Our guide also took us to the ancient capital of Pasargadai, which was located only twenty-five miles away, and which had been the home base and burial site of Kyros, the founder of the Persian dynasty. For whatever reason, the tomb of Kyros made a deep impression on Alexandros, whereas he seemed totally disinterested in the eight or ten tombs at Persepolis, which included the tombs of the first Dareios, Xerxes, and Artaxerxes.
After all that sightseeing, it was time for some official audiences and a great many banquets. At the audiences, Alexandros continued to put on Persian attire and Persian airs, all to the great irritation of his Macedonian commanders and the covert but unmistakable contempt of the Persian priests and collaborators in attendance.
On the other hand, the never-ending round of banquets was a great success. The food was bountiful and delicious, the wine sweet and mostly undiluted, the ladies (and boys) of the night lascivious and accommodating.
And then, one evening, a truly amazing event occurred. The most famous woman in the Greek world, the Athenian hetaira Thais, showed up. She was the foremost practitioner of that uniquely Athenian profession, a woman of the world who was a great conversationalist, entertaining companion, symposion adornment, and sex worker.
She and Alexandros had met once before. Alexandros was an eighteen-year-old country bumpkin at the time. Thais was young but already famous, sophisticated, and sought-after. Alexandros, callow but preternaturally self-confident, had been sent to Athens by his father Philippos to accompany the ashes of the fallen Athenian soldiers following the decisive victory of the Macedonian army at the Battle of Chaironeia. Thais had been hired by the Athenian demagogue Demosthenes, the foremost opponent of King Philippos in Athens, to seduce the inexperienced Alexandros as part of Demosthenes’s plot to co-opt the Macedonian heir apparent and turn him against his father. Thais succeeded brilliantly in her assignment. Alexandros never forgot their one-night stand. (And neither did Hephaistion, who had somehow managed to horn in on the action.) Evidently, Thais must have remembered this particular client as well.
Now, eight years later, here she was. The lapse of time had changed them both. Alexandros had become the most powerful man in the world, conqueror of the Persian Empire, and possessor of unimaginable riches. Thais had become the most successful female entrepreneur in history, the leading lady of Athens, and possessor of an immense fortune, although she was a pauper compared to Alexandros. But then, so was everybody else in the world.
When Thais entered the King’s Hall that evening, all conversation stopped. None of the men, except for Alexandros, Hephaistion, and me, recognized her but she commanded instant attention. She was no longer as young and fresh as when Alexandros had first met her but she was still strikingly beautiful. Her bright red, flowing chiton displayed her physical assets to their greatest advantage and her assets were sufficient to arouse every man in the room. But what was most striking was the air of authority she carried. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, it became her room.
She headed straight for the largest couch at the far end of the hall, where Alexandros and Hephaistion reclined, well into their cups. She had eyes only for Alexandros, her smile illuminating his face. “My lord, it’s been a long time.”
Alexandros sprang to his feet. “Thais, is that really you?”
Hephaistion tried to join in. “I remember it like yesterday.”
If Alexandros’s eyes had the power to kill, Hephaistion would have been dead. Thais, on the other hand, smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“Yes, yes, don’t you remember?” Hephaistion was beside himself. “I’ve never forgotten. My name is Hephaistion. I’m his best friend.”
Thais’s smile faded a bit. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Hephaistion. And, if you wouldn’t mind, I could really use a favor.”
“Anything, madam. Just say the word.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve just arrived here in Persepolis. My luggage is still sitting in the palace courtyard. Could you possibly see to it?”
Hephaistion looked a little perplexed but Alexandros continued to beam. “Yes, yes, Hephaistion. Take a couple of men and transport all the lady’s possessions to the camp. Make sure the tent Dareios’s family used to occupy gets erected right next to mine and is ready by the time we get back.”
Before Hephaistion could utter another word, Alexandros resumed his seat on the couch and Thais scooted up next to him, taking over the spot recently vacated by the sycophant-in-chief. Soon, the amorous couple were lost to the world.
