The Road to Alexander

by Jennifer Macaire

  Alexander sat up in bed, instantly awake, but for the first time I saw lines of worry on his face. He looked at me and said, ‘I dreamt of our son.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘Peaceful. Darius dares not hurt him. I think he’s well cared for, at least for now. I long to see him.’ His eyes looked past me and he frowned, trying to bring the vision of his dream into focus. ‘He was such a pale child, it was as if the moon had put her mark on him.’

  I remembered the priestess telling me he had a crescent moon on his shoulder. My mouth trembled. Alexander gave me a quick, hard hug.

  ‘If anyone can save him, I can,’ he said, with his usual supreme confidence.

  We dressed with care. Alexander put on his wedding outfit and I wore my white silk robe. He donned his helmet, and then took me in his arms.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he whispered, his eyes dancing.

  He would say no more, but left me with Aristotle while he went to get his horse.

  Aristotle looked and smelled much better after his bath. He made room for me next to the satrap of Susa, an imposing man who was at least as wide as he was tall. We sat, with other dignitaries from the city, on a long bench covered with rich tapestries. All conversation hushed while the soldiers marched into the valley, Alexander riding in the lead. Then there was a complicated military manoeuvre, which the soldiers performed effortlessly. Bucephalus pranced and snorted, and Alexander rode the fiery stallion without any movement of arm or leg.

  Soon his soldiers were standing in straight rows in the valley. Forty thousand strong, with the thousand grooms in front wearing scarlet sashes.

  There was a clash of cymbals, and a thousand women filed into the valley. I have no idea where Alexander got them all. I think most of them were slave girls, and as marriage would free them, they were in high spirits. They were dressed in simple robes made of plain linen, but each wore a belt of bright yellow silk and had a crown of flowers in her hair.

  They contrasted nicely with the stern soldiers as they chattered and laughed. They took time to look the soldiers up and down, and it seemed as if the woman did the choosing.

  The men were not dressed for combat; they didn’t have their shields or armour. Since most of them only owned two outfits, a linen tunic and a woollen cape, they were dressed as Greeks. They were wearing sandals and skirts, and that’s about it. The women had the privilege of seeing exactly what they were getting. They laughed, talked, pointed, and argued when they wanted the same man.

  After the women had decided, and were standing demurely next to their chosen mates, the priest came out of the temple and gave the ritual blessing. The women then took off their belts and bound their right wrists to their husbands’ left wrists. Now married, the couples went to the campgrounds where fires were burning and the feast was ready.

  Alexander and his officers had been standing on top of a hill overlooking the ceremony. Alexander, astride Bucephalus, looked majestic. When the ceremony was over, he raised his right arm in a salute and his men all raised their right arms. Then, as the newly married men took their wives to the feast, the rest of the army slowly parted, leaving a wide passage leading directly to me. I was with Aristotle and the village dignitaries. When Alexander came riding towards me, I was surprised. I was even more amazed when he stopped his horse and leaned down, holding his hand out to me.

  ‘Come.’

  Mesmerized, I obeyed. He swung me onto his horse’s back. Bucephalus carried us towards the temple. The priest came out again, and spoke the ritual words. Afterwards Alexander took a golden bracelet out of his tunic and slid it on my arm.

  The trumpets blared again, we kissed, and his men cheered. We were married. I had been married on a horse.

  It was nothing like my first wedding. My wedding night had been a nightmare. I’d sworn never to marry again. Love had no place in my life. Somehow, Alexander had stripped my defences and had swept me along on his great adventure. He intoxicated me. And when we found our son, everything would be perfect.

  I watched Alexander as he ate, drank and joked with his men, and I looked at the gold bracelet he’d given me. It was lovely, with figures of lions and griffins chiselled on it. I returned Alexander’s smile, took some grilled mutton and wrapped it in a piece of flat bread. Our wedding night was filled with the music of a thousand musicians. Flutes, oboes, trumpets, drums, lyres and tambourines played until dawn. Women danced, men sang, the fires threw sparks into the night, and the moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. A good omen, said the priest, winking at us.

