Alexander the Great

by Philip Freeman

  Philip took to marriage alliances with a gusto unusual even for a Macedonian king and was notorious in antiquity for adding a new wife whenever he went to war. By the time of his death, he had married seven brides. After Audata died giving birth to a daughter, he married Phila from the southern mountain region of Elimeia as part of his grand strategy to bind the highland tribes of Macedonia more closely to him. She too died soon after, leaving the twenty-five-year-old Philip without a queen and, more important, without a male heir. He quickly married two women from Thessaly to strengthen relations with the kingdom on his southern border. The first Thessalian bride eventually bore him a daughter, named Thessalonica, for whom a great city would be named. The second at last gave Philip a son in the year 357. The proud father named him Arrhidaeus—but it soon became clear that the boy was mentally handicapped and unfit to inherit the throne. The eldest son of Philip was quietly put away and rarely appeared in public for the next thirty years.

  It was then the king looked to the kingdom of Epirus (roughly modern Albania) on the Adriatic coast just south of Illyria and north of Greece. Epirus had long suffered Illyrian raids, so an alliance with Macedonia to contain their mutual enemy was beneficial to both. The security of Philip’s southwest border was also paramount, as was maintaining trade routes between the Adriatic and Macedonia. The head of the royal house of Epirus, Arybbas, had no daughters available and had already married his eldest niece himself, but his younger niece was still unmarried. Her name was Olympias.

  As Plutarch tells the story, Philip and Olympias had met several years earlier on the island of Samothrace: “It is said that while still a young man, Philip was initiated into the sacred rites at Samothrace at the same time as Olympias, who was an orphan. They fell in love and pledged to marry, with the consent of her uncle Arybbas.”

  The occasion and setting of this meeting is so strange it may be true, though Plutarch’s seemingly random encounter of two young lovers was likely based more on politics than romance.

  Samothrace is a small, mountainous island in the northern Aegean lying between Macedonia and Troy. Its one claim to fame was a religious center on the northern coast dedicated to twin gods known as the Cabiri, who, along with powerful goddesses worshiped at the site, protected travelers, promoted fertility, and promised immortality to initiates. The Macedonians had recently taken an interest in Samothrace and had contributed generously to the temple, perhaps from genuine religious motivation or more likely from a desire to integrate themselves into an ancient Greek cult. That young Philip chose to be initiated into the local religion is no surprise, given his crafty use of diplomacy, spiritual and otherwise, to build alliances and strengthen his ties to the Greek world. But why would an Epiriote princess and her uncle the king just happen to be on a remote island far from home during the same summer festival as a royal Macedonian prince? It seems that Arybbas was very deliberately arranging a meeting between his niece and the young Philip in hopes of laying the groundwork for a future alliance between the kingdoms. Philip himself may well have been in on the plan before he arrived on Samothrace and it is probable that he was more interested in practical discussions with Arybbas about countering the Illyrian threat than gazing into the eyes of the teenage Olympias. Still, he may have liked what he saw in the young woman—beauty, intelligence, passion—all qualities appealing to an up-and-coming prince with hopes of producing a son worthy of his throne. In addition, her family claimed descent from Achilles, the greatest of the Greeks to fight at Troy. To mingle the blood of his own ancestor Hercules with that of Achilles must have been a powerful incentive to the union.

  Olympias was no more than eighteen when she married Philip, but she was an experienced hand at palace intrigue and rivalries. In Epirus, however, she had at least been among family and friends, but in the Macedonian capital of Pella she was alone. On her wedding night she was led veiled into the bridal chamber, after which Philip entered and shut the door. As she fulfilled her most important duty as a wife for the first time, a chorus of maidens stood outside the doors and sang hymns to the goddess of fertility.

  Later stories say that on the night before the wedding as she lay sleeping a peal of thunder crashed around the palace and a lightning bolt shot into her room, striking her womb without harming her. The legends also say that Philip soon dreamed he was putting a seal with the figure of a lion on his wife’s womb, which the prophet Aristander of Telmessus interpreted as a sign that Olympias was already pregnant with a son who would be bold and lionlike. Such stories of miraculous conceptions and divine parentage were common for heroes in the ancient world, but if Philip had any doubts that Olympias was a virgin when he took her to bed that first night, she would have been sent back to her uncle in disgrace.

