Slaves held the men down. The screams of the wounded and the smell of scorching flesh permeated the camp.
Usse concocted a drink that he gave to the wounded. They calmed down and went into a trance. Their eyes glazed and they breathed through their mouths, making the ones with broken noses easier to treat. Broken noses were fairly common.
Alexander used a formation called a phalanx, which presented the enemy with a huge, prickly hedge of long spears. Rows and rows of soldiers with spears swept down upon the enemy, and the spears, thirty feet long, neatly shish-kebabbed those foolish enough to face them. However, the phalanx could be undone – with lobbed missiles, arrows, and enough victims to weigh down the spears and break them. Then the infantry fought hand to hand, with short, deadly swords and glaives. The wounded were dragged off the battlefield as fast as possible, while the remaining men slid and slipped on the blood and fought and cursed.
At that point Alexander swooped in with his cavalry, pulling the hipparchie behind him like a great curtain, sweeping into Darius’s forces and finally annihilating them.
I wondered where the wounded enemies were taken but Usse told me, in a no-nonsense voice, that they were put to death. Alexander took no prisoners. Even when they did surrender they either joined Alexander’s army or were sold into slavery. It depended on how the commanding officer was feeling that day. I swallowed hard. The Geneva Convention hadn’t been put into effect yet.
I finished binding up a slashed arm and concentrated on my next victim, a young man with an arrow in his chest. He looked at me hopefully, and I smiled and cursed under my breath in English.
‘Are you saying magic words?’ he gasped.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am.’
His face relaxed and he gave a huge sigh. ‘You're a goddess, so I know that I will live,’ he said confidently.
I studied the arrow and wished I felt as confident. Its feathered end was sticking out at an angle and the arrowhead was hidden by his armour, but judging from the amount of blood pooled his lap it must have struck something major. I undid his shoulder straps and carefully peeled his armour away. The arrow fell to the ground; it had simply been stuck between the leather and the brass plates. The blood was from someone else. There was no wound at all. I closed my eyes and clung to the edge of the table.
The man ran his hands up and down his chest, feeling frantically for the wound. ‘It’s a miracle,’ he cried, ‘a miracle!’
‘No it’s not,’ I insisted. ‘You weren’t even hit, it was deflected by your armour.’ However, he didn’t believe me, and neither did anyone else. As a result, all the arrow wounds got sent to me.
I hate arrows. They usually kill outright, cutting arteries, severing veins, and the victim bleeds to death very quickly. But when nothing vital is hit, the arrow is stuck because of its shape and impossible to pull out. Then one has to either push it through, or cut it out using special clamps and spreaders invented for such occasions. Pushing it through is excruciating. The patient screams and tries to get away. Large slaves sit on them, and Usse gives a double dose of his potion.
I did my best. I had a working knowledge of anatomy and that helped. More importantly, I was reputed to be a goddess and that helped most of all.
That day I discovered that men are both a lot tougher, and at the same time, more fragile than I thought. Wounds that I was sure were fatal were somehow healed because the man had decided he would live. And if a man thought he would die, he usually did, and there was nothing we could do to save him.
Most of the men didn’t come to the hospital tents if they didn’t feel the need and took care of their own wounds. I even noticed many soldiers cauterizing themselves, if they could reach the cut and it wasn’t too serious. But the severely wounded were brought to us.
Usse could usually tell at a glance if a man was mortally wounded. If Usse nodded towards the third tent where the thick smoke made my head spin after only a minute, I knew the man was dying.
I tried not to think. I tried to make an empty place in my mind where I could work and not feel the suffering around me. Knowing that I had little knowledge of what I was doing distressed me. When I saw another man pierced with arrows being carried towards me I set my teeth and tried to stop my hands from shaking. The first thing I did was to smile at my patient, no matter what I thought. Then I gave liberal doses of Usse’s medicine and did my best, for whatever it was worth. I tried my best with roughly fifty men. Some had sword cuts to the legs and arms, and broken noses, which never arrived on their own – they came with other wounds. A soldier would never come to the tent with just a broken nose. Nevertheless, if I found one I treated it. I liked to set them straight and splint them. The first time Usse saw me do that he actually laughed. A slave trained as a doctor helped me, and he did most of the work. I was there more for moral support than anything else, but the soldiers sincerely believed I could help them.
