Olympias was uncharacteristically silent, wishing devoutly that Antipatros would get up and leave the room and therefore reluctant to say anything that might launch him into another oration. Kassandros, in the meantime, was also quiet, busy unwrapping the little bundle behind his back and palpating its contents. It was a mouth-watering mound of sweetmeats, just like the ones the serving girls were putting out on the tables, except that this one was infused with a deadly toxin, purchased at great expense from an itinerant Persian poisoner. He was waiting for Olympias to be distracted, perhaps by getting into a fight with his father, before pulling his special treat out from behind his back and slipping it onto the dessert plate in front of her.
The serving girls cleaned up some of the scraps from the floor and then withdrew, making room for the dancers with their tambourines, a flutist, and a lithe contortionist. All the performers were young women, wearing nothing more than sheer chitons and enticing smiles. While the dancers jiggled and sang and shook their little drums, the acrobat stood on her hands, causing her chiton to flutter down to her armpits, bent her back and legs until her toes were almost touching the floor behind her head, and then twirled on her hands, making sure that all the guests were afforded an ample view of her charms. The discussion faltered, as most of the men watched entranced, some forgetting to breathe, others beginning to pant.
Periodically, the performers would take a little break, while the serving girls would make sure no one was running short of wine. Small eddies of conversation sprang up once again on the couches, while the entertainment continued in the middle of the room. Every now and then, one of the girls would venture too close to a couch and then giggle at the grabbing and fondling that would inevitably follow. Men would get up and leave, some alone, some accompanied by one of the girls. Eventually, they would all come back and resume their former places.
Finally, Antipatros got up to answer the call of nature, to Olympias’s evident relief. She had no way of knowing whether the call had been sounded by his bladder or by some other part of his anatomy but he had staggered out alone and therefore she had to assume it was the former, giving her only a short window to act. She pulled on the string to release the snake. She wanted to watch the snake slither up and bite Kassandros’s buttocks but she couldn’t because every time she glanced in his direction, she caught him looking intently at her. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she got up and left the room.
As soon as she was out of sight, Kassandros, seizing his chance, reached behind his back to retrieve her dessert. Instead of the sticky dough, however, his fingers felt something cold, hard, and scaly. Whirling around, he found his hand resting on the snout of a dead snake, with the telltale bulge of the deadly treat lodged only a few inches behind its head. An involuntary yelp escaped his throat as he jumped off the couch. Olympias, having heard the outcry, rushed back into the room. They faced each other across the dining hall, staring, a sudden understanding striking both of them simultaneously. And at that moment Kassandros’s face broke into a lopsided, malevolent grin. He clenched his left eye in a wink, pregnant with the promise of mayhem. Olympias smiled back, a bright, cocky smile, but one that stopped well short of her eyes, which remained cold as ice.
*******
I’m not a murderer. The sentence, which I had said out loud to Alexandros and Hephaistion during their discussion of Alexandros of Lynkestis and which they had both ignored, continued to echo in my mind. I might not be a murderer – yet – but the notion of killing Aristandros had been silently growing in my mind, like a malignant brain tumor, below the level of conscious thought at first, then as an occasional daydream, and finally as an ever-present obsession.
I was strolling through the narrow lanes leading to the Gordion palaistra, lost in thought. Although we were all encamped in our usual tents outside the city walls, most of the officers made a point of exercising at the palaistra every day, followed by a bath and a visit to one of the public houses located nearby. Since my arrival, I had wrestled and bathed daily as well but had yet to avail myself of the food, wine, and serving wenches on offer.
Gordion was an ancient city, at least a thousand years old. Alas, its streets and alleyways gave no evidence of cleaning, much less reconstruction or repair, in all that time. Unless you were a native, getting from one corner to the next required constant vigilance, agile path selection, and exceptional balance and dexterity. To begin with, sewage flowed freely down the center of every street, with unexpected bends, loops, and windings to keep the traveler on his toes. As I leapt from one patch of terra firma to the next, I also had to avoid all the beasts of burden, carts, and pedestrians coming the other way; I had to be careful not to land in freshly deposited dung; I had to dodge drenching deluges of household offal being dispensed with careless abandon from above; and I had to devise a route that would eventually get me where I wanted to go. Trying to get to the palaistra whilst lost in thought was probably a mistake.
A pair of existential enigmas preoccupied my mind. On the one hand, I had to decide, once and for all, how best to defend against the threat posed by Aristandros. And, on the other hand, assuming elimination of the threat was the right response, I still had to figure out the most effective means of accomplishing that goal.
I was on the verge of resolving the first of those puzzles when a devious ditch snuck, unobserved and unexpected, under my foot. Oh, crap! was my first reaction as I extracted myself from the thick, smelly mélange. As usual, my first reaction was right on the nose. The rest of the way to the palaistra my thoughtful analysis was accompanied, with metronomic regularity, by the slushy sound of my soaked left sandal hitting packed dirt and by the pungent odor released with each energetic stride. To make matters worse, I was walking in circles.
There were no two ways about it – I had to kill Aristandros. He was clearly trying to kill me. Short of talking him out of his inexplicable enmity, which happy outcome didn’t seem to be in the cards, my only choices were either to run away or make him disappear. Neither one of us was leaving voluntarily, that was for sure. One of us would have to be taken out.