I couldn’t help wondering how she’d managed to get here. The journey from Athens to Persepolis was hazardous under the best of circumstances. Now, at a time of war, traveling for months through the dead of winter, the arrival of this woman, here in a remote corner of the Persian plateau, was nothing short of miraculous. I resolved to ask her how she’d managed it, first time I got a chance to speak with her. I wonder why she’d come and what she intends to do next. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t help but admire this woman. But, at the same time, there was something about her that set my synapses afire deep within the primal folds of my brain.
*******
In Pella, the volcanic struggle between Antipatros and Olympias continued to simmer, creeping inexorably toward its next eruption, as the former pressed repeatedly for a missive asking Alexandros to return home and the latter adamantly dug in her heels.
Sitting at her spinning wheel in the depopulated and deathly quiet gynaikonitis, trying to utilize the last of the day’s remaining light, Kleopatra looked pensively at her mother, bent over her sewing. “Maybe you should write that letter to Alexandros after all.”
There was no response.
“Do you think what they’re saying about him could be true?” Still nothing. “That he’s lost his drive; that he’s spending his days in debauchery and will never return to us?”
Olympias slammed down the tunic she was mending. “No, it’s not true. Don’t believe everything those two tell us. They simply enjoy coming up here to torment us from time to time.”
“But he hasn’t come back, has he? It’s been almost four years since he crossed into Asia.”
“For crying out loud, he’s been winning all that time. Never a loss, never even a setback. Does that sound like somebody lolling about in debauchery?”
“I know, mother, I know. But that’s exactly why the country needs him back here. Our enemies are snarling on all sides and our diminished forces are commanded by that old goat, Antipatros. Imagine what we could do if our veterans came back, led by the invincible Alexandros. And besides, you and I need him. Aren’t you tired of living in this prison?”
“It’s not about you and me, my love.” Olympias reached over and took the distaff out of her daughter’s hand. “It’s getting too dark to work. Go light a lamp while I brew some vegetable broth. If you want to talk about this, let’s at least make ourselves a little more comfortable.”
As they sipped their hot broth, sitting companionably in the gathering darkness, a strangely subdued Olympias resumed her disquisition. “As I said, it’s not about you or me. First of all, it’s never about us women. Our job is to support our men, to feed them, screw them, build their self-confidence, and make sure they make their way in the world. And, of course, make babies. We must be content to achieve our ends through our men. I’ve done it my entire life.”
She savored her broth. “My son is king of Macedonia, conqueror of Asia, Phoenicia, Egypt, Mesopotamia, and who knows what else. My son is Alexandros Aniketos. Do you think all that happened by accident?”
“I don’t understand what you’re driving at.”
“You’re right, my darling. You have no idea.” Olympias waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. Let’s talk about why I will never write that letter Antipatros keeps badgering me about. The obvious reason is that I never do what some man demands of me.”
“But mother, you just said …”
“You misunderstand, my
love. We women have to achieve our ends through our men but that doesn’t mean we have to let them govern us. On the contrary, it’s our job to govern them, to induce, cajole, and inspire them. To show them the way, to get them to do our bidding. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“I think so. But in that case, how come you can’t make Antipatros do your bidding and you can’t get my brother to come back home to us?”
“It’s complicated, my child. As far as Antipatros is concerned, I’ve got him just where I want him. As far as my son is concerned, I’m still trying to figure it out.”
Kleopatra looked up, her countenance brightening. “You mean how best to convince him to come home?”
“No, not that.” Olympias was beginning to lose patience. “I’m trying to figure out what the gods have in mind for him.”
Now it was Kleopatra’s turn to bristle. “How can you possible know what’s in the mind of any god. For that matter, you can’t even tell what the Fates have in store for either one of us.” She hated it when her mother descended into the inscrutable realms of her arcane mysteries.