  We had to wait until everyone left before we could go back to the tent. The sun was coming up by the time we crawled into Alexander’s bed. I held him tightly and listened to the plaintive notes of the larks as they greeted the morning. Rays of warm sun crept into the tent and gilded our bodies as we lay entwined. Deep peace stole over the valley, and only the liquid notes of the songbirds disturbed it.

  Chapter Seven

  We stayed for one week in Susa. The thousand newly married soldiers had three choices: returning to Macedonia; staying with their brides in Susa; or continuing with Alexander’s army. Roughly two-thirds of the soldiers stayed with the army.

  Alexander spent three days sorting out the amount of drachmas he had to leave for the women, so they could start housekeeping. Most of them had families who would keep them until their husbands came back to claim them. Already I saw the results of the wedding. The Persians now treated the soldiers like family. They were no longer the conquering enemy; they were sons-in-law, fathers of their future generations. Even the Macedonian whom Alexander had chosen to replace the satrap, married a local girl before taking his post at the head of the city.

  Aristotle watched it all with amusement. He ate with us every evening, trading the worst insults with Alexander, until I was choking with laughter and embarrassment.

  Antipatros, an older man who had been one of Alexander’s father’s generals, dined with us as well. He was a silent man with a stern face, but he got on very well with Aristotle. The two men discussed religion most evenings, not war. I listened to their conversations with interest. Religion had all but disappeared in my time, so I was amazed that Antipatros could believe in a multitude of gods. Aristotle was more an atheist, but he was quite sure that if the people stopped worshipping the gods they would become depraved and debauched. It would be the end of the civilization as he knew it.

  Aristotle shook his head. ‘It’s starting already, you mark my words,’ he said darkly. For once his face was serious.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  He leaned towards me, and spoke in a low voice. ‘You must watch out for Iskander. He has too much of his mother’s character in him. Beware. He must not take the place of the gods in the minds of the people. In their hearts, perhaps. He cannot help but capture people’s hearts. Look at him, the firelight shines less than his face, and his eyes are the stars in the sky. Everyone gravitates towards him and revolves around him, as the moon and other planets orbit the earth.’

  ‘They orbit the sun,’ I corrected him automatically.

  ‘No, no. The Earth is the centre of the Universe.’ He smiled at me kindly, and I smiled back.

  ‘Well, at least you tried to tell Iskander the Earth was round,’ I said. ‘One out of two correct theories isn’t bad.’

  He looked at me doubtfully, and then assumed I was joking and chuckled. ‘A sense of humour, good girl. I see why Iskander wants you near. But mark my words, and don’t let him become deluded into thinking that he is a god himself.’ He shook his head. ‘If he does, he will topple, and drag the empire down with him. Do you know what they’re saying in Alexandria now?’

  I said that I did not. He said, ‘They’re saying he’s the god Amon himself.’

  I looked blank. ‘Who?’

  ‘Amon!’ He frowned. ‘The king of the Egyptian gods.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Oh, that Amon. I will try and keep Alexander’s feet on the ground.’
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br />   ‘His feet on the ground?’ Aristotle thought about that and then smiled. ‘I like it, it’s a good one.’ We stared into the fire for a few minutes, and then Alexander said something witty to Lysimachus who laughed. The voices around us rose and fell, but Alexander was the pivot. He held the invisible strings that united us all. Our eyes were upon him. Our thoughts were about him. His smiles bound us to him for ever. He was the star we would follow to the ends of the earth.

  Three hundred years later another star would rise. Another man would be born who would change the face of the world. The gods of Greece and Rome, depraved, debauched and stripped of their powers, would fall. A new God would take their place. His prophet would be a young man with magnetism and power that would rival Alexander’s. He would die on the cross, at exactly the same age Alexander died.

  Alexander would be called the son of the god Zeus-Amon, but malaria would strike him down three weeks before his thirty-fourth birthday. Jesus would claim to be the Son of God. We all know where that got him.

  I saw the faces of the men as they watched Alexander. Their eyes devoured him. I turned to Aristotle.

