As in most cities, a man standing on a raised platform shouted out the daily news. He would chant the going prices for staple goods first then move on to the more interesting news and gossip. Most newscasts followed the same pattern. Our translator obligingly translated the morning news, adopting the nasal, singsong voice of the ‘news-caller’.
‘Grains stable, cotton prices the same as yesterday’s, no change for goat milk either. Silver is up two points, gold up four. Good clay jars are fetching nine rupees in the market. Butter and oil have gone down, five points each. Hair ribbons are on sale over by the fountain, and there’s a special on parrots. Let’s see, a caravan from Kashmir has just arrived. Hurry before all the goods are gone. Tonight there’s to be a show at the open air theatre, the story of the Vishnu avatar.’
‘The what?’ I interrupted.
Alexander frowned at me. ‘Avatar, it means a divinity taking a human form.’
The man calling the news looked down at me to make sure I wouldn’t interrupt again, and then he cleared his throat. ‘Our illustrious visitor Sikander, the western king, has consented to stay another night. Anyone seeking opportunity in the west should contact his generals. There was a flood three weeks ago near Benares, the price of silk is expected to rise as high as the waters.’ He finished, took a deep breath, and then started all over again.
Alexander tossed him a coin and we strolled away.
‘Anyone seeking opportunity in the west?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘As my father always said to me,’ he answered seriously ‘go west, young man.’
‘So you went east?’
‘I was a contrary kid. When I get back we’ll go to Africa, and then I’ll go west. I’ve heard tell of a country called Gaul where they use cheese as weapons.’
We travelled back to the army waiting by the river Beas. They had taken Alexander’s altar suggestion very seriously, building huge towers of wood and grass, but they’d set them on blocks of square-cut stone. Each one was carved with the name of a god. On the one dedicated to Demeter I found my portrait, carved into the stone, staring back at me. Very spooky.
‘Do you think your mother will appreciate that?’ the artist asked me nervously.
‘I think so,’ I answered cautiously. I wasn’t sure, actually, what my mother would think. If she ever did see the likeness it would be three thousand years in the future. Besides, she probably wouldn’t recognize me even if she did see it. She hardly looked at me except to say ‘Ashley, stop slouching. Stop sulking. Honestly, no one will ever want to marry you.’
Her only goal in life had been to marry me off to someone and be free to turn her attention back to her orchids. I was never allowed into her greenhouse, so I have no idea if her flowers were beautiful. She was afraid I’d lose my head completely and tear them to shreds, I suppose. The idea had, on occasion, occurred to me.
I had been married. She’d arranged it, and I’d gone along, being only sixteen, inexperienced, and docile. My husband had been a sadistic bastard, only interested in my money and my looks, showing me off during endless dinner parties as his trophy wife, and taking advantage of my submissiveness to beat me senseless nearly every night. He was careful not to bruise my face. After six months, I found the courage to crawl out of the window and escape. It was the bravest thing I’d ever done. After following orders for sixteen years, I’d done something on my own. And then I’d decided to go to Tempus University and major in time-travelling journalism.
I stared at the face carved in the stone and tried not to notice the look the artist had put in the eyes. A cold, implacable stare gazed back at me. As unfeeling as an Ice Queen, the name I’d been afflicted with in college. I’d liked college. The feeling wasn’t mutual. From the boys I snubbed, to the girls I was afraid to talk to, to the teachers who were jealous of my money, to the dean who hated my title – everyone waited with bated breath for me to fail or show some weakness.
My only weakness was my stupid nose. If I refused to let my feelings show my nose had no such qualms. As I stared at the portrait, blood ran down my chin and dripped to the ground.
The artist was so pleased he cried. The ancient Greeks thought my nosebleeds were a blessing from the gods.
Chapter Seventeen
The altars were ready. Alexander had prepared a great speech, but when the time came he was so moved that all he could say was, ‘It’s been wonderful.’
