I have to get to the bottom of this, I thought. This guy’s been rubbing me the wrong way for a long time. I got up and set off in search of the elusive seer. I found him sitting at the edge of the tent, gazing at the stars. I sat next to him.
“I knew you were going to come,” he whispered, without turning his head. “I read it in the stars.”
The ridicule in his voice set my blood aboil. “Don’t bother pulling your pranks with me. I’m not Alexandros. I can see right through you. And the next time you pull a knife on me, I’ll bury it in your gullet. It’ll be sticking out of your craw, I promise you.”
“I don’t think so,” he said airily, rising to his feet. “I don’t think you can see through anything at all. You’re just a blind bastard who’s lost his way.”
For some reason, his comment chilled me to the core. Until a mere few hours earlier, I’d known exactly where I was going. I’d arrived in ancient Macedonia, nine years before, for what was basically a training mission, intended to last a little less than three days. Although I was a third-year cadet at the Academy, this was my first actual time trip, after having gone through many, many live-fire exercises in the VCS.[7] All had gone as planned (or so I’d thought). After completing my assignment, I’d arrived at the rendezvous point in good time and waited patiently for the appearance of the artificial portal that would get me back to my own time. At the appointed hour, the portal had failed to materialize. I then waited, with rising anxiety and foreboding, for the extraction team that never came. After a while, I was forced to admit there would be no rescue and, if I ever wanted to see my home again, I would have to make my own way to the emergency escape hatch, a naturally occurring phenomenon next slated to take place on the Mediterranean coast of Egypt, near the Nile delta, in 266 Z.E.[8] In the meantime, I was stranded in this ancient era.
All had proceeded more or less as I’d expected. I had the benefit of having read, in preparation for my trip, all that was known about this place and time in our history books and the travelogues of my forerunners. As a result, I had a working knowledge at least about the major personalities and events that I would encounter along my way to the escape hatch. Unfortunately, I had no recollection of ever reading anything about some obscure soothsayer named Aristandros.
The Battle of Granikos was a major event I remembered clearly from my studies. Therefore, I had known exactly what the outcome would be, including the death of the Macedonian leader Alexandros and the annihilation of his forces, and had made my plans accordingly. I had even scoffed when Aristandros had read the entrails and predicted a Macedonian victory. What a fool, I’d thought. The fact that this was the first instance of a forecast by Aristandros that contradicted what I knew from the history books didn’t seem significant at the time.
When it turned out that the history books were wrong, that Alexandros didn’t get killed, and that the Macedonians actually won the Battle of Granikos, I felt physically nauseous, suffering from a kind of time sickness. My moorings had come loose and I had yet to recover my orientation in space-time. Although I refused to think about it, somewhere deep within my subconscious mind, I realized that an impulsive and thoughtless act, in which I had indulged shortly after my arrival, had in fact violated the Prime Directive. As a result, I had evidently altered the future, which explained the failure of the portal to appear and which also explained the unexpected outcome of the Battle of Granikos. But I was not yet prepared to think about any of that. All I knew for sure was that I had lost my ability to see the future, which I suppose was the reason why Aristandros’s off-hand comment cut me to the quick.
I ran after him, tripping over a body in the dim moonlight. He waited while I regained my footing and caught up to him, an indulgent smile on his face. “As I said, blind as a bat.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to disappear, my friend.” He steepled his hands. “You’re a bad influence on Alexandros, trying to undermine his faith and all. And besides, you don’t belong here.”
“I belong here as much as you do.” I let my peevishness get the better of me. “And I’m sticking around until I’m good and ready to go home. I’m certainly not letting any goat-turd-stirrer like you tell me what I can or can’t do.”
“I couldn’t care less, Metoikos, what you do or where you go, as long as you stay out of my way. But I can tell you one thing for sure. You’re never going home again.”
