The trip back was in fact much faster and much less onerous. We had plenty of food and water and didn’t lose our way even once. After repeated prodding from Hephaistion, Alexandros gave us a brief summary of what he’d heard from the oracle. His first question, about the murderers of his father, was not even put to the oracle, he told us, since his father Zeus-Ammon, being an immortal god, was self-evidently still alive. As far as the identity of his colleagues to whom he should be making sacrifices in order to assure victory over Dareios was concerned, Alexandros smiled knowingly. “Have no worries, my friends,” he said with a wink, “the fix is in.” Finally, he told us that Zeus-Ammon had approved of the site chosen by Alexandros for his eponymous city. “He thought it was a very good choice.”
We were back to Paraitonion in seven short days, none the worse for wear, except for the permanent mental derangement suffered by Alexandros. He never quite managed to shake the apotheosis delusions implanted in his brain by the various and sundry priests at Memphis and Ammonion and seared in by the hot Saharan sun.
Chapter 7 – The Runup
Alexandria almost didn’t happen. No sooner had we returned to Rhakotis from our harrowing excursion to the Oasis at Ammon than Alexandros, armed with Ammon’s endorsement of his proposed new city, decided to take on the additional role of city architect. Toting a basket filled with powdered chalk, he started by pacing off the location of the western wall of the city, trailed by his usual entourage of aides, advisors, and bodyguards. Some of the soldiers were carrying additional baskets of chalk because Alexandros had a large city in mind. He was dumping handfuls of chalk onto the sandy soil as he went along to indicate the course of the wall as well as the location of the western gate that would pierce the wall in the middle. He finished his first basket of chalk before reaching the point where the southwestern corner of the battlements would be built but there were plenty more baskets to go.
After he finished demarcating the walls and the three principal city gates, he proceeded to designate the location of the harbor, the future royal palace, the various temples, municipal buildings, residential quarters, and so on. As his excitement grew, so did his pace. Soon, he was practically running, leaving winded assistants and squalls of chalk powder in his wake. Inspired by the example of Ephesos, he wanted a rectilinear street grid, with a broad avenue connecting the harbor to the southern gate, bisected at right angles by another broad avenue running between the western and eastern gates. He had many more streets and buildings to outline when the powder ran out. Alexandros was incredulous. “I’m just getting started,” he yelled, “and a lack of chalk is going to stop me?”
A quick-thinking soldier grabbed a basket of barley grain intended for next day’s breakfast and handed it to Alexandros. The king’s visage lit up like the face of a child given a brand-new toy and he resumed his mad dash, leaving lines of barley behind as he ran. The flocks of seagulls that had mostly stayed clear of our rapidly moving knot of gasping men took an abrupt new interest in our activities. Taking flight, as if by a single command, the birds descended on the newly laid out streets and avenues and ate them.
Alexandros, enthralled by divine inspiration and oblivious to his surroundings, kept running and pouring out baskets’ worth of barley until, upon turning a corner of one of his would-be temples, he finally noticed that his carefully laid plans were being consumed as quickly as he made them. He was brought up short, stricken by a sudden horror. “The gods are rejecting my city! These birds are their messengers.” The child enjoying his new toy turned, in the blink of an eye, into an old man mourning over the corpse of his dearest companion. Those of us who had managed to keep up with him during his run stood around – panting, mute, and unable to offer any consolation.
Aristandros finally caught up to us. “It’s a good omen, sire,” he said when he had regained his breath. “This shows your city will become the emporion that will feed the world, both intellectually and literally.”
It didn’t make much sense but it was exactly what Alexandros wanted to hear. His mien brightening once again. “We’d better send for Deinokrates and let him finish the job.”
Deinokrates of Rhodos was the architect who had supervised the rebuilding of Ephesos. The venerable master planner did in fact show up in due course and Alexandria was built, more or less as Alexandros had laid it out, but by then Alexandros had long since resumed the pursuit of his destiny.