  ‘Some people burn too brightly for the rest of us common mortals,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s so much Iskander’s fault as it is his followers. They are only following their instincts. Look at him. Can you truly say he’s an ordinary man? When you see him, what do you think?’

  Aristotle replied thoughtfully, ‘I suppose what everyone else does. I think that he’s magnificent. I think he’s beautiful, and I want him to love me as I love him. I want him physically, spiritually, and mentally. I want to be his father, his mother, his brother, and his lover. When he was a child he was frightening in his intensity. He could make the other children do anything he wanted. And they adored him.

  ‘Philip brought him to me when he was but ten years old. He was a beautiful boy, with those Byzantine eyes too big for his face and his hair like a golden helmet. He had a terrible temper, though. I tried and tried to teach him to control it, but he couldn’t. And it ended tragically, as I knew it would.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He killed his best friend’s brother in a fit of rage.’

  ‘I know that much, but how did it happen? Why?’

  ‘Oh, love, I suppose. Love and jealousy and passion. All those things a boy feels so strongly when he’s young. Cxious was a handsome youth. Handsome, sly, and unwise in love. Plexis looks a great deal like his brother and I imagine it’s a knife in Iskander’s heart when he sees him. Still, I warned him. He didn’t listen, and now it’s too late.’ Aristotle sipped his wine and shook his head sadly, lost in thought. ‘But it’s all in the past now. And it’s all in the hands of the gods. Where will he go from here? What will he do? Only the gods know.’

  I laughed weakly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.’ However, when he looked at me in puzzlement, I just smiled and said mysteriously, ‘Only the Shadow knows.’ Of course he didn’t get that one either.

  * * *

  We marched on to Persepolis. The swamps gave way to low plains, then hills, and then mountains. Alexander strode at the head of his army. He didn’t ride Bucephalus; horses were for battle. I rode the grey mare. I was always tired, my limbs felt leaden, and I slept, nodding on the pony’s back as we jogged on, mile after mile.

  The weather was on our side, neither too cold nor too hot. No big rainstorms, and game was plentiful. We camped after the sun set and broke camp before dawn. After nearly three weeks we arrived near Persepolis, and Alexander sent a messenger ahead, asking Darius to come meet him. In exchange, Alexander would spare the Persian army.

  We made camp and waited uneasily, but the night passed without any news. In the morning, Alexander ordered his soldiers to rest – they would attack in two days. No one asked why, and Alexander said nothing about his son. I had wondered if his soldiers would follow his orders and leave Babylon without a fuss. Now, after being with him for nearly two months, I started to understand the formidable leader that was Alexander.

  For now, the footsore soldiers were only too glad to set up their tents and sleep. Quiet settled over the encampment. The silence was unnerving. I had never been in the midst of men preparing for battle. They changed. Antipatros became even more stern. Lysimachus was all nerves. Seleucos, who had been promoted to sergeant, became withdrawn and snappish. Alexander seemed to grow, to expand. His presence could be felt all over the camp. His voice rang out; his eyes blazed. He didn’t rest. He organized. He planned. He talked to his men, listened to them, and encouraged them. When the sun rose on the second day, to a man, his army was ready to fight and die for him.

  Alexander’s trumpeter blew the clarion and Bucephalus reared and whinnied. The men screamed in answer, giving me gooseflesh. I had stayed out of everyone’s way, in particular Alexander’s. I hadn’t wanted to distract him. But while he thought of war, I thought of the baby Darius had stolen, and I trembled. I hoped my Paul was safe somewhere in the city.

  I stood in front of the tent and watched the men file by. They were grim, holding their long spears and shields, wearing bronze helmets with white plumes. They had sandals and shin-guards made of stiff leather. Otherwise they were nude. This was the phalanx, their thirty-foot spears forming a nightmare porcupine. Following them were the infantry, armed with short swords and wearing skirts of leather to protect their thighs. Their arms were wrapped with leather thongs. After them trotted the cavalry. Their horses rolled wild eyes and snorted, anxious to gallop. I saw my grey mare and hoped she would be all right. The cavalrymen had long, bronze-tipped spears and short swords. Their legs were sheathed in leather, and they carried small, round shields. Their horses had wide leather bands across their chests and under their stomachs for protection. The hipparchie, a regiment of mounted archers with bows slung over their shoulders and clusters of sharp arrows in their quivers, came last.

