by Mary Renault
It was nearly as bright outside as in; great cressets flaring everywhere, and a horde of tribesmen gorging on whole carcasses, spitted over the fires; singing, roaring, bragging, setting their dogs to fight each other, dancing in rings. However, they were all where the food and drink was; we soon got free of them.
No snow had fallen since before the siege; the ground had dried. We found a round hidden place among the boulders, and he spread his cloak. The grass had been well pressed down; I expect the whole village went there. I did not say so to Ismenios, who thought it a paradise created for us alone.
It surprised him, how quickly I divined his wishes. I don’t know why; they were nothing out of the way. I’d have thought myself lucky, any afternoon in Susa, to get such an easy client. He was eager to please, and I to be pleased by almost anything. Oromedon would have warned me what to expect: I had almost forgotten those early days. “It comes of anger, and the soul’s resistance.” When I caught my breath, Ismenios thought it was from rapture, and was happy. He had been a good friend, when other squires were plaguing me. I had learned young how to give thanks to those who did not ill-use me.
I don’t know how long we were there; it felt like half the night. He had wanted me for a year, and seemed a stranger to fatigue. At last, after we had lain awhile under my coat, we agreed the night grew too cold to stay.
A late waning moon was up. Ismenios gazed at it floating beside the Rock; I leaned upon his shoulder. Making sure he got all he wanted had given me something to think about, which was worth as much to me as any of it to him. I said, “We have dreamed, dear friend. Another time, we might awaken. Let it be a dream forgotten at morning.” That seemed a better way of saying it than, “Never remind me of this, for fear I should stick a knife in you.”
He put an arm round my waist. A handsome youth; it had not always been my lot to pick and choose. Speaking quite sensibly—indeed he had never been stupid—he said, “I promise. Never a word, not even if we’re alone. I’m lucky having it to remember. Of course, he’ll want you back. Anyone would.”
Up the Rock, a great fire leaped in the cave-mouth. Even on his wedding night, Alexander was not so besotted as to leave the place ungarrisoned; but had sent them plenty of good cheer to keep the feast.
In the hall there was lazy broken singing, from those guests who always linger till morning, to see the bride-sheet displayed. For the first time, I started wondering how he’d fared. He must be very much out of practice, if indeed he’d ever been in it, and a virgin of sixteen would not be much help. For a moment my demons, returning, made me wish him to fail, and seek me for consolation. Then I thought what it would do to him, who had never known defeat; so I caught back my evil wish and killed it. When Ismenios had left me with speaking eyes, and gone to bed, I stayed, lost in the crowd, till daylight came with music, and some wellborn old crone appeared to flap the sheet at us. It bore the red badge of victory. Alexander was still unconquered.
Next day, there was so much ceremony that I scarcely saw him, except when he came to his tent to change his clothes. He seemed pleased with himself (from bliss or from achievement who could say?) and looked brisk and fresh. Ismenios was on duty with blue lines under his eyes, and a soft secret smile he took care not to turn on me.
The bride was being visited by a hundred women; you could hear the chatter in the bride-room from out of doors. Not having traveled deaf in Darius’ harem wagons, I knew the questions, and wondered how she replied.
I never went near the door, but would send a servant to leave his morning clothes with the eunuch there, or take away his supper robe. One must start as one means to go on.
When he came for his bath at evening, I felt as I sluiced him down that I washed her off him; to such follies will jealousy bring the heart. Suddenly he said, “I shall have to have her taught Greek.”
“Yes, Alexander.” How had he managed without speech? I had cured his old sadness—perhaps for good, perhaps not—by coaxing, gossiping, confiding, telling secrets or old tales. He loved a spell of this, before he was ready again. Sometimes he would just fall asleep to the sound of my voice; it was all one to me, so long as he kept me by him. Now there was this girl, without a word to say to him, just lying waiting for more.
“Your teacher, Philostratos, do you think he’d do?”