Well, not exactly, but that was the spirit. Then he torched the altars, and we roasted a few cows and had a huge barbecue on the banks of the river. The full moon was bright yellow. I was sitting on a woven grass mat next to Plexis; he was uncharacteristically silent.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him. ‘Does your arm hurt?’ It had healed quickly, but I knew it still ached sometimes.
He held Chiron on his lap. He handed the baby a bone to gnaw on and stared at him moodily. ‘No, my arm is fine. I was thinking of what the oracle said.’
‘Which one?’
‘The one that said I would see the sacred river and the twelve altars, then die.’
‘Oh, that one.’ I was silent a moment, thinking. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you look perfectly healthy,’ I said cheerfully.
He stared at me, tears in his eyes. ‘Don’t you care?’ he asked.
I kicked myself mentally. He was quite serious about this oracle thing. ‘Of course I do!’ I moved closer to him and put my arm around his shoulders. When I touched him I felt a shiver of delight. It had been so long since I’d made love to him, and his body reacted to mine like a magnet. His eyes became all pupil.
‘Ashley,’ he whispered.
I closed my eyes. I felt myself blushing. There was a throbbing between my legs and my chest felt tight.
I didn’t hesitate. Life was short. I was well placed to know that. I took Chiron, put him in Usse’s lap, and then took Plexis’s hand. We left the circle of firelight, nervously, I admit, thinking of snakes. But the army had set up a real camp while we’d been gone, so I led Plexis to our tent.
The night was sultry, the air like hot silk on our bodies. I spread a cotton sheet on the grass next to the tent and pulled Plexis down beside me. He was trembling, urgent, and I let him take me a first time, quickly. Then, when his breathing had slowed, I made him take me again, and this time we really made love. This time we shared our bodies and our desires, slowly, heartbreakingly, tenderly.
I wrapped my legs around his hips and held him to me, feeling his orgasm calling mine, and I answered. I let myself go – let myself be swept along. Our bodies slid and glided together. Sweat gleamed in the starlight. His skin was dark, mine light. I arched against him and let my body drink its fill. Then we lay still, and I waited until my tremors stopped. I sighed deeply. Goose bumps rose on my arms. Plexis leaned over me and his lips brushed my nipples.
The yearning came back as sharply and poignantly as before. I moaned and opened my legs. His hands cupped my face as he soothed me. ‘Shh, shhh,’ he whispered.
Someone else knelt between my legs. Alexander. His eyes in the moonlight were fey. I met him halfway, and this time I didn’t hold back. We grappled like wrestlers, gasping and twisting, striving to immobilize each other. He was stronger than I, but I was supple and had never been wounded in battle. I knew all his weaknesses, every torn muscle, and each broken bone. His body was still magnificent, but it had its foibles, and I had the hunger of a she-lion. Under the swollen moon, I felt as if there were fire beneath my skin, as if my blood were electricity.
He came, crying hoarsely in my ear. I felt his body jerking into mine, and I suddenly let all my muscles go loose, letting the storm take me as it would, giving myself to the yellow moon, to the hot air, to the monsoon clouds darkening the horizon.
Alexander lifted me and carried me into the tent. He laid me on the bed and we slept deeply until dawn. The heat didn’t wake me for once. I slept the boneless sleep of fulfillment, a smile on my lips. Chiron woke me. I stood, stretched languorously
, then looked at Alexander who cocked a satirical eyebrow at me.
‘Sleep well?’ he asked.
‘Mmm, yes.’ I grinned, then grimaced. ‘Ow, did you bite my lip?’
He leered, ‘And a lot of other things.’
Plexis rose and took Chiron from his hammock, holding him at arm’s length. ‘Is this smelly thing yours?’ he asked me.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I took the baby. ‘I’m off to the river to bathe. Who wants to come?’
Alexander came with me to the river. Dawn was breaking. The sky was shell-coloured, pale pink and coral along the horizon, darkening gradually to the west. There were still stars faintly visible where the heart of India lay, still sleeping.
Alexander and I waded into the river, and I stripped Chiron. He was a water baby, splashing and gurgling happily when I lowered him into the cool water. The sun’s rays found us and gilded our bodies. Alexander was rose and gold, his hair a bright crown. He stood next to me, the water swirling around his hips.