  During those first few weeks of married life together Philip must have devoted himself wholeheartedly to siring a son with Olympias. He would soon be away on campaign for long stretches of time with no opportunity for conjugal visits. Philip was a vigorous young man well known for his sexual appetites, so his young bride from Epirus received his frequent attention. But, according to Plutarch, late one night during those first few weeks of marriage Philip arrived at the bedroom of Olympias fully up to the task before him when he saw his wife sleeping next to an enormous snake. He had known Olympias was particularly devoted to exotic forms of worship common to women from her mountain homeland. He did not object to such sacred activities, many of which involved snakes, as long as they were conducted discreetly, but he was deeply disturbed that she brought serpents into her bed for private ecstatic rituals. Fearful that she might place a spell on him or that he might offend some divinity, he withdrew quietly and thereafter made only rare visits to her bedchamber.

  We can be certain that whether the job was done by Philip or one of the gods—as Olympias would later claim—she was soon pregnant. Nine months later, in the hot Macedonian summer of 356, while Philip was conquering the town of Potidaea and awaiting news of his horse at the Olympic games, his wife gave birth to a son. Again, as with many ancient heroes, stories were repeated in later years of extraordinary events surrounding the birth of Alexander. It was said that the great temple of the goddess Artemis at Ephesus on the western coast of Asia Minor burned to the ground while the distracted goddess was busy in Macedonia attending the birth of the new prince. The Persian priests known as Magi who were resident in Ephesus reportedly ran madly about the ruins of the temple beating their faces and declaring that one who would bring calamity on Asia had been born that day. Other writers more soberly pointed out that the highly flammable temple had burned down repeatedly in the past and on this occasion had been set ablaze by a mentally disturbed man.

  Alexander’s boyhood at Pella was typical of any young Macedonian noble. He lived in his mother’s quarters in the palace and, with Philip often fighting on the borders over the years, he seldom saw his father. As was normal in royal households, Olympias turned over the day-to-day affairs of child rearing to a matron from a distinguished family. Alexander’s nurse was a woman named Lanice whose brother, known as Black Cleitus, would one day save Alexander’s life. But throughout his early years his mother was never far from his side and took a passionate interest in her son’s welfare. She was determined that he would keep his rightful place as Philip’s heir at all costs and worked tirelessly to that end. Mother and son were close from the beginning and remained so throughout Alexander’s life, sometimes to his exasperation.

  Alexander did not, however, grow up a spoiled and pampered prince. From almost the day he could walk he began his training in war. Philip’s most skilled veterans drilled him in archery, swordplay, and especially horsemanship. Few days passed when Alexander did not mount a favorite horse and tear across the Macedonian plains. His first tutor was a crusty old tyrant named Leonidas, who had all the charm and subtlety of his namesake, the indomitable Spartan king who had fought against the Persians at Thermopylae. Leonidas was a kinsman of Olympias from Epirus, but he showed no favoritism to
his young charge. As Alexander said in later years, Leonidas’ idea of breakfast was a forced march through the night, and of supper, a light breakfast. His tutor also used to rummage through his chests to make sure his mother hadn’t hidden away any luxuries for her son. He was so parsimonious that one day when Alexander took a whole handful of incense to throw on the altar fire, Leonidas rebuked the boy, saying that once he had conquered the spice markets of Asia he could waste good incense but not before. (Years later, when Alexander had taken the entire Near East, he sent his aged tutor an enormous shipment of frankincense and myrrh with a note saying he could now stop being so miserly to the gods.) Yet Alexander loved his cantankerous teacher and thought of him as a second father.

  Other tutors taught the precocious Alexander the arts of reading and writing so that from an early age he learned to love Greek literature, especially the poetry of Homer. One of Alexander’s earliest childhood games must have been fighting with his friends as Greeks and Trojans beneath the walls of an imagined Troy. The prince also showed an unusual talent for music and became an accomplished lyre player. His other favorite tutor in these early years was a coarse but lighthearted Greek named Lysimachus, who was better known for his sense of humor than personal hygiene. He nicknamed Alexander “Achilles” and called himself Phoenix after the ancient hero’s own tutor. Lysimachus would later accompany Alexander to Asia and provoke one of the most dramatic episodes in the young king’s life.