“How can you tell whether a storm is coming?” It was a rhetorical question; Olympias didn’t wait for an answer. “You read the signs. You smell the moisture carried by the freshening wind; you watch the skirmish line of black clouds advancing over the mountain tops; you sense the temperature cooling your skin; you watch the birds swooping into their nests; you pay attention to the insects seeking shelter. You just know a storm is coming.
“Well, in the same way, if you pay attention to the signs, you can dimly discern the threads Fates are busy weaving. And if you work at it, you can communicate with the gods.”
Kleopatra scoffed but her mother forged ahead undaunted. “Yeah, you laugh, but I’ve done it all my life. I’ve begged and pleaded and bartered and bribed. I’ve flattered and worshipped and sacrificed and sanctified. But most of all, I’ve observed the signs.”
“And what have you seen, mother?”
“I knew, before I ever met your father, that it was my destiny to accomplish things that changed the world – even as a woman. Or perhaps especially as a woman. With the aid of my guide and protector Dionysos I would become the queen of a great and rising power and, best of all, I would bring into this world an immortal son who would grow up to shape history. And you’re asking me to write a letter to that son telling him to set aside his god-given role in order to come back and relieve us of some petty inconveniences?”
Kleopatra was reduced to stunned silence. Finally, she screwed up her courage to ask the one question that had been plaguing her all along. “What does Dionysos tell you about our future, mother? What’s in store for you, for Alexandros, for me?”
Olympias smiled ruefully. “I’m tired, my love, and it’s getting late. Let’s save that discussion for another day.”
*******
The New Year’s Festival did not take place as scheduled two months after Alexandros arrived in Persepolis. After waiting a few days, in case there had been a mistake, Alexandros sent a handful of cavalrymen to invite the chief magos to the Apadana. To avoid any misunderstanding, the soldiers stuck around the priest’s official residence while he put on his vestments and then formed a protective cordon around him as he walked to the palace grounds. The possibility of declining the invitation didn’t come up.
Alexandros, already seated on the throne when the cleric was dragged into the hall and thrown down on the floor, didn’t beat about the bush. “When will the imperial installation ceremony take place?”
Ardumanish rose to his feet. “The current emperor of Persia was installed six years ago. There is no reason to install him again.”
“The position is currently vacant.” Alexandros’s voice was beginning to rise. “I control the Persian Empire by right of conquest and the favor of the gods. I wish to have my rightful position ratified according to the local customs and rituals. Will you and the other magoi organize the festival and preside over the ceremonies?”
“We will not. There is an emperor already; we cannot have two. To elaborate further, you do not control the Persian Empire; you do not possess the imperial tiara; and you have not received the mandate of Ahura Mazda. You cannot command our god to comply with your wishes.”
“But I can certainly have you killed and then kill your replacement and keep killing magoi until a more complaisant one turns up.”
The old man shook his head. “You cannot command our god,” he repeated.
“Take him away and lock him up! Then go back to his house, take away anything of value, kill anything within its walls that moves, and burn it down. I’ll figure out what to do with this worm in the meantime.”
*******
Try as he might, Alexandros couldn’t figure out what to do with Ardumanish. Conveniently, the chief magos died shortly after being placed under arrest. A number of other magoi followed in his footsteps. Alexandros considered putting on his own installation ceremony but then opted to stage a memorable banquet instead.
Hundreds of guests were invited, both Macedonian officers and collaborating Persian noblemen. The banquet took place outdoors, on the palace platform, on a warm spring night, under a gorgeous, star-filled sky. There was plenty of food, lots of undiluted wine, and sufficient concupiscent company of both genders. Thais, who was once again the chief attraction of the evening, kept mostly to Alexandros’s couch and left with him at some point after midnight.
Everyone else stayed and drank past the point of stupor. They slept where they’d collapsed, on the couches, chairs, throw-rugs, and the hard, stone pavement, alone and in each other’s arms. The celebrants began to stir as the stars were extinguished, one by one, at dawn.