Chiron was hungry, and I held him to my breast and nursed him as I stood waist deep in the water, feeling the tug of my baby’s mouth on my nipple, the tingle of warm milk, and the flow of the water moving around my legs. I tipped my head back, my face to the sun, my eyes closed. Birds sang. Wind rustled the tall grass. If paradise existed, I thought, it must be like this.
As Alexander and I watched, a tiger came to the edge of the river to drink. His coat blazed in the dawn. He was not more than fifty feet away from us, but I was unafraid. It was because of Alexander.
The tiger lifted its heavy head and saw us. Alexander, king of men, and the tiger, king of beasts, stared at each other. The tiger didn’t blink. Alexander stood in front of me, his arms crossed on his chest, unmoving. They gazed at each other for a very long time. They almost seemed to be communicating, and perhaps they were. Was Alexander showing him the power he had, telling him silently about the men who followed him and the kingdoms he’d conquered? Was the tiger saying, ‘Yes, but I am free, and you will always be a king in chains’?
Whatever it was, they both seemed to feel it deeply. The tiger finally lowered his head, turned around, and disappeared into the tall grass as silently as he’d come. Alexander turned to me, tears running down his cheeks.
We sat on a high bank with a spectacular view of the rising sun and the river in front of us. Alexander was melancholy.
‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Please tell me.’
Moodily, he plucked a blade of grass. ‘The earth is round? You said it was round. Can we go straight on until we get back home?’
‘No, we can’t. There’s a big ocean that cuts the world in half. But, Alexander, listen to me. The distance we’ve walked is equal to halfway around the earth. If that ocean weren’t there we could have kept on walking. I promise. I’m sorry.’
‘So, now we turn around and head home, and when we get there, it will be as if I’ve walked all the way around the earth?’ His voice was dreamy again. His sorrow lifted.
‘That’s right.’
‘So in a way, I’ve succeeded.’
‘You’ve succeeded in so many other, important ways,’
I whispered.
‘This was important to me,’ he said.
He would never know how much he’d accomplished. I couldn’t let him die without knowing what he’d done. ‘And the kingdom? Bringing east together with the west? Opening new trade routes? Founding beautiful new cities? Bringing Hellenistic culture to the very gates of China? That’s not important? All those people you’ve shifted, moved, and inspired – they will never be the same. The world will never be the same, all because of you. What you’ve done is change the world,’ I said. ‘Do you know how amazing that is? Only incredible people with fantastic dreams can do that.’
‘I’m incredible?’ His voice held a note of interest in it now. He loved flattery.
‘Incredible, amazing, fantastic, Alexander the Great. And I love you.’ I took his face in my hands and drew him towards me. ‘And you kiss better than anyone I’ve ever known.’
Now he was really smiling. ‘I think I’d like that on my epitaph; “He was incredible, and an amazing kisser.”’
‘Look at Chiron,’ I said. The little boy had stopped nursing and was sitting peacefully, his open mouth still on my nipple, his eyes dreamy.
‘A wise man,’ Alexander approved. Then he tipped his head to the sky. ‘Please, Zeus, let this one live. I long to grow old with my children beside me.’ He smiled self-consciously. ‘I made a wish. Did you hear? Hush, I see by your face you want to speak, but say nothing, just put your head on my chest, and let me hold both of you. Behind us there is sorrow, before us is pain. But right now, here on the banks of the river, there is nothing but peace.’
Chapter Eighteen
In late September we arrived back in Porus’s kingdom. He had returned from his mountain retreat. For the next two months there were endless dinner parties given by Alexander, Porus, and even Taxiles, in vain attempts to outdo each other. There were sports, games, festivals, and the Greeks sacrificed willy-nilly, as October, the month with the most religious ceremonies, got under way. We used up so many cows that the herds dwindled alarmingly.
It was about this time that an Indian holy man joined our camp.