  Alexander paused in front of me. For a moment he didn’t speak, and then he said in a low voice, ‘Fear not for the child. I will get him back.’

  I smiled then and didn’t try to stop my tears. ‘I know you will. Take care of yourself,’ I told him, my voice shaking.

  The men left the camp and rode toward the city. I stayed behind with the slaves and offered to help the doctors prepare for the wounded. I wanted to make myself useful, so I’d proposed my services to Usse, Alexander’s physician. He’d accepted readily. In ancient Greece women were received into the medical corps without any problem.

  There were about a hundred doctors in the camp; most were slaves trained for working in the army. The slaves were divided into groups, and tents were set up for the wounded. Usse, a tall, thin Arab, was in charge of the doctors. He supervised the fires and put irons in them to heat. I asked why, and he replied they were cauterizing irons for the wounds. I started a pot of water boiling for strips of linen. We’d need sterile cloths for bandages.

  Usse was amused when I started boiling the bandages, so I tried to explain about microbes. He listened carefully. He had no idea what germs were, or why perfectly clean cloth had to be boiled. But he accepted my explanation, and even asked Axiom, Alexander’s personal valet, to help me. We boiled bandages and hung them to dry. After that, I boiled surgical instruments. They were terrifying. Most were cauterizing irons, which Usse stuck like branding irons into white-hot embers. There were scalpels, as sharp as modern ones, clamps to remove arrows, and instruments I didn’t recognize and hoped I wouldn’t need to use. We also prepared splints and cataplasms. Usse prepared a malodorous potion that he told me could make people sleepy and would help in setting broken bones. I think there was opium in it, and something smelled suspiciously like hashish. Sheets were soaked in vinegar to help stop bleeding.

  Afterwards everyone settled down to wait. I hated waiting. The army was out of sight but I thought that if I climbed the hill I could see what was happening. I started up the rocky slope, slipping on the frosty grass and wishing that I had something sturdier than sandals. Bl
ades of grass stuck between my toes. A vulture wheeled overhead in the cloudless sky. I shaded my eyes to peer over the plain.

  Persepolis was visible in the distance. An empty city built by Darius the Great for the master races, the Persians and the Medes. They used it for their spring rites and ceremonies. It was immense, with several palaces and temples set out in perfect harmony around a huge central square. From where I was, I could only see the stairs that led to the city’s front gate. They were made of slabs of white marble, seven metres long and shallow enough to ride horses up, and flanked with walls carved with sacred beasts. I couldn’t see the carvings from so far away, but I’d seen them before, in pictures. They had been ruins when I’d first seen them. I’d seen them as crumbling relics, and now they were shining before me in the bright sun. The temples, their roofs covered in gold-coloured tiles, were intact, not yet reduced to broken columns. I put my hands over my eyes and sat down, shaking. Living history backwards was a terrifying experience.

  A cloud of dust billowed on the far side of the city. Darius had tried to defend the great eastern gate, but I knew that soon the city would fall to Alexander. Already I could see the first of the wounded limping toward the camp. Slaves ran out with stretchers, and I slipped and slithered down the hill. I would try to be useful. I only hoped I could do some good.

  Later, I wiped sweat off my face and wished I had paid more attention during first aid class. I had no idea if what I was doing was helping. Usse set broken bones as fast as he could. He also received the wounded, putting them in one of three tents. One tent for those needing urgent help, one tent for those who could wait, and one for those who were dying. In the tent for the dying a brazier had been set up, and Usse put herbs upon the hot coals, making a thick, fragrant smoke. The smoke, Usse told me, helped the men’s souls find the gods. I think it was mostly opium.

  I was put to work cleaning and binding the wounds. As a woman, I was supposed to know how to do this. There were no sutures. Wounds were cauterized without anaesthesia using white-hot irons. Searing heat killed germs, so although the scars were horrendous, wounds usually healed cleanly.