I marveled at the fact the attendees were still able to rise after their dissolute night of gluttony, intoxication, and debauchery. I guess their tolerance of alcohol has reached the point where it has no more effect on them than drinking water has on me. I looked on, bemused, as they searched for a pot to piss in.
Alexandros rejoined us before noon, accompanied by Thais. The couple looked none the worse for wear. “We’ll burn it down,” he announced, as affectless as a butcher describing the lamb he slaughtered for last night’s meal. “Get together some crews and cart all movable treasure out of here!”
“Out of the Apadana?” someone asked.
“No, out of the palace, the entire royal quarter, the treasury, the temple of Ahura Mazda, out of every building still standing in Persepolis. And do it now!”
The hungover inebriates sprang into action, recruiting assistants as they went. By dusk, all the treasure in Persepolis that hadn’t been previously looted and removed and that wasn’t fixed to a wall or nailed to a floor had been carted away and stored in tents in our camp. Items that couldn’t be moved, such as large sculptures, murals, fancy architectural elements, were at least wrecked beyond recognition.
Alexandros returned as twilight faded into night to confirm that his orders had been carried out. Satisfied with the meticulousness of the vandalism, he beckoned for torches held by a couple of soldiers. “Here, take one and burn it down.” He lit a torch and handed it off. “Burn it all down!”
“Sire, you must cast the first torch,” someone said.
“Alright, I will.” With his highly-trained, accurate arm he threw a torch as far as he could. It described a long, lazy arc, flying in through an open door, skidding along the floor, and coming to rest beneath some tapestries affixed to the side of the Apadana. The dry fabric promptly went up in flames. The others followed his example, tossing lit torches, whooping and hollering as they went. Soon, flames were rising above the walls in every direction.
Soldiers, unaware of the cause of the conflagration, came running up the ceremonial staircase carrying buckets of water. Alexandros stopped them. “Put that down. Here, take some torches and join in the fun.”
*******
I watched the royal palace burn. Even though our soldiers had removed all portable items of
value, innumerable treasures remained. Marvelous marble statues melted in the flames; paintings, murals, bas-reliefs, all destroyed; elaborately carved and decorated wooden ceilings tumbled in flames to the stone floors; tapestries, rugs, priceless furniture went up in smoke. Only the stone columns and the enameled tiles survived, although many of those broke as the walls covered by them collapsed. These buildings embodied the highest achievements of a great civilization. And now they’re irretrievably gone.
Trying to chase away these melancholy reflections, I thought of Artakama. I missed her. Shouldn’t have walked out on her. But what could I have done?
Pensively, I stroked my chin. Within the limits imposed by the Prime Directive, I’d tried to help Barsine and her children and her sister Artakama. I told myself I’d done my best but was it really true? And was it simply disinterested compassion? Or was it lust, masquerading as benevolence? They were both extremely attractive young women and I was a young man sentenced to celibacy by the strictures of some capricious edict. Ever since I had met her, in Tyros, when she was only fourteen, I had longed, ached, for Artakama. And, once she had reached womanhood, she was certainly available and more than willing. But, because of the dictates of the Prime Directive and because of the ill-starred course of my previous dalliance with Lanike, I’d scrupulously refrained from evincing any sexual interest in Artakama, causing much pain to both of us.
I thought of Aristandros. What light did his fate shed on the Prime Directive? The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that not only was Aristandros a fellow time-traveler but that he must’ve violated the Prime Directive as well. After all, he’d never made it back home at all.
My determination to comply with the dictates of the Prime Directive wavered. Perhaps a small, minor deviation might be acceptable, as long as I didn’t stray too far beyond the banks of the river of time. Does the fact that Aristandros didn’t kill me in the end mean I didn’t commit a major transgression of the Prime Directive after all? That it would be all right for me to relax my vigilance somewhat? Even as these rationalizations crossed my mind, I knew they were nothing more than wishful thinking.
Conquest of Persia Page 30