Chapter 2 – The Day After
I dreamt of Aphrodite. She was in her chambers, attended by naiads, getting ready for a date. Zeus, forced by Hera to sleep in the stables once again after Aphrodite tricked him into ravishing yet another mortal maiden, decided to pay her back. He beguiled the goddess of love with an irresistible longing to seduce a mortal man. Now, under the vengeful spell of the king of the gods, Aphrodite, desperate to consummate her connubial conjunction, didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Despite her divine allure, the goddess was primping, putting on her finest diaphanous gown, dabbing her breasts with provocative perfumes, outlining her eyes with kohl and moistening her lips with her tongue. And the mortal man she chose was me.
Notwithstanding the likely fatal consequences of a liaison with a goddess, I was willing to accommodate Aphrodite’s involuntary appetites. In fact, I was feeling rather proud of my manhood even as I found myself on the point of immolation. But then, just on the verge of impalement, she changed her mind.
She was receding from me – an incandescent presence, much too bright to approach – yet I insisted on chasing after her. She never glanced back. I knew, even without seeing her face, that she was leading me astray, but I didn’t care. The deeper into darkness we ran, the more determined – and frustrating – my pursuit became.
Soon, I was hopelessly lost. I could still feel her heat, so I knew I was close, but could see nothing. I continued to run, blindly and with my arms outstretched, scared but unable to stop. I sensed a presence directly in front of me, grabbed for it, and found myself clutching a coarse woolen cloak. I yanked at the coat, causing its wearer to turn. It was Aristandros, his face distorted by anger and contempt. Beyond him, far in the distance, I glimpsed the blazing aura of the vanishing goddess, her shoulders shaking with laughter. I let go of the cloak and resumed the chase, leaving a sputtering Aristandros behind.
I ran as fast as I could, leaping over yawning fissures and eluding snarling beasts, narrowing the gap between me and the sultry temptress, only to get snared by some viscid vines, which turned out to be the arms of two of my fellow Companion Cavalry commanders who were particularly ill-disposed toward me. After a brief struggle, I slipped their grip, stamped on some hissing insects, whom I recognized as the soldiers who had captured me years ago, and pressed ahead.
While I was distracted fighting my enemies, the object of my desire disappeared behind a solid wall of vegetation. I was trapped in a maze from which there was no escape. Who is it this time? I asked myself, feelings of exasperation welling up in my chest. There has to be a way out, I told myself but deep down I knew this adventure wouldn’t end well.
Unexpectedly, an opening materialized in front of me. I barged through and caught sight of the glowing goddess once again. I redoubled my speed. She was right there in front of me. I seized her radiant penumbra, spun her toward me, and felt her melt in my arms. A warmth spread in my loins. I rolled over and the warmth turned into a stabbing pain. I looked down and saw Aristandros’s knife wedged between the ground and my groin. So that’s where he hid it. I woke up.
*******
There was no knife, of course, just my usual early-morning erection. I sprang to my feet, ready to face (after taking a quick leak) whatever threats the world had in store for me. My conversation with Aristandros was still fresh in my mind. While I had no doubt as to his genuine hostility toward me, his knife attack seemed really out of character. I would have expected him to be a more devious adversary. I’ve got to think more clearly, I told myself.
I shook my head,
trying to clear the cobwebs, but it was no use. Where once I’d enjoyed crystal clear vision, without even realizing what a gift that was, now I was befuddled, frustrated, myopic, unable to discern my place in the world and the best way forward. Am I surrounded by friends or foes?
The loyalty of the men in my own squadron was beyond peradventure but there were other soldiers and commanders whose attitudes toward me were more ambiguous. For some reason, perhaps as a result of the dream, I had a feeling that something sinister was afoot. What bothered me much more, however, was the sense of existential vertigo I’d been unable to shake ever since I realized that everything I’d thought I knew about the flow of history might’ve been an illusion.
Looking at my comrades slowly beginning to rouse around me, it struck me as ironic that, with bands of armed enemy soldiers most likely still roaming the woods and hills nearby, I was worried about men fighting on my side of the conflict. You’re not taking sides, I reminded myself, you’re just trying to get to the escape hatch in time. Now get your ass in gear!
