*******
I had accompanied Alexandros on his trip to visit Barsine in my capacity as one of his bodyguards, remaining on duty outside their chamber. After a while, I decided that, in the interest of discretion, I ought to find a more remote location in which to wait, in order to escape beyond earshot of the sounds emanating from the happy couple. Searching for a suitable guard post, I stumbled onto a large, carpeted room, filled with soft cushions, pillows, and simple toys. It was occupied by Barsine’s four other children, their two servant girls, and Barsine’s sister. The three young women failed to notice my approach, preoccupied as they were with their eavesdropping and giggling. Finally, Artakama lifted her gaze and saw me in the doorway. She turned beet red. “M-my liege,” she stuttered, in imitation of her sister’s usual form of address to Alexandros, “what a surprise to see you.”
She spoke very loudly, presumably to cover the ambient noise. I was too stunned to respond. It had been more than six months since last I saw her at Pelousion. That brief meeting had caused me to studiously avoid any further encounters, even though the army had traveled in close proximity to the baggage train all the way from Pelousion to Tyros. On the other hand, I thought of her almost daily and, every time I did so, the Prime Directive would raise its ugly head and alarm bells would go off in my brain. I didn’t want a repetition of my experience with Lanike.
“You’re looking better than ever,” she continued, ignoring my failure to answer. Her Greek was fluent and charmingly accented. “Campaigning must agree with you.” There was a merry twinkle in her eyes.
“I survived, which is as agreeable as it gets.”
A loud, high-pitched, surprisingly musical squeal pierced the wall between the adjoining chambers.
“Would you like to see the grounds?” Artakama asked, before the treble trill had even died down. Not waiting for an answer, she took my hand and led me out.
The gardens of the Babylonian harem weren’t suspended from the sky. They were at ground level but spectacular nonetheless. And I’m referring not only to the vegetation. After all, these grounds were supposed to be the women’s private preserve, cloistered from male intrusion. Unfortunately, all that pulchritude was lost on me as I had eyes only for my escort.
Artakama was still a couple of months shy of her seventeenth birthday but girls matured faster under the hot Mediterranean sun. Her luscious, shimmering, jet-black hair framed a copper-hued, oval face, much given to fleeting, flirty smiles. Her lips, usually parted, were like plush pillows after a long day’s ride, begging to be scrunched, squeezed, and plumped. Of course, if her lips were like pillows, then the rest of her body was like a regal bed, a firm, ripe, curvaceous bed. I worked hard, albeit unsuccessfully, at keeping my gaze above her neck.
We sat on a shaded bench and talked. She wanted to know about my adventures, especially our great victory at Gaugamela. I wanted to know when she had become so beautiful but made self-deprecating jokes about my part in the battle instead. She found reasons to touch my hands, arms, even my face. It was a fairly cool, late autumn afternoon; I was perspiring profusely nevertheless.
“Perhaps I could offer you a drink?” She started to walk back inside.
Having lost all volition, I rose to my feet and followed. She led me to a small, windowless cell, furnished with nothing but a straw pallet. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the low bed. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned in minutes, carrying a pitcher of sweet wine and two silver cups. “Here, hold onto these while I pour.” I noticed she’d changed her chiton. This one was thinner, clingier, and seemingly suffused with pheromones.
I carefully placed the two cups on the floor, rose to my feet, and, without a further word, sprinted out of the room. I nearly collided with Alexandros who, having concluded his congress with Barsine, was now anxious to leave and quite put out at my having deserted my post. “Where have you been? You’re supposed to be guarding me, not sampling the merchandise.” His reproof was belied by his exceedingly good cheer. “You’ve got to keep me in one piece, you know, now that I’m a father.”
I’d never seen him in a better mood.
*******
“I could get used to this, you know.” Alexandros was stretched out on the ground, shielding his eyes against the sun, when Hephaistion walked up. “It’s amazing what these people were able to create in the middle of a desert. Here, have a seat.”