Surgery was slated for the next morning, Usse told me, after the priests performed special rites and sacrifices were made to the gods. I told him to boil all his instruments and to sterilize the bandages and anything else that would come in contact with the wounds.
Usse listened gravely then asked me to explain once again about the minuscule creatures that caused infection. I was only too glad to comply; anything to get my mind off the horror of the wounded soldiers.
We talked as we made the rounds. Our group was composed of Usse, the twelve slaves who aided Usse, and myself. The wounded had stopped coming in, and a messenger came telling us that the battle was ended. Alexander had taken Persepolis. The battle had lasted all day. Alexander had forty thousand men. Roughly six hundred were injured, and one hundred and fifty of them died.
‘It is over,’ said Usse.
‘Until next time,’ I said. My voice sounded far away.
‘Are you all right?’
I gave a wan smile. ‘I’m just worried about the men. Where did you learn medicine?’ I asked. I’d been curious about that all day.
‘On the island of Cos there is a school. Antipatros, who used to be my master, sent me there.’
I was interested and wanted to ask him other questions but my throat closed up and I found I couldn’t speak. Instead I pointed mutely towards the tents where the wounded lay.
Usse looked at me. It was hard to tell what the tall man was thinking, but his eyes were always gentle. He wore his robes Arab-style and prayed to his own gods at his own times, which bothered no one in the camp. He came and went as he pleased, and although he slept in Alexander’s tent each night I knew nothing about him. He rose each morning before Alexander, and was usually the last one to sleep. All the other slaves deferred to him, and even Alexander treated him with respect. While Aristotle had been with us, they had spent many hours talking together. Aristotle, who thought slaves were inferior, seemed to consider Usse an equal.
I was in awe of him, but then he smiled at me and put his hands on my shoulders. It was a gesture that no one else except Alexander would have dared, and it spoke volumes of this man. ‘You did well,’ he said to my infinite relief. I burst into tears.
I cried because never, in my sheltered life, had I come in contact with dying men. I cried for those I’d managed through sheer luck to save, and for the men who’d died. I cried with relief because it was all over, and because Alexander had won, and he was unhurt. I cried because Usse was looking at me with all the kindness in the world in his large, brown eyes. I cried because no one, ever, had looked upon me with such compassion. I was tired too. Even more exhausted than I’d been after giving birth. My whole body trembled, and I discovered that I couldn’t move my feet. I swayed and nearly fell but Usse was holding me firmly. He barked an order to one of the slaves, who came and carried me to Alexander’s tent.
I wanted to wash, I wanted to run to Persepolis and find my baby, and I wanted to see Alexander. I ended up falling asleep on the rug, too tired to wash or crawl into bed.
I reeked of garlic and honey.
I was spattered with blood and sticky with sweat. The honey was used as an antiseptic or an antibiotic. I didn’t know, actually, why Usse slathered honey over some wounds, put garlic paste on others, and left some completely alone. There were tinctures made of sulphur and other elements. There were herbs as well; herbs I knew and some I didn’t recognize. The soldiers carried a small pouch, and when they were marching they would sometimes stop and dig up a plant and stuff it in their bag. Usse opened their little pouches when the soldiers were carried in, and sometimes he used what he found. I would ask him about that ... if I ever woke up again.
I slept until Alexander came back. Then I woke up as if swimming out of a deep pool. I tried to fight my way to consciousness but kept slipping back. I knew there was something I had to ask, something I had to know. Finally, I managed to open my eyes and sat up. My head spun and I ached all over, but I braced my hands on the floor and blinked until my vision cleared.