*******
In Pella, it was a dark and stormy night. The weather was fine; all the drama was taking place indoors. By coincidence, three messengers had arrived at the royal palace almost simultaneously that afternoon. The first messenger had been sent by Zopyrion, whom Antipatros had appointed strategos of Thrake and provided with 30,000 badly needed men in order to pacify the belligerent and rebellious tribes of barbarians constantly threatening Macedonia’s eastern and northern frontiers. Zopyrion had enlarged his brief and had marched far beyond Thrake into the wilds of Skythike, where he had somehow become embroiled in a conflict with Olbia, an emporion founded by Miletos on the northern coast of the Black Sea. Olbia served as the principal transit point for the export of grain, fish, and slaves from Skythike to the Greek cities around the Aegean and the import of Greek manufactured goods to the vast, untamed territories of Central Eurasia. While Zopyrion’s army was besieging Olbia, their trading partners – the fierce, nomadic Skythians – were in turn harrying Zopyrion’s army. Zopyrion was asking for more men.
The second messenger had come from Korrhagos, Antipatros’s strategos in the Peloponnese. He reported that the uprising ignited by King Agis was spreading. The Spartan army was on the march, reinforced by contingents of Elians, Arkadians, and Achaians. Korrhagos had withdrawn, with his 10,000 troops, to Megalopolis, which had remained loyal to the Hellenic League and hence to Macedonia, but which lacked the means to defend itself against the combined forces of the rebels led by Agis. Korrhagos did not believe he could hold them off either and urgently requested reinforcements.
The third messenger had brought a letter from Alexandros. Antipatros tossed it aside without reading it. He already knew what Alexandros wanted.
“Do they all think we plant dragons’ teeth in the spring and harvest fully-armed warriors by summertime?” Antipatros asked. “Where am I supposed to come up with more soldiers? If the Epirotes decided to invade right now, we wouldn’t be able to hold them off.”
Kassandros smirked. “For that matter, if Olympias decided to invade right now, we couldn’t keep her out.”
“It’s not funny, son,” the old regent fumed. “While our ostensible king is gallivanting Zeus only knows where, our country is at risk of disintegrating. And I’m supposed to keep it together somehow against the day when he might decide to come back and resume his duties as king.”
“No, you’re keeping it together for us.”
“Stop saying stupid stuff,” Antipatros yelled at his son. “You have no idea who’s listening on the other side of that door.”
“Well, in that case, perhaps you should lower your voice. Besides, I’ve got Olympias confined to the women’s quarter.”
“I repeat – you have no idea who you’re dealing with. That woman is a witch. She can slither through cracks you can’t even see. Besides, I think you should be a little more circumspect in how you treat her. Her son happens to be the king of Macedonia and her brother and son-in-law happens to be the king of Epiros. And, last I heard, they were both pretty good soldiers with large armies at their disposal.”
This last observation reminded Antipatros of the cause for his fury. “That son-of-a-snake has taken away 47,000 of our best soldiers and he continues to kill them off. And for what?”
Kassandros knew better than to answer.
“While our country is assailed on every side. What am I supposed to do?”
“It does sound like both Zopyrion and Korrhagos are in trouble.”
“I’m not entrusting whatever troops we have left to another commander.”
“What else,” Antipatros shrugged. “I’m going lead them myself.”
“That’s a trick I’ll be interested to see.”
“What’s that?”
“Watch you split yourself in two, so half of you can march to Zopyrion’s aid and the other half to Korrhagos’s. Are you thinking of slicing yourself vertically, from head down to your crotch, or horizontally, across the waist?”
Antipatros only glared at his son, who continued undaunted. “If you do it vertically, you’ll have half a brain for each expedition but if you do it horizontally, then you can have your head leading in one direction and your balls in the other.”
“Oh, shut up,” his father finally exploded. “This is no time for jokes.”
“I could lead one of the armies for you,” Kassandros suggested quietly.