Hephaistion searched for a spot not covered with ferns, flowers, herbs, and grasses but, seeing none, plopped down next to his friend, crushing some gorgeous purple phlox in the process. “It’s not exactly a desert, Aniketos. It’s more like a huge oasis, watered by two great rivers and crisscrossed by thousands of canals.”
“Well, except for the rivers and canals, it’d be a desert.” Alexandros laughed. “But I meant this garden, rising above the roofs of a metropolis. A Greek-speaking gardener came by, sent by Mazaios I think, and gave me a tour.
“Did you know you could be stranded here for years and never go hungry? Besides the huge cypress trees and various pines, they’ve got olives, dates, figs, almonds, walnuts, terebinths, pomegranates, pears, apples, and who knows what else. And lots of streams with pure, clean water. And if you climb a little higher, you’ll see sturdy oaks, cedars, rosewood, mahogany, ebony. And flowering, aromatic shrubs and plants of all kinds. Just smell that air.”
Hephaistion was amused. “Who knew you were a farmer at heart?”
“Not a farmer.” Alexandros feigned hurt feelings. “More like a forester. Anyway, where is everybody? We have business to conduct.”
“I think they’re afraid to come up here. The Babylonians believe this place is reserved for the emperor and his invited guests, presumably of the female persuasion.”
Alexandros stretched his arms and yawned. “Well, now that you mention it, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Why are you here?” He was wearing a silk tunic and linen loincloth, under one of Dareios’s luxurious plush robes, which was picking up clover stains every time he moved. He had dispensed with any armor or weapons.
“If that’s what you want.” Hephaistion started to rise.
“I’m just kidding, for crying out loud. Sit down. But I do wish Kallisthenes would show up already. I have letters to dictate.”
“He’s cloistered with the priests, day and night, reading those ancient tablets. He says they have astronomical records going back two thousand years.”
“Actually, that sounds pretty interesting. Have him prepare a summary for me. In the meantime, would you mind going back down and dispatching an escort to fetch him as soon as possible. I really do need to get some work done. And while you’re down there, have them send up some food and wine.”
“Yes, your highness.” Hephaistion rose to his feet. “Anything else you want me to do?”
“Yes, I want you to come back up here. I’m not going to eat by myself.” As Hephaistion was leaving, Alexandros called after him. “Do you really think we can’t have a staff meeting up here?”
Hephaistion returned in minutes, bearing a basket of food, a pitcher of diluted wine, and two cups. “I sent a squad to fetch Kallisthenes. He should be here shortly. And yes, I do think that you can’t have staff meetings up here. That’s what the palace audience hall is for.”
“I guess you’re right. Imposing a certain formality on the proceedings is probably a good idea. It’s kind of fun watching while they all fall on their faces.”
“I thought you wanted a meeting with your command staff.”
“I do. But I also need to deal with the local administrators. And we do have to begin to incorporate some Persians into my command staff, people like my new satrap Mazaios. So, if I’m going to have a meeting in the audience hall, all these folks might as well be present.”
“That’s fine but be a little careful. There’s been some grumbling about too much oriental ritual at the palace audiences.”
Alexandros flared up. “Who’s grumbling? I won’t tolerate diss
ension in the ranks.”
“Calm down, Aniketos. There’s no dissension. These are men who’ve been fighting for you for years, men who worship you and would willingly march to Haides and back for you. They’re not dissenting; they’re just grumbling, as soldiers are wont to do.”
“What the hell are they grumbling about?”
“Part of the problem, I think, is that they’re getting used to living in Babylon. They’re becoming soft and losing their discipline. They’re spending their bonuses on prostitutes and getting into fights with each other. The longer we stay here, the more they succumb to the allure of this decadent city.”
“I thought spending a little time in Babylon was a reward for their victories.”
