave you the right?’

  ‘You are the King of Macedon precisely because that child is dead,’ replied Olympias impassively. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted? Have you forgotten how you fretted when you were afraid you had fallen out of Philip’s favour? Have you forgotten what you said to Attalus on the day of your father’s wedding?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten, but I don’t kill children and I don’t attack defenceless women.’

  ‘There is no other way for a king. A king is always alone. There is no law which lays down who should succeed to the throne. Any group of noblemen could have decided to take the child under their wing and to govern in his name until he came of age. If that had happened, what would you have done?’

  ‘I would have fought to conquer the throne!’

  ‘And how much blood would have been spilled? Answer me that! How many widows would be mourning their husbands, how many mothers their prematurely dead sons, how many fields would have been burned to cinders, how many villages and cities sacked and razed to the ground? And in any case the entire empire which Philip built at the cost of just as much blood and just as much destruction would have come apart at the seams.’

  Alexander regained his composure, thunder rolling into his face as if the massacres and the mourning evoked by his mother suddenly weighed on him, all at once, depressing his spirit.

  ‘It is destiny,’ he replied. ‘It is destined that man should bear wounds and illnesses and pain and death before plunging into the void. But to act with honour and to be merciful whenever it is possible to do so . . . these things are in man’s power and they are real choices. This is the only dignity that is granted to man during his time on earth; the only light before the darkness of an endless night . . .’

  40

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Eumenes announced to Alexander that Philip’s tomb was ready and that the funeral could now take place. In truth only the first part of the great sepulchre had been completed so quickly. A second chamber was envisaged to contain all the precious objects that would accompany the King on his journey to the beyond.

  Philip was dressed in his finest clothes and a crown of gold oak leaves was placed on his head. His soldiers arranged the body on the funeral pyre. Two battalions of the phalanx and a squadron of Companions paid tribute.

  They used wine to extinguish the flames and then wrapped the ashes and the bones in a purple and gold cloth in the shape of a Macedonian military cloak, a chlamys. The bundle was then placed in a solid gold chest with feet in the shape of lion’s paws and the sixteen-point Argead star on the lid.

  Inside the tomb they arranged his breastplate, made of iron, leather and gold, his bronze greaves, his gold quiver, his parade shield lined with gold laminate and decorated with a Dionysian scene of satyrs and maenads, carved in ivory. His weapons – his sword and his spearhead – were thrown into the altar fire and then ritually bent so that they could never be used again.

  Alexander deposited his personal tributes: a magnificent jug of solid silver, its handle adorned with a bearded satyr’s head, and a two-handled silver cup of such beauty and lightness that it seemed weightless.

  The entrance to the sepulchre was closed with a huge double door made of marble, flanked by two Doric pilasters, reproductions of the entrance to the royal palace at Aegae, while an artist from Byzantium was working on a frieze depicting fine hunting scenes on the architrave.

  Queen Olympias did not attend the funeral rites because she did not want to make any votive offering on her husband’s pyre or in his tomb and because she did n
ot want to meet Eurydice.

  Alexander cried when the soldiers closed the great marble doors; he had loved his father and he felt that his own youth was being buried in that tomb.

  Eurydice simply gave up, she never ate again and died of hunger together with young Europa, her daughter. Philip the physician tried everything he possibly could, but it was all in vain.

  Alexander had a fine tomb built for her as well and gave instructions that the throne his father used when sitting as a judge under the oak tree at Aegae should be placed inside. It was splendid, with golden griffins and sphinxes and a four-horse chariot painted on the backrest. His duty done, his soul full of sadness, Alexander returned to Pella.

  *

  General Antipater was an officer of Philip’s old guard, loyal to the throne and completely reliable. Alexander had given him the job of keeping track of Hecataeus’ mission in Asia to Parmenion and Attalus, and he was most anxious about the outcome.

  He knew that the barbarians of the north – the Triballians and the Illyrians who had recently been quashed by his father – could rise up at any moment, and that the Greeks had accepted the Corinth peace pact only because of the massacre at Chaeronaea. He was also aware that all of his enemies, Demosthenes in particular, were still alive and kicking, and then there was the fact that Attalus and Parmenion had control of the Straits and were leading an expeditionary force of fifteen thousand men.

  As if these threats were not enough, news had reached him about Persian agents having made contact with anti-Macedonian groups in Athens and offering enormous sums of money for anyone who was able and willing to instigate uprisings.

  Instability was rife and if all these potential problems were to materialize into real problems at one and the same time, the new King would find himself in serious difficulty.