Now, it was the regent’s turn to laugh. “You could do what? You talk a good game, and you sure are a nasty piece of work, but you couldn’t lead a hunting party trying to capture a rabbit.”
Kassandros rose to his feet, ready to pounce on his father, but then he thought better of it. He realized the old man could probably still take him. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath and sat down again.
Antipatros pretended not have noticed his son’s uprising. “You’re right. I can’t be in two places at the same time. Unfortunately, that means I can’t do anything for Zopyrion. He got himself into this trouble and he’ll just have to dig himself out.”
“Even if it means losing 30,000 of our men?”
“What in Haides do you want me to do? I’ve got to deal with that prick Agis first. Meantime, I’m going to leave you here, as regent in my stead. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid while I’m gone?”
“You can trust me, dad.” And, for once, Kassandros meant it.
*******
Barsine couldn’t wait for Alexandros to wake up. “I have some news, my liege,” she said by way of greeting when he finally emerged from his cabin.
“Yes, what is it?” Alexandros was clearly not paying attention. He was busy trying to determine how much progress the barge had made overnight. Because most of the vessels in our flotilla weren’t deemed seaworthy, the decision had been made to return to Pelousion by sailing all of our vessels back up the Nile to the apex of the delta and then down to Pelousion, rather than taking the more direct route from Rhakotis to Pelousion via the Mediterranean Sea. Alexandros wasn’t happy about the resultant delay.
“I think I’m pregnant, my liege.” She touched his arm in an effort to bring his gaze back to her beaming face.
Alexandros finally looked away from the shore. “We should be making the turn for the Pelousion branch of the delta soon but I can’t be sure. The river has really changed since the flood receded.” Then, realizing from her expression that he must have missed something, “What d’you say?”
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, unable to suppress the happiness in her voice.
“Really?” Alexandros smiled. “Well, I’m not surprised. I never believed you were barren, even if your previous husband never managed to sire a child. Still, Memnon couldn’t have been much of a man.”
Barsine’s eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She really missed her children. She hadn’t seen them for months and could only hope they were safe and healthy. For an instant she wanted to spit the truth into Alexandros’s face. The father of my four children was more of a man than you’ll ever be, she wanted to say but she put on a smile instead. “No one can compare to you, my liege. It’ll be the happiest day of my life when I give you a son.” Because it’ll be the day when I secure the future of all my kids.
Alexandros was oblivious to the storm of emotions that had blazed across Barsine’s countenance. “He’ll be one-quarter-divine, you know.” His smile grew wider.
Barsine couldn’t tell whether he was joking or serious. “He’ll be completely divine because he’ll be our son.”
“I guess you’re right.” Alexandros was beginning to warm to the idea of a scion. “But how do you know it’ll be a boy?”
“I can feel it.” She wormed her way into his arms, as if to let him feel her baby too, although there was nothing to feel as yet.
Alexandros didn’t push her away. She was, in fact, more beautiful than ever. Soon, they made their way back into his cabin, delaying their breakfast by fifteen minutes or so.
“You have to wait for this one to come out before you can make another one,” she chided him playfully when they were done.
“I don’t like to wait.” He grinned.
She kissed him, almost fondly. “Don’t I know it.”
For a moment, each of them was happy with the world.
*******
The moment didn’t last. There was a sudden commotion, with soldiers yelling from the shore and nearby galleys, with rowboats being launched from every direction, with men stripping off their clothes and diving into the brown, crocodile-infested waters of the Nile.
“What’s going on?” Alexandros yelled.
“Young Hektor’s missing,” somebody yelled back.
There was no need to explain who young Hektor was. Although there were lots of Hektors in the army, there was only one “young Hektor” – Parmenion’s fourteen-year-old son, the one who loved to swim between the boats, visiting his friends, the soldiers.