Alexander was sitting at his table. He’d bathed and he wore a fresh tunic. His hair was growing long again and was tied back with a thong. His eyes were fixed on the tablet in his hands. He put it down and faced me.
I could tell from his expression. He didn’t have to say a word.
‘No!’ I cried, and got to my feet. ‘No!’ My voice broke.
He sprang up and hugged me tightly to his chest. ‘Shhh, it’s not what you think. The babe lives. I swear it’s true.’
‘Where is he?’ I whispered. I pulled away and looked at him.
His eyes were bleak. ‘He was never in Persepolis. We’ll go and see Darius tomorrow and I’ll find out where he’s been taken. Don’t worry, I’ll get him back.’
My knees gave out and I sagged against him. Tears scalded my cheeks as I choked back my disappointment.
‘Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I am disappointed too. But we’ll find him. Don’t you remember? I promised.’ Alexander took my face in his hands and brushed away my tears with his thumbs. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes reddened from smoke and tears. He tried to smile, but it seemed an effort. ‘Come. I have something for you.’
I followed him to the table. He lifted something sparkling off it and pressed it into my hand. It was a necklace with a chain of gold and silver. Of fine workmanship, it was perhaps the most delicate chain I’d ever seen. On it hung a white moonstone surrounded with tiny opals and rubies. The moonstone had a face carved on it. It was the face of Artemis, goddess of the hunt and of the moon, Alexander explained. He put the necklace around my neck. Then he led me outside.
‘Hold the pendant towards the moon,’ he ordered. I complied, and he said, ‘Artemis, hear my plea. Take my son and keep him safe. You marked him as your own, and so we ask you to care for him until we find him.’ He bent and kissed the moonstone then held it out to me.
I was surprised. I hadn’t thought of him as being very religious, and pagan rites unnerved me. But Alexander’s face was solemn. I kissed the pendant.
The moon turned the hillside to silver, and a strange calm had befallen the campsite. I saw Usse moving like a shadow among the wounded outside the tents and made a movement to join him, but Alexander stopped me. Instead, he led me back to his tent where Axiom had prepared a hot bath.
Alexander took off my dirty robe and bathed me tenderly. I stood in the basin and let the water sluice over my body. I had entered a monochrome world where sound was muted and sensation was dulled. I glanced at my pendant and gasped. The moonstone gave off an unearthly light.
Alexander filled the sponge with water and slowly squeezed it out onto my back. ‘The pendant’s name is Celine. The moon speaks to the moon’s stone. Now, be calm.’ He didn’t sound amazed; his voice was level, deep, and soothing. I felt sleep claim me even as I stood. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Alexander’s shoulder. I wondered briefly if he were tired too. He didn’t show it. Instead, he emanated the same glow as my pendant. An unearthly light.
Chapter Eight
Each spring, under the stern regard of the god Ahura-Mazda, and in the presence of the King of Kings, the great festival takes place in the city of Persepolis.
The master races, the Persians and the Medes, watch as all the other tribes parade before them to place their offerings at the foot of the throne.
The king sits on a raised dais directly in front of a passageway guarded by carvings of winged bulls who let no trespassers by. First the Medes and Persians parade with their chariots and warhorses. Then the Suzians present their lions. Armenians bring vases made of precious metals. Babylonians bring embroidered cloth and pure white bulls. Lydians bring gold. Sogdians bring sheep and fine wool. Phrygians bring splendid horses.
The parade stretches for miles across the plain and slowly files up the stone staircase, over the humped bridge, and into the vast central square. One by one, the people bow to the king and lay their offerings before him. As the day wears on, the square fills with gold and silver, bolts of shimmering cloth, pure white cows, gleaming horses, and enamelled vases glowing in every colour like jewels in the sunlight.
Afterwards, the king and his entourage retire to the royal palace where a sumptuous banquet awaits. They walk through the remarkable ‘room of one hundred columns’ and sit upon richly embroidered cushions in front of a long marble table. Musicians play oboes, while slaves serve food. Women chosen for their beauty dance, and a chorus of youths sing songs to the glory of spring, the gods, and to the king.