I say ‘about this time’, because nobody was quite sure when he’d arrived. Some said he’d followed us from the Ganges, others said he was from a place near Taxila, and that he’d been around for a while, observing us. Whatever it was, one day I woke up, and there was another person sleeping in our tent.
It took me a few days to get used to him.
His name was Kalanos, and he was sweet, holy, very spiritual, and unworldly. That still didn’t mean I liked it when he poked his head through the curtains one night as Alexander and I made love.
He said he wanted to see how the king made his children.
I opened and shut my mouth like a fish. Alexander tilted his head to the side, and Plexis, who was – thank goodness – over in his own pallet, whooped with laughter.
Alexander, who hadn’t moved from his position between my legs, stared at the wide, innocent eyes of Kalanos and said, ‘I do it the same way as any other man.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Kalanos, and closed the curtains.
Plexis chuckled all night long, ruining my sleep.
Kalanos was full of wise sayings and maxims, which endeared him to the Greeks. They were always looking for a cliché. I hoped that he would get to meet Aristotle. Alexander spent hours with Kalanos discussing philosophy and science. Kalanos was interested in the scientific theories that Aristotle had started to talk about, like: ‘The earth is round,’ and, ‘The planets and the sun all revolve around the earth, they are not static in the heavens’.
For the people of that time, the earth was the centre of the universe. Well, why not? I wasn’t about to correct them. I loved to sit in on these talk sessions. Kalanos, with his garbled Greek, and Alexander, who hashed his Hindi, adored philosophical discussions. They were also good listeners, which is a rare thing in a talkative person.
I was a listener. I would sit in front of Alexander, his arms around me, and my face to the firelight, listening as the men spoke of the wondrous things they’d seen in India: banyan trees with their spreading branches, suttee, the men who never cut their hair or fingernails, – this really intrigued everyone – strange animals, elephants, – still a big thrill – the white elephant that Alexander had brought back from the Ganges, snakes, and the sacred river.
Everything was described in great detail. Kalanos would explain what he could, and the scribes and botanists would carefully transcribe everything.
There was a whole tent dedicated to these journals. Everything that happened, that was said, that was seen, got written down. Scientists, doctors, botanists, and journalists followed the army and collected information. Alexander insisted on having everything written in triplicate and kept in three different tents. He was right to d
o so, because the only light at the time came from oil lamps, and parchment has a tendency to burn quickly.
Moreover, Alexander was already amassing material for his precious new library in Alexandria. He wanted Babylon to be the seat of his new government, but he wanted Alexandria to become a beacon of learning and knowledge throughout the world.
To the Indians, he gave detailed instructions to reach his cities, so that they could trade and share their learning.
We had only been back a few weeks when Coenus, Alexander’s general and good friend, fell ill. He had malaria and dysentery. Usse nursed him. At first we thought he’d be all right; almost everyone came down with fever and chills, the symptoms of malaria. The fever nuts that we took every day, boiled as tea, helped.
Coenus, however, grew worse, and we moved him into our tent. Alexander slept by his side, holding his hand, wiping his brow with cool water, and begging him to get well. Usse watched him day and night, giving him doses of willow bark tea. We all prayed, and several goats and cows were sacrificed by various priests. In spite of all that, he died suddenly at dawn. His heart simply gave out. He wasn’t young any more and, like most of us, was worn down.
It was a terrible blow to Alexander. He had not lost any of his generals in his battles, and his childhood friend had died from sickness and fatigue. He felt guilty. He kept saying, ‘If only I’d turned back before! But for the sake of a few days, I’ve lost my friend.’
Onesicrite, our execrable ‘sex-and-scandal’ journalist got hold of this titbit and changed it, hinting that Coenus had been poisoned.
Plexis sought him out and broke his nose. I don’t know how Plexis saw Onesicrite’s journal; he wouldn’t even show it to Alexander. But Plexis had spies everywhere. He was one of those people who could blend in. He could hang out with any crowd and be ‘one of the guys’. Everyone liked Plexis, and Plexis got along with everyone, except Onesicrite. The broken nose was the second time Plexis had attacked the insufferable journalist.
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