Alexandros stripped off his tunic and dove in as well, joining the churning melee of swimmers in the middle of the stream. As soon as Hephaistion saw what had happened, he, along with a few of his men, boarded a small boat and rowed over. When the boat pulled alongside the king, Hephaistion, with the help of his men, grabbed Alexandros and pulled him into the boat. “Have you lost your mind?” he screamed at his sovereign. It was the only time I’ve ever heard Hephaistion raise his voice to Alexandros.
Alexandros was beside himself. “The kid’s in there somewhere. We’ve got to save him.”
“There are plenty of men trying to save him already. We don’t need to lose you to a crocodile as well.”
Alexandros looked at his friend as if he were insane. “How could a crocodile hurt me?”
“You’re right, Aniketos. It’s a ridiculous idea.” Hephaistion turned his head to hide a smirk and made sure his men maintained a firm grip on the struggling king.
The search continued until well past nightfall. The entire army came to a halt. Hardened soldiers, some of whom had killed dozens of men and had watched hundreds of their own comrades die, sat in their boats and cried. The body of young Hektor was never found.
*******
Finally, more than five months after we had left, we returned to Pelousion. It was hard to tell who was more excited to see us, the Pelousian natives, who appeared more enamored of Alexandros than ever, now that he was officially their pharaoh, or the soldiers and camp followers whom we had left behind. Evidently, life had been quite boring at the camp. The soldiers who had not come along on our trip up the Nile were happy to see their returning comrades, who in turn were happy to see their favorite strumpets, who in turn were pleased with the increased custom. The hostages, who had been biding their time with nothing to do, were once again hopeful of an early release. The servants, slaves, peddlers, fortune-tellers, and assorted swindlers welcomed the return to normalcy. Even our pack animals and dogs seemed pleased to have us back.
While the camp was a cauldron of joyful reunions and pent-up releases, I took advantage of the chaos to look in on Barsine’s children. I found them living in utter squalor with all the other Persian captives. However, unlike Dareios’s family, they seemed perfectly content with their lot. I was astonished at how much the kids had grown since the last time I’d seen them. The oldest girl was now nine and the baby boy had become a three-year-old toddler. They had enough food to eat, plenty of sand in which to play, a tent secure from nasty adults in which to sleep, and two mommies and an auntie to take care of them.
&n
bsp; After distributing some gifts to the kids and the two “mommy” serving girls, I finally had a moment to take a good look at “auntie” Artakama. And when I say “take a good look,” I mean gape open-mouthed long enough for a pair of humming birds to build a nest and raise their hatchlings on my tongue. Barsine’s younger sister was sixteen now and, overnight, in two short years, she’d turned from an attractive girl into a seductive siren.
“You’ve grown,” I muttered after I’d managed to close my mouth, handing over a bracelet I’d found for her.
“Well, you’ve gotten thinner. I don’t think they’re feeding you enough. And thank you for the present.”
Before I could think of a witty riposte to those acute observations, a fat eunuch burst into the tent and grabbed me by my breastplate. “My mistress must see you. You must come with me now!”
I gave Artakama an apologetic glance and followed the fat eunuch into an adjoining tent, even more crowded and fetid than the one I’d just left. In the dim interior, lying on a straw pallet that took up half the tent, I saw an elderly woman who bore a passing resemblance to Dareios’s number one wife, Queen Stateira.
“Her Majesty is very ill,” the eunuch informed me. I looked at the other people in the tent for confirmation of both the identity and the state of health of the elderly woman. They were all there, in the one small tent: Sisygambis, the queen mother; Little Stateira, at fourteen no longer little; Drypetis, twelve and showing the first signs of puberty, and Ochos, ten years old and no longer rambunctious. None of them was paying any attention to the sick woman on the pallet or to me, for that matter.
I turned to the eunuch. “What’s the matter with her?”
“We don’t know. Nobody is willing to come and take a look at her. They all think she’s just faking it.”
“Either that or they all simply hate her,” Stateira’s mother-in-law chimed in.
The stench was getting unbearable. “I’ll get a physician to come and examine her.” I sprinted out of the tent.
Conquest of Persia Page 11