‘They haven’t wasted any time. But I am afraid they will be disappointed. Is there anything else?’
‘Your physician Philip is attending to Darius’s wife during her pregnancy, but he is very worried and asked that you should be informed.’
‘I see. Tell the Athenians I will receive them after the theatre and ask Barsine to go to the Queen in her rooms. Perhaps she will be of some help.’
He set off down the stairs and met Philip just as he was leaving his quarters, followed by a couple of assistants, loaded down with medicines of all types.
‘How is the Queen?’ Alexander asked.
‘The situation is stable, but very serious.’
‘What is the problem?’
‘As far as I can make out, the child has turned and she cannot give birth to it.’
In the meantime Alexander had started walking and was heading now for the building in which Darius’s wives were lodged together with their court.
‘Can you do nothing to help?’
‘Perhaps I could do something, but I am afraid she would never let herself be examined by a man. I am trying to train her midwife, but I am not sure it’s of any use. She comes from the Queen’s ancestral tribe and it seems to me she is more expert in magic than in medicine.’
‘Wait, Barsine will come now and perhaps she will succeed in convincing her.’
‘I hope so,’ replied Philip, but the expression on his face made it clear he doubted it very much.
On reaching the building which had been set up as the royal harem, they saw that Barsine had already arrived and was anxiously waiting for them in front of the door. They were met by a eunuch and shown into the atrium. From the floor above came the sound of suffocated moaning.
‘She doesn’t even cry out when the labour pains come,’ said Philip, ‘decorum prevents her.’
The eunuch very respectfully gestured for them to follow and led them upstairs, where they met the midwife who was leaving the room just at that moment.
‘Please interpret for me,’ said the physician to Barsine. ‘I must convince her, do you understand?’ Barsine nodded and entered the Queen’s apartments. The eunuch in the meantime led Alexander to the threshold of another door and knocked.
A finely dressed Persian woman opened it and accompanied them first to an antechamber and then to a room in which Sisygambis, the Queen Mother, was sitting. She was near a window, on her knees was a roll of papyrus densely covered in script, and she was quietly whispering formulae to herself. The eunuch gestured to Alexander to explain that she was praying and the King stood respectfully in silence near the door, but Sisygambis immediately realized he was there, stood up and came to him, warmly greeting him in Persian. Her face clearly displayed her worry and concern, and pain too, but there was no sign of unease.
‘The Queen Mother greets you,’ came the interpreter’s translation, ‘and she begs you to accept her hospitality.’
‘Thank her for me, but tell her that I do not wish to disturb her – I have come only to try to provide assistance for Darius’s wife who is in some difficulty now. My physician,’ he continued, looking straight into her eyes, ‘says that he could perhaps help if she . . . if she were able to overcome her modesty and agree to have him examine her.’
Sisygambis thought deeply, looking back into Alexander’s eyes with her face displaying just how much she was moved, and they both felt how strong their feelings were and how distant they were from the formal language of the interpreter. At that moment the silence was invaded by the muffled sound of the mother-to-be moaning, trying to face her ordeal in solitude and pride. The Queen Mother flinched at the sound and her eyes filled with tears.
‘I doubt your physician would be able to help even if she did give permission.’
‘But why, Great Mother? My physician is most expert and—’ he cut himself short because he realized from the expression on her face that her thoughts were travelling in a different direction.
‘I believe,’ said Sisygambis, ‘that in truth my daughter-in-law does not want to give birth.’
‘I do not understand, Great Mother: Philip, my doctor, feels that the baby is perhaps not in the correct position for the birth and . . .’
Slowly, two tears ran down the Queen Mother’s cheeks; her face bore all the marks of her age and her pain and the words came from her mouth deliberately, like the words of a verdict: ‘My daughter-in-law does not want to give birth to a prisoner and no physician has the power to change her decision. She is holding the baby within her, so that she will die together with him.’
Alexander was truly bewildered and speechless and he lowered his head.
‘It is not your fault, my boy,’ continued Sisygambis, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Destiny created you to destroy the empire founded by Cyrus. You are like the wind that blows impetuously across the earth, and after the wind passes, nothing is as it was before. But men remain attached to their memories, just as ants hold on to leaves of grass while the storm rages around them.’
At that moment there came a much louder cry and then a doleful chorus of moaning from the rooms within the building.
‘It is done,’ Sisygambis said. ‘The last King of Kings is dead, before being born.’ Two handmaids entered and covered her face and shoulders with a black veil so that she could give vent to her grief without being seen.
Alexander would have liked to say something, but as he watched her she appeared to him to be like a statue, a simulacrum of the goddess of the night, and he dared not speak. He lowered his head for an instant and then left the room, setting off along the corridor in the midst of the crying and the wailing of Darius’s women. Philip came out of the dead queen’s antechamber, pale and dumbstruck.
*
The following day Alexander gave orders for the funeral to be celebrated, for the Queen to be buried in grand style, with all the honours befitting her rank, and for a great mound to be constructed, as was the custom in her native tribe. He could not help but cry as they placed her underground, thinking of just how beautiful and delicate she had been and thinking too of the baby who had never even seen the light of day.