  One of the earliest stories about Alexander tells how when Philip was away on campaign yet again, the young prince, perhaps seven or eight years old, met ambassadors from the Great King of Persia who had come to the Macedonian court. Alexander was gracious and charming to the guests, winning their respect by not asking after trivial matters but inquiring into the length and conditions of Persian roads, how far it was to the Persian capital, what kind of man the Great King was, and what sort of army he possessed.

  We can’t be certain, but it is likely that these envoys arrived at Pella to invite three celebrated Persian exiles to return home in safety. One of these men was Artabazus, an important Persian leader who had been involved in a revolt by fellow satraps against the king a few years earlier. His son-in-law, Memnon, a Greek from the island of Rhodes, was another of the exiles, along with an Egyptian named Menapis. They had come to Macedonia seeking a safe haven to weather the turmoil of the Persian court. These men would have been a treasure trove of information about Persia for the young Alexander, and it is not difficult to imagine the boy learning everything possible about the great empire to the east from them during their time at Pella. Even at this early age, he dreamed of kingdoms to vanquish. He often complained to his friends that Philip’s success in war weighed heavily on him: “Boys, my father is beating me to everything! He’s leaving me no worlds to conquer.”

  Philip’s rapid expansion of the Macedonian kingdom was nothing short of astonishing. In the year before Alexander’s birth, he had taken the old Athenian outpost of Amphipolis across the Strymon River on the border with Thrace. With the city largely undamaged and the grateful inhabitants unharmed, this strategic gateway to the east became a crucial garrison town and commercial center controlling the timber and mineral resources of the whole Strymon valley. The same year Philip took the Athenian fortress at Pydna on the Macedonia coast, just a day’s march from Vergina, though the nearby outpost at Methone remained in Athenian hands. The next year his army again struck to the east, capturing the Thracian town of Crenides near Amphipolis. The Thracian king Cetriporis was furious at losing the city, especially as the vast riches from the nearby gold mines fell into Philip’s hands. Never modest, Philip now did something unprecedented in the Greek world and named the town after himself. From that day forward until Saint Paul visited in Roman times and founded the first Christian church in Europe on the site, the old Thracian town was known as Philippi.

  With the revenues from the mines above Amphipolis and Philippi, the young Macedonian king was able to enlarge his army and equip it with the finest weapons and horses. With these new resources Philip laid siege to Methone in 354 in a final attempt to drive the Athenians from the Macedonian heartland. It was a furious fight, but in the end Philip took the town. The price he paid was the loss of an eye. Whether this was just an unlucky blow or the divine consequences of gazing on Olympias in bed with her serpentine lover, as was later claimed, Philip remained blind in one eye the rest of his life.

  Undeterred by his infirmity, Philip began to extend his influence south into Thessaly at first by alliances, then by seizing the key port of Pagasae. His incorporation of large numbers of the renowned Thessalian cavalry into his army became a central component of his military power, as it would be for Alexander. Next, Philip again invaded the Chalcidice peninsula in 349 and attacked the city of Olynthus. This well-protected settlement had long been the center of commercial activity in the area and had served as the capital of the Chalcidic Confederacy against Sparta, then against Athens. The city had been on friendly terms with Macedonia, but when Philip took Amphipolis the citizens had seen the writing on the wall and allied themselves with Athens for protection. The Athenians promised assistance, but somehow the Athenian assembly could never quite agree on what should be done. As the noose tightened on Olynthus, the Athenians debated and delayed until at last Philip had the city surrounded. The king battered the walls and rained arrows down on the defenders, many with bronze tips inscribed with Philip’s name. When he at last took the town, Philip was uncharacteristically harsh. He sacked the city, leveled the site, and sold the survivors into slavery. By the devastation of Olynthus, Philip was sending a message to the Greeks—he could be merciful, but if opposed, he could also be ruthless.