Before I had a chance to do anything about my ass or otherwise act on my good intentions, Alexandros came roaring into the tent, trailing a phalanx of aides. He was wearing full armor, which had been polished to its customary state of luster. Instead of a helmet, though, he was still sporting his risible bandage but somehow in the morning light it no longer detracted from his dignity. It was obvious he’d been up and about for some time. I wondered whether he’d gotten any sleep at all.
Parmenion, trotting alongside the king, was once again clearly on the defensive. “I can’t explain it, sire. We had them surrounded. There was no way for anyone to get away.”
“So where in Haides is he?”
“I don’t know, sire. He’s not among the captives and we can’t find his body. I have personally questioned some of the captured Greek mercenaries but nobody seems to know where he is. He seems to have vanished into thin air.”
Alexandros pushed Parmenion out of the way. “Aristandros, get over here!”
The slimy charlatan slithered toward Alexandros. “Here I am, sire.”
Alexandros was ready to explode. “That son-of-a-whore Memnon is missing.”
“So I see,” the slimy seer sibilated. His powers of perception were exceeded only by his dazzling desire to delight.
“I need you to tell us where to find him.”
“That will require some work, sire. And it may take a little time. The gods are not always standing by awaiting our inquiries.”
“We don’t have time, you idiot. While we’re chatting, Memnon is getting away.”
Aristandros remained unperturbed. “Sire, divination cannot be rushed.” You had to admire his gall. “Have your men bring me a white goat and three commanders from Memnon’s brigade.”
“Where am I going find a white goat?” Alexandros asked, reasonably enough.
“Your majesty, I will need a green river turtle if I have to divine the location of a white goat.”
I burst out laughing, which was probably a mistake.
Alexandros reached for his sword, ready to kill someone; it wasn’t clear whom. Finally, he relented. “Seleukos found a dog last night. You can have it instead of a goat. And we can certainly bring you three captured mercenaries. You’ll just have to manage.”
Aristandros, perceptively reading his patron’s tone, didn’t argue. “The dog will be fine. I’ll get my instruments. Please have Seleukos fetch the dog.”
“I’m not letting this butcher kill my puppy.” Seleukos started to argue but he was silenced by one look at the king. “Yes, sire, I’ll be right back.”
“Is he also going to examine the entrails of the three Greek captives?” Kleitos inquired innocently. Alexandros ignored him.
We formed a circle just outside the tent. Seleukos returned, carrying a lively brown and black puppy, with a white dickey on its chest and a perpetual smile on its snout, and attempted to hand the dog to Alexandros. “Not me – him!” the king barked.
Aristandros got down on his hands and knees and started to scratch the dog behind its ears, while rubbing noses with the animal and cooing stupidly. The dog wagged its tail. Seleukos cried silently. The rest of us simply stared. Aristandros’s “instrument,” which turned out to be his butcher knife, materialized from a fold in his long white tunic. So that’s where he hid it. The dog never noticed the knife at all. Aristandros cut its throat while still cooing softly.
“It’s important for the victim to be calm when you cut its throat,” he explained. “Otherwise, it will tense its muscles and spoil the signs.”
It seemed to me that the muscles of the dog, which was convulsing spasmodically as its life spurted into the dirt, were fairly tense but I refrained from voicing my doubts.
As soon as the bleeding slowed to a trickle, Aristandros proceeded to carve up the poor animal, staining his nice white tunic crimson in the process. The entrails steamed in the cool morning air as he wrestled them out of the tiny abdominal cavity. Blood covered his arms up to his elbows. He peered closely into the intestines, nodding sagely several times. I was sure he was going to dip his nose into the bloody mess. An image of a red-snouted badger crossed my mind.
Aristandros rose to his feet, continuing to nod sagely. I was disappointed to see that his nose hadn’t turned into a scarlet beak. “Now, bring me the prisoners,” he ordered. All of us in the circle of spectators wondered what he would do next. “One at a time,” he clarified.