The eunuch escaped that very evening and rode for days and nights until he reached the first Persian outposts near the River Tigris. There he asked to be taken to King Darius’s camp, which was on the other side of the river. A group of Median horsemen escorted him for ten parasangs across the desert and at sunset on the following day they brought him before the Great King.
Darius was at council with his generals, dressed like an ordinary soldier with rough linen trousers and an antelope-skin jacket. The only sign of his regal status was the rigid tiara and the solid gold dagger, the shining akinake that hung from his side.
The eunuch threw himself to the ground with his forehead in the dust and through his sobbing recounted what had happened at Tyre – the Queen’s long, painful labour, her death, the funeral. He even put in Alexander’s tears.
Darius was shocked by the news and ordered the eunuch to follow him into the interior section of the royal tent.
‘Forgive me, Great King, for having brought you such sad news, forgive me . . .’ the eunuch continued to say through his own tears.
‘Do not cry,’ said Darius, seeking to console him. ‘You have done your duty and I am grateful to you for this. Did my wife suffer much?’
‘She suffered a great deal, Your Majesty, but with a dignity and strength befitting a Persian queen.’
Darius looked at him without saying anything. It was clear from the deep furrows on his forehead and from the failing light in his bewildered gaze that his heart and mind were full of contrasting sentiments.
‘Are you sure,’ he asked after a moment’s silence, ‘that Alexander actually cried?’
Yes, my King. I was close enough to see the tears run down his cheeks.’
Darius sighed and sat down heavily on a chest, ‘But then this means . . . this means there was something going on between them; tears
come when a person dear to us dies.’
Your Majesty, I do not believe that—’
‘Perhaps the child was his—’
‘No, no!’ protested the eunuch.
‘Silence!’ shouted Darius. ‘Or perhaps you dare contradict me?’
The eunuch fell to his knees, trembling and crying once more. ‘Your Majesty, I beg you, let me speak!’ he said.
‘You have already said too much. What else is there to add now?’
‘That Alexander never touched your wife. Indeed, he paid her every respect and concern; he never visited her without asking permission and always in the presence of her maids. He displayed the same regard, if not even more so, for your mother.’
‘And you are not lying to me?’
‘I would never lie to you, Great King. Everything I have told you is the truth. I swear it in the name of Ahura Mazda.’
‘Ahura Mazda . . .’ murmured Darius. He stood up, moved the curtain door of his tent to one side and lifted his gaze towards the sky. The celestial vault over the desert was teeming with stars and the Milky Way stretched out from one horizon to the other with its diaphanous light. The camp was dotted with thousands and thousands of campfires. ‘Ahura Mazda, Lord of the Celestial Flame, our god,’ he prayed, ‘make me victorious, let me save my ancestors’ empire. I promise that should I win, I will treat my opponent with clemency and with respect because if war had not placed us in this position I would have liked in all sincerity to have asked for his friendship and his affection.’
The eunuch made to go, leaving the King alone with his thoughts, but as he did so he heard a certain fuss coming from one of the entrances to the camp and he stopped. A group of Assyrian horsemen were approaching, escorting a most handsome young man who as he passed looked at him as if he recognized him. The eunuch followed behind the group for a few steps, almost not believing what he was seeing. The small procession in the meantime had reached the royal tent and when the light of the torches burning there before the entrance illuminated the boy’s face, he was certain. It was Eteocles, son of Memnon of Rhodes and Barsine!
6
THESSALUS’S PERFORMANCE IN Oedipus Rex was impeccable and when he came to the scene in which the hero puts out his own eyes with the pin of his buckle, the spectators saw two streams of blood run down the actor’s mask; a long ‘oooooh’ of wonder came from the audience arranged on the terraces while the rhythmic lament of Oedipus himself came from the stage: ‘Oitoitoitoitoitói papái feu feu!’
Alexander, sitting in a position of honour, gave long and enthusiastic applause. Immediately afterwards came the performance of Alcestis and the audience were even more taken aback when at the climax Death, decked out in Thanatos’s costume, sprang up from below ground and proceeded to fly about the stage, flapping his bat’s wings, while Hercules sought to bring him down with great sweeping blows of his club. Eumenes had arranged for the stage machinery to be designed by the architect Diades, the same one who had built the assault towers that had brought the walls of Tyre tumbling down.
‘I told you he would do a good job,’ the Secretary whispered in Alexander’s ear. ‘Just look at the audience – they’re lapping it up.’
At that precise moment Hercules’ club caught Thanatos with a direct hit, the hook holding the actor was released from the swivelling arm and he fell to the stage with a loud thump and Hercules immediately set about massacring him with a series of blows while the public went wild.
‘You’ve done a marvellous job. Make sure that everyone receives a prize, especially the architect who designed the machinery. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Thanks also to our choregi, our sponsors: the King of Cyprus spared no expense in financing the sets and . . . just one last thing,’ he added. ‘There is news from the Persian front. I will inform you of everything this evening after the audience.’ Then he left to organize the prize-giving ceremony.