“None better,” I said, delighted to enrich him after all his kindness. “And he has picked up a little Persian, from teaching me.”
“She doesn’t understand mine.” Sogdian is to pure Persian as Macedonian is to Greek. He went on quickly, “Yes, he seems just the man.”
“Not Kallisthenes?” I said, recalling an old joke; but he said unsmiling, “When iron floats. He is taking more on himself than will do him good.”
I should have thought. Anyone could guess what Kallisthenes would say of barbarian weddings, and half-Sogdian heirs being bred to rule over Greeks.
“He must have written by now to Aristotle. Well, I have written too. The old man must try to understand what I am doing.”
“Yes, Alexander.” There was a purple bruise on his neck. She must have bitten him. How did that go, I wondered; it was not in his style at all.
However it went, a week had not gone by before, hearing of a tribe that had refused submission, he was off upon campaign. Since the rebels lived no great way off, he said it was not worth while to move the court, nor tire the Lady Roxane with rough travel over snowy passes; he would soon be back.
At this news, I sat down to think.
If I just packed and assumed that I was going, he would quite likely take me along. I would be there, she not; what could be better? Well, perhaps one thing. What if we see who is missed the most? A big stake, upon one throw of the dice. All the same, I’ll throw.
So I assumed I was to be left, as often before, and he marched away. As his long train vanished over the passes, I would have taken back my stake again. But it was down.
If I’d gone, he would not have had much time for me. The rebels lived in a rock-fort, with a great ravine before it, supposed to make it impregnable. Alexander spent about three parts of a month, in terrible weather, getting the ravine filled up, till he could bridge the gorge. Since no one inside had ever thought of such a thing being possible, they were much put out when arrows began to hit them, while their own, aimed at the working-parties, fell on thick bullhide screens. They sent down a herald, asking for Oxyartes to act as envoy.
Alexander sent for him; I think he was some kin to the chief. He went up, reported his daughter’s marriage, declared Alexander both invincible and merciful. The chief surrendered, invited Alexander into his stronghold, provisioned the army from his stores laid up for the siege; was confirmed in his rank and given his fortress back. Thus the war ended.
Meantime, still at my Greek with Philostratos, I could not keep from asking him how he got on in the harem. He said he had to teach in the presence of two old women, the girl’s three sisters, and a eunuch armed to the teeth. “You don’t know when you’re well off,” I said. “Oxyartes wanted to have you cut, before you were let inside.” I laughed aloud at his courteous efforts to control his face. “Don’t worry, Alexander was very firm. And how are the lessons going?”
He said the lady was eager to learn, even to impatience. On this he looked uneasy, and quickly opened our book.
Soon after, the chief eunuch of Oxyartes’ harem came seeking me. His condescension surprised me; though unpolished, he was very pompous; but his errand surprised me more. It was a summons to see the Lady Roxane.
So, then, she knew. Never mind whether through spiteful tattle, or from sending out spies herself; she knew.
Of course I was not going near her, now more than ever. I said I was in despair that I could not rejoice my eyes with her gracious presence; but I dared not attend the harem without the King’s command. He nodded gravely. It is not usual, anywhere, to bring people of my looks into a harem, even when cut; Darius had never sent me once without him. I could see the eunuc
h uneasy with his errand. Perhaps, I asked, he could tell me why his lady had wished to see me?
“As I understand,” he said, looking me up and down, “she wished to ask why, since you are a dancer, you would not dance at her wedding, to bring good fortune to her and to your master.”
“Dance at her wedding?” I must have stared like a fool. “It is the custom of our country,” he said, “for a eunuch to do so in woman’s dress.”
“You may tell your lady that I did not refuse to dance; the King did not command me. It is not a custom of his people.” Someone must have performed after I left the hall. So he had crossed her will on his wedding eve, rather than give me pain. Had she known then, already?
He came back soon after.
His forerunners came at noon, he himself at sunset. No doubt he excused himself to Oxyartes on account of his late return; he dined in camp, with a few friends, and the officers he’d had with him.