The first prisoner was dragged in. He was a young man, wearing only a heavily-stained tunic, with unkempt hair and anxious eyes. He was probably not reassured by the approach of a madman drenched in blood and holding a bloody knife.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Aristandros whispered in his ear. “I just need some information.” The prisoner was paralyzed, staring at the sanguinary lunatic in terror. “Where is Memnon?”
After a moment, the prisoner regained his power of speech. He tried to make up for lost time by unleashing a defensive torrent of excuses. “I’ve got no clue. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. We were all fighting for our lives. I wasn’t keeping an eye on him. I have no idea where he is.”
Aristandros raised the bloody knife.
“His orderly was holding his horse behind the lines,” the prisoner blurted out. “He must’ve ridden away.”
“We figured that out.” Aristandros was patience personified as he raised the knife ever closer to the man’s throat. “What we want to know is where he was riding to.”
“I have no idea,” the prisoner repeated.
A thin red line appeared at the junction of blade and skin.
“But his wife is in Ekbatana.”
Aristandros nodded sagely and released the prisoner, who sank to his knees. “Take him away!” He turned to the king. “Memnon is on the Royal Road to Ekbatana, your majesty,” he said gravely. “All the signs are in agreement.”
Nobody laughed, much to my amazement. Perhaps they believed this charlatan. More likely, Alexandros, who did not appear the least bit amused, petrified them.
Alexandros turned to Philotas, the ranking cavalry commander. “Take two squadrons and chase him down!”
“Send Ptolemaios instead,” Aristandros interjected.
“Why?”
“The signs, sire, the signs.”
The king didn’t even pause. “Ptolemaios, take two squadrons and run down that traitor! I expect to see him standing in front of me – in chains – at the banquet tomorrow.”
The entire turn of events was so bizarre, I had no idea what to say. “Yes, your majesty,” was the best I could manage.
“Sire, before they go,” Parmenion ventured quietly, “we should stop to think for a moment, sire. Is it a good idea to send a small company chasing after stragglers? There are thousands of enemy troops out there. Although most of them are running for their lives, scared out of their wits, a few decent soldiers might still be lurking among them. It’s possible they might regroup and amb
ush a pursuing group. Besides, we’ve no idea where Memnon might have gone, so we’d be chasing in the dark. Sire, we’ll see him again, I’m sure, and we’ll kill him when we do, but right now I’m afraid he’s managed to slip away.”
“I see what you mean.” Alexandros sounded almost agreeable. Then, turning his head, he mimicked a look of surprise. “Ptolemaios, why are you still here?”
“But sire,” Parmenion started to protest.
“Oh shut up!” Alexandros was suddenly weary. He raised an eyebrow in my direction. I took my cue and left, grabbing Kleitos and Seleukos on my way out.
“This is a suicide mission,” Seleukos said as soon as we’d left the tent.
“Plus there’s no chance we can catch Memnon. And if we did, he’d fight back,” Kleitos added. “We don’t even know what he looks like at the moment; he’s probably not wearing his usual white-crested helmet.”
I dismissed their concerns, striking a tone of optimism I didn’t feel. “Let’s not worry too much about Memnon. Our primary mission, my friends, is to stay alive. Surely, we can accomplish that much. Now let’s get organized.” Can’t believe that bastard Aristandros figured out a way to kill me without even working up a sweat, is what actually flashed through my mind. But why? All I want to do is go home. For the past nine years my singular lodestar had been that elusive escape hatch in faraway Egypt that would take me back home. My memories of the people and places I’d left behind were beginning to fade. The only constant was this nagging, gnawing, inarticulate yearning to regain the life I’d lost. I chose not to share my thoughts with my fellow fighters.
Moments later, my squadron, augmented by a couple of dozen men from Kleitos’s and Seleukos’s commands, was mounted, armed, and ready for combat. We set off across the battlefield in a southwesterly direction, carrying sufficient provisions for a one-day trip only.
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