I rehearsed my mantra: Stay alive; comply with the Prime Directive; get back home. How many times had I wrestled with this issue? And yet, it was somehow different this time. Finally, I was ready to do more than simply ruminate. The time had come for me to act.
I marched ahead more resolutely than ever, only to realize I was about to step into the exact same disgusting puddle that had claimed my left foot the last time around. The good news was that I had managed to stay my stride in the nick of time. The bad news was the irrefutable confirmation that I had lost my way.
Undaunted, I forged ahead. How exactly am I going to kill him? It had to be swift, clean, sure, and unattributable. (Interestingly, not once did I worry that the famous seer would somehow foresee what I was planning to do to him. Some things are just not worth considering.)
The obvious answer was to wait until our next battle, seek Aristandros out, and inflict a fatal, combat-related injury. After all, men died in battle all the time, sometimes even at the hands of their comrades. Mistakes happened, especially in the heat of struggle. The only problem with this approach was that I had never seen Aristandros anywhere near combat. Among the many uncanny attributes of his clairvoyance was an unerring ability to disappear from sight the moment there was the slightest hint of danger.
I tried out many lethal scenarios in my mind and rejected each one. My left shoe was almost dry, albeit still quite smelly, and I was pretty sure I had finally found my way to the palaistra, and still, no viable means of putting an end to the slimy soothsayer’s viability came to me.
“You look a little peaked, my friend.”
I looked up to see Kleitos’s smiling face. “I’m having some trouble finding the palaistra today.”
He clapped me on the back in his usual enthusiastic fashion, almost knocking me into the path of a heavily laden donkey. “Well, today is your lucky day, Ptolemaios. I’ll take you.
Fancy a little wrestling match when we get there?”
I laughed. “You’ve got no chance, Kleitos. How many times have I pinned you?”
“There’s always a first time. And you don’t seem yourself today. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing, really. Just lost in thought.”
“Oh, c’mon. I know you better than that.”
Eventually I confessed. “I’ve been thinking about Aristandros. He’s been predicting mayhem and misfortune for both of us.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. He’s full of shit.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “That’s it!”
“What, what? What did I say?”
“Never mind, my friend. You’ve given me an idea.” Suddenly, I was skipping over the puddles. “And, just to be clear, you’ve got no chance.”
We wrestled, and bathed, and drank together. I let him win at drinking but neither of us was really keeping track.
*******
Waiting for the insidious diviner to walk in was getting tedious. It would have been nice if I’d been able to predict the slimy soothsayer’s arrival time but only he had that knack. So, patience became a necessary ingredient of my plan. A strong stomach proved to be a requirement as well.
The latrine at the palaistra, unlike the rudimentary affair at our camp, required a long walk through shadowy passageways, followed by dressing alcoves and enclosed individual stalls. It turned out that Aristandros had become a habitué of the palaistra during our stay in Gordion. All I’ve got to do is surprise him the next time nature calls, cut his throat, and let him fall into the trench below with all the other waste.
It was a perfect plan, at least in my own mind. The ancient walls of the latrine were rough, damp, and rancid but they were also sound-proof. Numerous dark corners provided convenient hiding places for a would-be assassin. Individual stalls afforded ample privacy for the terminal act itself. The overpowering stench would nicely mask the smell of a decomposing body. And finally, it was clear to me that no one had looked into the offensive trench deep beneath the sitting plank that ran the length of the stalls in ages, much less actually cleaned it. I would be safely ensconced in my own era long before anyone thought of flushing out the trench.
Someone entered the building. His footsteps were light and swift. Doesn’t sound like Aristandros, unless he’s in a real hurry. Instead of hiding, I decided to start walking out of the latrine, acting as if I’d just finished my business.
It turned out to be Philotas coming in. He gave me a curt nod and a curious grin. “Must’ve have been a tough turd.”
I raised an eyebrow, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to the dagger in my hand. “Had to cut it off, eh?” He sniggered.
Somehow, I’d forgotten the weapon clenched in my fist. I shrugged, felt my face turn red, and kept walking. Once outside the building, I hid the dagger beneath my tunic and turned toward the exercise arena, taking an intense interest in some wrestlers practicing their moves. I knew Aristandros was on the premises and I really didn’t want him to see me.
After an interminable wait, Philotas finally came out. However, before I could go back in, a pair of men I didn’t know decided to utilize the facilities. This will not do. I can’t be seen loitering outside the latrine all day long. Once the coast was clear, I entered again, resolved to stay hidden inside the foul-smelling building for as long as it took.
At some point, I fell asleep, sitting in one of the alcoves. I was awakened by a familiar footfall. I recognized it instantly. Aristandros!
I crept out of my hiding place, holding the dagger at the ready. The steps were getting fainter. He’s on his way out. I ran after him. He reached the exit before I caught up. I stopped in the corridor, letting my daggered hand fall against my side and my chin sink against my chest.
Well, at least he never noticed that death was at hand while he shat. So much for his clairvoyance. Somehow, I didn’t find much solace in the thought. I resolved to kill him next chance I got. But this time I would keep it clean and odor-free.