They did not sit long over the wine. They fought the campaign over, debating how long it would have taken if the garrison had held out; then he said he was going to bed. Nobody asked him where.
He came inside. I had everything ready as he liked it. He greeted me with a kiss, and it was a little more than a greeting; but I did not presume on that. What if he goes over there, I thought, as soon as he has bathed? I will not invite the cruelties of hope.
I bathed him; I rubbed him dry. Would he ask for fresh clothes? No. I turned back the bed for him.
Going about the sleeping-place, folding his things, kindling the night-lamp and putting out the great one, I felt his eyes. At last I ceased to rebuke my heart for singing. All the same, he would have to ask.
I stood the night-lamp by the bed, and said, “Is there anything else, my lord?” He answered, “You know well.”
As his arm received me, he gave a little sigh; just as when he came back from a fight and a long ride, dusty and bruised, and found his bath just right for him. A hundred verses of tenderest love, sung to the lute, could not have given me half the joy.
Next day, he set about the great pile of business that had come in while he was gone; envoys from cities of western Asia, men who’d ridden for leagues with grievances against satraps; letters from Greece, from Macedon, from his new cities. He was at it all day and on into the night. I don’t know if he got in a courtesy call at the harem. At night he just dropped into bed and slept.
The day after, I heard that someone was asking for me at my tent. Here a young boy, whom I’d never seen, put in my hands an inlaid silver dish. Lifting the lid, he showed it was full of sweetmeats; with a slip of parchment in a fine Greek script. It read, A GIFT FROM ALEXANDER.
I gazed in surprise. When I looked again for the boy, he’d gone.
I took the dish inside. Though I knew all his things, it was new to me. It was costly, but unrefined in style; it would have been thrown out of doors at Susa. It looked to me like Sogdian work.
The note was odd. He used no ceremony with me. Anything like this, he’d just send by a servant, whom I would know, with a message by mouth that he hoped I would enjoy it. The writing was delicate, nothing like his impatient hand. Recognition came to me. I thought that I understood.
I went out, and threw a sweet to the wretchedest of the pi-dogs that hung about the camp. He followed me, in the hope of more. In my tent I gave him half the dishful. I had no need to tie him; the poor mangy creature sat down on my carpet, believing that at last he’d found a master to care for him. When he jerked about, and died with yellow foam upon his jaws, I felt like a host who has murdered a trusting guest.
I stared at the corpse, and thought of what I had planned once at Zadrakarta. Who was I to be angry? But at least I had not done it.
He will have to know, I thought; and not only because I want to go on living. Who can tell what next? By now, I doubt if the shock will kill him.
I went to his tent as his day’s business was done, showed him the dish and told my story. He listened in silence, only his eyes looking deeper-set. “This came in the dish, Alexander,” I said, and handed him the writing.
He took it between finger and thumb, as if it were poisoned too. “Who wrote this? This is a scholar’s hand.”
“My lord, it was Philostratos.” He stared at me. I said, “I showed it him and he owned it freely. He could not understand how I came to have it. He wrote out a dozen, he said, for the Lady Roxane, to put in her chest with your wedding gifts to her. What must have happened,” I said, looking down, “is that someone stole it.” I added, “I told him nothing, my lord; I thought it best.”
He nodded, frowning. “Yes, say nothing more to him. I shall not have him questioned.” He covered the dish and put it in a coffer. “Eat only from the common table till I give you word. Drink nothing that has stood in your tent unwatched. Tell no one. I shall see to this myself.”
It was remarked that the King found leisure that afternoon to visit the harem. He was gone some time, which all thought proper in a bridegroom. At bedtime he said, “You can feel safe now; I’ve dealt with it.”
I thought that would be all; but presently he said, “We are bound in love; you have a right to know. Come and sit here.” I sat by him on the bed. He was tired, it would be a night for sleep. “I took the sweets to her, and I could see she knew them. I offered her one, smiling at first. When she refused, I looked angry, and made as if to force her. She did not plead, she flung them down and trampled them. She has spirit, at least.” He spoke not without approval.