“It is. Of course, it is. And they’re enjoying themselves hugely. But at the same time, they’re peeved at seeing their bonuses disappearing into the treasure chests of pimps. Deep down, these are good, upright, old-fashioned farm boys. They realize they’ve won spectacular and unexpected victories and garnered unimaginable riches. Now, they want to go home to their wives and their farms, while they’re still young enough and healthy enough to enjoy the fruits of their military success.”
“What do you mean ‘unexpected victories’? There’s nothing unexpected about them. I knew we were going to win every time.”
“I misspoke, Aniketos. Naturally, the victories were not unexpected; they were inevitable. Why else does everybody call you Aniketos? You can’t be invincible if there’s any possibility of defeat.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“I apologize. I misspoke. All I wanted to say is that some of the old veterans want to go home. Please forgive me.”
“Come here, you fool.” Alexandros opened his arms. “You’re my closest friend. You never have to ask for my forgiveness, no matter what.” He leaned over and embraced the embarrassed Hephaistion, crushing dozens of pink pussytoes in the process.
*******
Try as I might, I couldn’t get Artakama out of my mind. It had been hours since I’d fled her seductive cell but my heart was still racing. My loins, despite several attempts at self-relief, remained acutely exigent. The physical discomfort, though, was minor compared to my mental torment.
I’d fallen in love twice before in my life and neither time did it end well. Arguably, the Prime Directive was to blame in both instances. I’d left my first love behind in my former life, before my ill-fated trip to this era, without so much as a goodbye. The mission was classified, of course, and I expected to be back in Paloma’s arms in a few days, none the worse for wear. Still, I should’ve left some word behind. A spasm of pain and regret still seized me every time I thought of my unintended, but cruel, breach of faith. And it was too late now.
Although I knew exactly where and when my end of the escape hatch would appear (in Egypt, ten years hence), I had only a hazy idea where the distal terminus was supposed to disgorge me. All I could remember was that it would be more than four years, not some hours or days, from the date of my original departure. Even if I could find Paloma again, after successfully negotiating my way back through the escape hatch, what would be the point? Having neither seen nor heard from me for eons, she would’ve undoubtedly moved on. She’d be older, wiser, probably married, and undoubtedly pissed off. Worse yet, I would turn up, out of the blue, after missing for some four years, a grizzled old man, twenty-three years older than the last time she saw me. Where once we had been contemporaries, I would suddenly sashay in more than twice her age. Even the legendary Penelope would have kicked Odysseus out under those circumstances. And the worst part was that the failure of the departure portal to materialize, and therefore my failure to return as scheduled, was attributable to my unwitting violation of the Prime Directive, as I now realized.
My second romance started shortly after I’d found myself marooned in this ancient time and place. On that occasion, I couldn’t even blame the eventual breakdown of my relationship with Lanike on some time travel glitch. If anything, the fact I couldn’t go back home anytime soon should’ve helped matters along. However, every time Lanike and I moved closer to each other, there would be the Prime Directive lurking between us, forcing me to pull back. Eventually, with great regret and hating myself for being unable even to provide an explanation, I complied with the dictates of the time travelers’ paramount commandment and ran away from her. I told myself my departure had freed her to pursue a more suitable match but the passage of time had yet to heal the aching void left by her absence or the guilt I felt over the way I’d broken off our affair.
And now, despite my best intentions, I was well on my way to another hopeless relationship with another lovely, bewitching, irresistible woman who deserved better. More importantly, I could see that the situation would never change, no matter how long I stayed in this time and how many other desirable women I met, because the strictures against doing anything that might disrupt the inexorable flow of time would always get in the way. Even subtle changes in the time traveler’s destination era could have far-reaching consequences back in the time of his origin. And creating and leaving behind a new human life, however inadvertently, would certainly not be a subtle change. Alas, the only sure way of avoiding such a drastic violation of the Prime Directive was total abstinence. By the same token, committed celibacy wasn’t conducive to lasting relationships with members of the opposite sex.