*******
Koinos and Kleandros parted company as soon as the winter snows began to melt. Kleandros set off for the Peloponnese to continue recruiting, while his brother prepared for the return trip to Asia. Koinos and the “newlyweds” made it back to Gordion shortly after the vernal equinox. They brought reinforcements as well: Three thousand Macedonian infantrymen, including two battalions brought over by Krateros and Lysimachos, five hundred cavalry, and a few hundred recruits from the rest of Greece. Notwithstanding Antipatros’s opposition, Alexandros’s reputation for martial prowess and generous bonuses proved irresistible to many unemployed young men, especially Macedonians, who were anxious not to miss out on whatever looting opportunities might still remain. However, Koinos also brought to Alexandros a rather stark message from his regent back in the home country: Unless the expeditionary force returned to Macedonia before the fall, there would be a rebellion in Greece, led by Sparta, which the forces remaining under Antipatros’s control might not be able to resist.
Alexandros summoned a meeting of the general staff and read Antipatros’s message to us. “I guess that means we have six months left to consolidate our gains, secure the Greek cities of Ionia so they never revert to Persian rule again, and then make our way back home.”
“We’ll be vulnerable to the Persian navy during our crossing back,” Parmenion observed, “now that we have no navy of our own. At least not one capable of opposing the Persian fleet.”
Alexandros glared at him. “Well, they won’t know we’re crossing until we’re on the other side, will they? Unless somebody here decides to tell them,” he added ominously.
Parmenion ignored the king’s last remark. “There is another issue, sire. The cities of Ionia will have a tough time defending themselves against maritime assaults if the Persians control the Aegean Sea.”
“Don’t worry about that, old man. We’ll rebuild our navy over time, making sure it’s more reliable than the last one. And until then, the Ionians will just have to fend for themselves. We’ll leave a garrison in each city to help them out and maybe we’ll put you in overall command of the maritime provinces once again.”
“I am at your service, sire, as always.”
Alexandros nodded. “There’s just one more thing I’d like to accomplish before going back.”
Hephaistion perked up, right on cue. “What’s that, Aniketos?”
“I’d like to beat the Persian army one more time, so they’ll think long and hard before venturing this way again.”
“Dareios would be crazy to take us on in a set piece battle, when he can simply wait us out,” Parmenion said. “Plus, he’s doing a fine job hitting our vulnerable flank by shifting the war to the Greek mainland. Why would he risk a battle here?”
“Because he is a king!” Alexandros was astonished at his deputy’s obtuseness. “He won’t sit still while we ravage his provinces. And he may never get them back, even if we leave. Not just Ionia, but Phrygia, Karia, and all the rest. It’s not like these people enjoyed being Persian vassals. Once they get a taste of freedom, they’ll fight like sons of Ares to keep it.”
Seleukos quietly joined the discussion. “I think he’ll attack,” he agreed. “His commanders, or his courtiers, will kill him if they detect any weakness. And letting us rampage inside his empire, even for a short time, would be perceived as a sign of weakness.”
“Alright then, there you have it.” Alexandros clapped Seleukos on the back. “Let’s get ready for a fight. We’ll meet again tonight to make some specific plans. In the meantime, I have something else to attend to.”
One more local attraction remained that Alexandros absolutely had to visit before leaving town. For some reason he chose me to keep him company. We climbed up, along with a couple of bodyguards and half a dozen tour guides, to the Gordion akropolis to take a look at the fabled founder’s oxcart. If the accounts of the guides were accurate, this relic
was close to a thousand years old. But what was truly remarkable was the large knot of cornel-bark strips that fastened the yoke to the pole of the cart. Although the bark had lost its elasticity over the years, I still found it difficult to believe it could have survived at all for a millennium.
There was a legend associated with this knot, the guards told us. Evidently old Gordias wanted to make sure no one unhitched his oxen while he was not looking, so he was careful to tuck in the ends of all the ribbons making up the complex knot, leaving no tips exposed. He did such a good job that no one was able to untie the knot afterward. The passage of time, which turned the bark rock hard, eventually made the task impossible. Once that happened, some enterprising and imaginative local promoter invented the story that whoever managed to loosen the knot would become lord of Asia.[16] Many tourists came to try their luck and none succeeded.
Needless to say, Alexandros, when he heard the old legend, was intrigued. “This is even better than one of Aristandros’s predictions,” he told me. He then spent a good hour tugging and pulling at the petrified bark, making no progress whatsoever. Finally, in frustration, he whipped out his sword and, before the astonished guides could intervene, he sliced right through the knot. At first, there was a flabbergasted silence but then our bodyguards started to whoop and holler. “He did it! He did it!” they yelled.
Alexandros was delighted. “I’m going to be the lord of Asia,” he told everyone present. The tour guides congratulated him absent-mindedly, busy composing in their minds the next legend they could tell future visitors about the time a Macedonian king came to their obscure little provincial capital and sliced right through a thousand-year-old cornel-bark knot.
“I’m going to be the lord of Asia,” Alexandros repeated to me as we made our way back down the hill.
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