All this Alexander told me as he led me past the blinding white marble walls covered with bas-reliefs of life-size, fantastic animals.
The city was swarming with soldiers, but they weren’t on parade. Alexander was systematically stripping every bit of treasure from the fabled city and was loading it on pack animals to take to Ecbatana, the seat of his treasury.
Antipatros and Alexander’s second in command, Parmenion, and twenty other officers were sitting in the centre of the square surrounded by scribes and slaves. Over their heads, a blue and white striped canopy offered cool shade. They were taking an inventory of everything and writing it in triplicate on long scrolls. An incredible number of burdened camels and donkeys were being led from the city heading north towards Ecbatana.
Afterwards, I heard that it took ten thousand mules and five thousand camels to move the entire treasure. I didn’t count it and didn’t verify the scrolls. However, I do know that it took all winter. For three months the treasure was counted, wrapped up, and shipped out. And the soldiers worked non-stop.
With that money, Alexander built roads and developed a postal system. He built cities and seaports. He used the money to strengthen the governments in all the cities he conquered, creating a unified monetary system and founding schools where Greek culture was taught. He had the wisdom to let the people he conquered keep their religions and keep in place their existing administrators. He simply put his people in key positions.
While we walked through the echoing hallways towards Darius’s palace, Alexander greeted everyone we met by name or rank. He smiled and asked them small questions and then listened carefully to the answers. Everyone received the same warm smile and genuine interest, whether they were general or simple soldier, cook or slave. To me they gave deep bows and fearful stares. I tried to look harmless, but my reputation as a bona-fide goddess made most people wary. They were sure that a wrong move would cause me to transform them into frogs.
I was nervous. We were on our way to see Darius, under house arrest in his own palace.
‘Is he furious?’ I asked.
‘Furious?’ Alexander frowned. ‘I don’t know if I’d say that. He doesn’t realize what’s happened yet. You know, he’s a megalomaniac; he’s certain he’s a god.’
I looked at him sideways. ‘Don’t the Persians believe he’s a god?’
‘It’s one thing for your followers to believe you’re divine, but it’s another thing if you believe it. The Persians think that their king is responsible for the rebirth of the world each new year. If the
king doesn’t make the proper sacrifices and follow the rituals, then the world will end. But that doesn’t make him a god. Darius’s problem is that he believes he is. Now that he’s defeated, he’s a dangerous man.’
‘Will he tell us where Paul is?’
He paused. ‘I don’t know.’ Those three words stabbed me in the heart, but I knew they had cost Alexander as well. He’d been so sure of finding Paul here.
We stopped in front of a massive door guarded by Lysimachus and Seleucos. I was glad to see that Seleucos had risen so quickly in Alexander’s army. He now held the rank of captain of the cavalry. They stood at attention. No sitting on mats and throwing dice here.
‘How is he?’ asked Alexander.
‘Quiet. We searched his rooms for poison. We found none.’
‘He won’t kill himself,’ said Alexander. ‘Open the door and announce me.’
Lysimachus obeyed, and we walked through the doorway to find Darius sitting pensively on his throne.
He was taller than I’d expected. Most of the people I’d met were of medium height. Darius, when he stood up to greet us, towered over me. He was nude, except for a golden chain around his neck. Nudity was so common that I’d ceased to be aware of it. The soldiers went around unclothed and, in the villages, children were nude. Persian men wore very brief loincloths. Women wore robes or belted a cloth around their waists, although slave women were often naked. Alexander chose the Greek mode, which meant he wore a pleated tunic or slung a short cape over his shoulders. Today he wore his tunic.
Darius’s hair was long, black, and wavy, brushed back from his high forehead. He was clean-shaven; the beard he wore on ceremonial occasions was in his hand. It was made of finely knotted black silk. He looked at his beard and then placed it gently on the seat of the throne.
‘It’s yours now,’ were his first words to Alexander.
The Road to Alexander Page 14