  The famed Athenian orator Demosthenes—who, according to legend, had overcome a childhood speech impediment by talking loudly with pebbles in his mouth—was one of the first Greeks to realize that Philip posed a deadly threat to the ancient cities of Greece. He saw Philip’s conquests in the north as so many stepping-stones to Athens. He tried with all his might to rally his fellow citizens to stand up to the Macedonian king before it was too late:

  Have any of you been paying attention to Philip’s progress? Have you seen how he has risen from weakness to strength? First he takes Amphipolis, then Pydna, not to mention Potidaea. After that comes Methone and Thessaly . . . Then he invades Thrace, removing their chieftains and replacing them with his own men . . . Finally he seizes Olynthus—and I won’t even mention his campaigns in Illyria and Paeonia!

  Although his oratorical skills were unsurpassed, Demosthenes was unable to motivate the apathetic Athenians to offer more than token resistance to Philip and his Macedonian army. Most Greeks were simply unwilling to believe that barbarians from beyond Mount Olympus posed any serious threat to their way of life. The embassy the Athenians sent to Pella was easily charmed by the lyre playing of ten-year-old Alexander, then bribed by Philip to make peace and look the other way while he swallowed up more Greek territory.

  But Philip’s greatest opportunity for both legitimacy in Greek eyes and the expansion of his influence to the south was yet to come. The sanctuary of Delphi, home to the greatest oracle of the god Apollo, had long been a sacred gathering place for all of Greece. Kings, warriors, shopkeepers, and peasants could freely travel to the temple there and ask the god for advice—should they go to war, open a new business, or marry the girl next door? Delphi lay high on the slopes of Mount Parnassus in the region of Phocis in central Greece. In 356, the same year Alexander was born, a dispute had broken out between the local inhabitants around Delphi and the cities of the Amphictyonic Council, a regional organization of towns dedicated to protecting the oracle. Soon the dispute erupted into a bitter conflict known as the Sacred War between the people of Phocis and their allies from elsewhere in Greece—including Athens—and the council members, most notably Thebes. The war dragged on for years with neither side able to gain the advantage.

  In 348 the weary Thebans called on Phili
p to join them and crush the Phocian rebels once and for all. The Macedonian king hesitated, as he wanted to avoid a direct war with Athens, but the Athenians—constantly harangued by Demosthenes—were finally beginning to take seriously the threat Philip posed. Embassies traveled between Athens and Pella in an attempt to settle the conflict peacefully. Promises were made and oaths were exchanged, but the dark cloud of war loomed over the land. At last, Philip took a bold risk and marched for Thermopylae, the gateway to Greece. There, where the Persians had crushed the Spartans on their way to destroy Athens, Philip, backed by his army, at last forced the Amphictyonic Council to take decisive action against the Phocian rebels and end the impasse. Faced with Macedonian troops on their border, the Phocians capitulated and Philip was granted a place of honor on the council. Athens was not pleased, but it was unwilling to press the matter. Philip, through a skillful combination of diplomacy and military threats, was now the dominant member of the most powerful political alliance in Greece.

  One day when Alexander was about twelve years old, he made a friend who would follow him all the way to India. That this friend was a horse named Bucephalas is the most charming quality of a story that has long been one of the most famous and revealing in Alexander’s extraordinary life.

  Philip himself was present that day, a rare event, when a horse breeder from Thessaly named Philoneicus had arrived at the small town of Dion beneath Mount Olympus and asked if he could show the king his wares. Philip, always keen for a new stallion to ride in battle, gladly agreed and along with Alexander accompanied the trader to the grassy plains just outside town. Philoneicus then led Bucephalas forward to the astonishment of the crowd. He was a truly magnificent animal, tall and powerful, midnight black with a white blaze on his forehead and an ox-head brand from the ranch of his breeder (hence the name Bu-cephalas—“ox-head”). Philoneicus knew he had caught the eye of Philip and the rest of the horse-loving Macedonian nobles, so he casually mentioned that he couldn’t possibly part with such an animal for less than thirteen talents. This incredible price was enough to support a man for a lifetime, but Philip merely shrugged. As stunning as the horse was, Philip could see at a glance that it was skittish and unmanageable, rearing up against Philip’s most experienced groomsmen and allowing no one to mount him. Even a horse as splendid as Bucephalas was useless to the king if he could not be ridden.