The judges, among whom were some Athenian guests who had been nominated out of courtesy, retired to the council chamber before reaching their decisions: the prize for best stage set went to Alcestis, while best leading actor went to Athenodorus for his interpretation of the Queen of Argos with a female mask and a falsetto voice.
The King was disappointed, but he sought to hide the fact and then courteously applauded the winner.
‘Don’t fret about it,’ said Eumenes, ‘they’ve given him the prize for his fairy voice.’
‘If I know Alexander then this will not help the Athenian government’s petitions at the audience this evening,’ Ptolemy whispered to Seleucus.
‘No, but even without this decision of theirs they wouldn’t really have much hope: King Agis of Sparta is attacking our garrisons and it’s best to nip in the bud any temptation the Athenians might feel.’
Seleucus had read the situation well – when the moment came the King received the Athenian ambassadors and listened carefully to their requests.
‘Our city has been loyal,’ began the leader of the delegation, a senior member of the assembly with many years of experience, ‘we have supported you throughout your conquest of Ionia and we have kept the sea free of pirates, guaranteeing your communications with Macedonia. We therefore ask you to release the Athenian prisoners who fell into your hands at the Granicus. Their families are anxious to embrace them once more, the city is ready to welcome them. It is true that they acted unwisely, but they did so in good faith and they have paid for their mistake.’
The King exchanged rapid glances with Seleucus and Ptolemy, then he replied, ‘In my heart I want to satisfy your request, but the time is still not ripe for us to put the past to one side. I will release five hundred men drawn by lots or chosen by you. The others will remain with me as prisoners for some time to come.’
The leader of the Athenian delegation did not make any attempt to discuss the matter; he was well aware of the nature of Alexander and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth as he withdrew. He knew that the King never went back on any of his decisions, especially where anything connected with politics and strategy was concerned.
As soon as the delegates had left, all the members of the council got to their feet and left in their turn. Only Eumenes remained.
‘Well then?’ Alexander asked him. What is the news you mentioned?’
‘You will know soon enough. There is a visitor for you.’
Eumenes opened a side door and showed a rather bizarre character into the room: a nicely curled and evidently dyed black beard, hair combed in the same manner with a calamistrum and showy Syrian clothes. Alexander had some trouble recognizing him.
‘Eumolpus of Soloi! But what has happened to you?’
‘I have changed my identity: my name is now Baaladgar and I move in Syrian circles where I enjoy a considerable reputation as a seer and magician,’ he said. ‘But how must I address the young god who is Lord of the Nile and the Euphrates, whose name makes all Asia tremble in fear?’ and then a further question, ‘Is the dog here?’
‘No, he’s not here,’ Eumenes replied. ‘Are you a blind seer?’
‘Well then, what news do you bring me?’ Alexander asked.
Eumolpus dusted down a chair with a corner of his cloak and sat down after having been invited to do so. ‘This time I believe I bring you information the likes of which you have never received before,’ he began. ‘This is the situation: the Great King is assembling a big army, certainly bigger even than the one you faced at Issus. What is more he is planning on making use of newly designed scythed chariots, terrible devices bristling all over with razor-sharp blades. His base camp will be just north of Babylon where he will wait to see which direction you take. At that stage he will choose the site for the battle. Most certainly it will be a flat plain where he can gain maximum advantage from his numerical superiority and where he can let the chariots have free rein. Darius no longer wishes to negotiate with you – he is now putting everything into the final clash. And he is sure he will win.’
‘What has made him change his mind so quickly?’
‘Your inaction. The fact that you have not moved from the coast has convinced him he has the time to assemble all the troops he needs to defeat you.’
Alexander turned to Eumenes, ‘See? I was right. This is the only way for us to reach a definitive solution. I shall win and then all Asia will be mine.’
Eumenes turned again to Eumolpus, ‘Do you have any idea as to where Darius might choose to fight us? To the north? To the south?’
‘I cannot say, but there is one thing I know – wherever you find an open road before you, that is where the Great King will be waiting for you.’
Alexander thought in silence for a moment while Eumolpus watched furtively and then he said, ‘We will make our move at the beginning of autumn and we will cross the Euphrates at Thapsacus. Wait for us there, if you have more news then.’
The informer left in a flurry of ceremonious leave-taking and Eumenes remained behind to speak with the King.
‘If you cross at Thapsacus then that means you want to move down the Euphrates, just like Xenophon’s “ten thousand” . . . am I right?’
‘Perhaps, but nothing’s certain. I will make my decision when I am on the left bank. For now let the athletics continue. I want the men to enjoy themselves and have some sort of distraction: afterwards there won’t be any time left. We will be under pressure for months, perhaps for years. Who is representing us in the boxing?’
‘Leonnatus.’
‘Of course. And the wrestling?’
‘Leonnatus.’
‘I see. Please find Hephaestion for me and send him to me here.’
Eumenes took his leave and set off in search of the King’s friend. He found him training for the wrestling together with Leonnatus and saw him take a couple of falls before managing to get his attention. He waited until Hephaestion hit the deck a third time and then said, ‘Alexander wants to see you. Hurry up.’
‘Does he want to see me as well?’ asked Leonnatus.
Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) Page 4