“But the time had come to tell her what she must not do. And here I met a difficulty. I could not bring in an interpreter to hear of such a business. The only one I could have trusted would have been yourself, and that would have been too much. She is, after all, my wife.”
I agreed that this was so. There was a lengthening silence. At last I dared to say, “So, my lord, how did you manage?”
“I beat her. It was necessary. Nothing else was possible.”
Deprived of speech, I looked about the room. What had he used? He did not own a whip. Neither Oxhead nor Peritas had known the touch of one. But there it was on the table, with ten years’ wear on it, borrowed, as I guessed, from a huntsman. She must have been awed by the use that it had seen.
Since there was nothing at all that could be said, I held my peace.
“She thought the more of me. I hadn’t considered that.”
So that was why he’d been so long gone! I pulled my face straight in time. “My lord, the Sogdian ladies have a great regard for strength.”
He eyed me sideways, considering whether he could permit himself to share the joke, and deciding it would be improper. I rose gravely and smoothed the bedclothes. “Sleep well, Al’skander. You have labored and earned your rest.”
Later I thought about it. He was warm, not hot; gentle, in giving and taking; his pace was slow, he liked the pauses of tenderness. I’m sure he had never asked himself whether we suited so well because I was what I was. I could imagine the care he would take with a young maiden. So now he knew that she’d simply thought him soft.
Soon after this, the camp was struck. The bride bade her kin farewell, and was received into her wagon train. We were bound west for Baktria, to put the province in order. Some of its satraps and governors had failed their trust; and all must be left secure, before the march to India.
19
HE VISITED HIS NEW cities, heard causes, removed a governor here and there who was extortionate, corrupt or weak. Except for a few short forays, against robber bands that were preying on the trade roads, the court went with him. Now, besides the usual horde, there was the long wagon train of Roxane, with her ladies and maids and eunuchs.
At first, he used to visit her pretty often, mostly in the afternoon. It soon appeared that he did not like sleeping the night there. He liked to have his own things around him, among them me; to retire late if he wished, and sleep on undisturbed next morning. In the afternoon, he could exchange civilities in such Greek as the lady
had, perform his husband’s duty, and go away.
She was not with child. Such things are not long a secret. Those who had known him from a boy in Macedon, said he had never yet had offspring; but then, they added, he had never cared for women, so that meant little.
No doubt her kin awaited the news with eagerness; but I saw none elsewhere. The Macedonians had not grown to love the Sogdians, having found them brave, but cruel, and not averse to treachery. True, the King was now kin to half the noble Sogdians, and the province was at peace. But the soldiers, who wanted no Sogdian heir to rule their sons, were hoping she would be barren.
Still they followed him. He drew them as a comet draws its tail, by his light and fire. Besides, he was head of their family. They could come to him as if to their tribal chief at home. Half his business was about their affairs. All who had campaigned with him, Macedonian, hired Greek, wild painted Thracian, knew some tale like that about the frozen soldier he’d set in his own chair by the fire. And he was undefeated. That above all.
As for me, my grief was healing. True, when he’d been with her he had nothing for me but his love; but I could live well on that, and I guessed my fasts would shorten. She tired him out. I could tell, though he never said so. He did two men’s work, a king’s and a general’s; often enough a fighting soldier’s as well. I had always been content with whatever the day’s toil left him; he could come to me for a little drowsy pleasure, given with love, followed by rest; and I would slip away to let him sleep at ease. I don’t think in the harem tent it was quite so simple. Perhaps the beating had raised false hopes.
Little by little, at any rate, his visits grew less frequent; or he was out again in barely the time it needed to ask after her health.
Philostratos had a box of new books, just come from Ephesos. He had been too poor to order from a good copying-house, and pay the costly cartage, till I’d asked Alexander to make him that first present. He unpacked them like an eager child; now, he said, we could read Greek verse.