It was thoughts such as these that kept me awake. Finally, I decided to go see Aristandros. He’d said something the last time we had spoken that kept nagging at me. I’d asked him whether he ever worried his oracular pronouncements might alter the course of events whose outcome he was asked to divine, thus turning his predictions into self-fulfilling prophesies. He denied any such possibility and added, somewhat beside the point, that: “Unlike some people, I have scrupulously refrained from interfering in any way.”
At the time, I’d considered his comment a random observation that, simply by accident, happened to hit a nerve with me. I had in fact interfered, albeit inadvertently. But neither Aristandros or anyone else, for that matter, could’ve possibly known that. As I lay sleepless in my bed, a new thought struck me. What if his comment wasn’t an accident? Is it possible he really does have some special powers that enable him to read minds and see the future?
I rejected the thought immediately. Nobody had any such supernatural powers. Yet, I decided to go see him. Perhaps he might say something else that might help me navigate around the constraints of the Prime Directive without causing any permanent damage. After being hamstrung for the past thirteen years, I was ready to try anything, even consulting a soothsayer whose hobby was plotting my demise.
The house in which Aristandros was lodged, really a palace, was owned by one of Mazaios’s sons. Penetrating behind its walls required a considerable amount of suasion. The guards didn’t recognize me, didn’t speak Greek, and had strict orders not to admit any uninvited visitors. I, on the other hand, was determined not to create a scene. I tried using the few words of Aramaic I had picked up but to no avail. The corrupt version of Akkadian spoken by the common folk was completely out of my reach. Finally, I resorted to the lingua franca of the Persian empire – money. I offered the guards a few local coins, which they flatly refused, brandishing their swords to dispel my insulting presumption that they might be corruptible. I escalated to silver sigloi, which met a less hostile reception but still failed to do the trick. Finally, I pressed a newly minted gold daric into the palm of each guard. They nodded and let me through the gate, smiling and clapping me on the shoulder, undoubtedly to indicate they were accepting the coins not as a bribe but as proof of my importance.
One of the guards escorted me through a deserted reception room and into a paved, shaded, fountained courtyard. Under a portico to our left, an elderly bald man was evidently conducting a class for a group of small children. The guard led me to him and said a few words in a language I didn’t understand.
The elderly man turned from his ch
arges and addressed me in four languages in quick succession. I chose to reply in Greek. When I told him I was there to visit Aristandros, he hesitated for a moment.
“Aristandros will want to receive me,” I assured the old man. “In fact, I’m surprised he didn’t foresee my visit and greet me upon my arrival.”
“I’m afraid my master’s honored guest is not receiving any visitors these days. He’s not well.”
“But I must see him. I’m sure my visit will cheer him up.”
Eventually, I was allowed into Aristandros’s chamber. It was dark, dank, and fetid. My erstwhile mortal enemy lay on a straw pallet, motionless. He failed to respond when I called out his name. I looked in vain for a window or some artificial source of light. When I knelt next to him and shook his shoulder, he stirred ever so slightly but failed to regain consciousness.
“Help!” I hollered. It was the one word I knew in many languages. Eventually, a burly eunuch appeared. I was gratified to see a brightly burning lamp in his hand.
“He’s been asleep for days now,” he informed me apologetically. “We try to feed him, wash him, and remove his waste but we can’t get him to wake up.”
In the flickering light of the lamp, I could see that Aristandros’s face was whiter than the dirty, tattered sheet that covered him. Much of his flesh had melted away, leaving behind only skin, sinew, bones, and a rigid, pained grimace.
“Thank you.” I dismissed the eunuch with a wave. He turned but, before he could leave, I snatched the lamp from his hand. He shrugged and walked out.
When he was gone, I put the question I’d come to ask to Aristandros. “How are you able to do as you please without interfering with the natural course of events?”
Aristandros kept his counsel. The oppressive silence of his cubicle was disrupted only by the labored, rasping sound of his breathing.
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