The Road to Alexander

by Jennifer Macaire

  I wondered where Plexis was and nearly giggled, but my head hurt too much. Slowly, painfully, I stood up. The ground tilted and I fell to my hands and knees, my head swimming. I felt seasick. I knew I was going to vomit. I moaned and looked for something to throw up in. The closest thing was Alexander’s helmet, but I thought he’d probably kill me if I used that, so I managed to stagger outside and made it as far as a clump of grass. Then I barfed all over.

  ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’

  I raised my head. Usse was standing not far away, hands clasped behind his back, a wide smile on his bony face. He waited until I was finished, and handed me a linen towel. I wiped my face, then realized I was naked.

  ‘Do you have anything for a headache?’ I asked him. ‘If you do, will you please get it, and stop shouting at me?’ I winced as my own voice seemed to boom in my head. I stood up on wobbly legs and wrapped the towel around me. ‘I’ll be in the bathhouse.’ I said with great dignity.

  He nodded and left, his shoulders shaking with what looked suspiciously like laughter.

  The bathhouse was empty. The soldiers bathed in the evenings. A huge cauldron of water heated outside. I filled a pail and ducked into the little stone house. It was rather like a Swedish sauna. Hot rocks were in one corner, and I threw water on them to make steam. I poured the rest of the water over my head, and then scrubbed with a handful of soft ‘soap’.

  The soap was Usse’s invention. It was actually a bucket filled with crushed plants and smooth clay. Soap did not exist in Grecian times. The soldiers often scrubbed themselves with sand mixed with oil, then scraped it off with a long, dull knife before entering the bathhouse.

  The clay cleaned well, and the plants made it smell minty. It was important to rinse thoroughly. Otherwise, the clay hardened as it dried and could get extremely uncomfortable.

  I filled the brick bathtub and lowered myself into the steaming water. The soldiers didn’t use the tub; most of them thought that hot water would weaken them.

  After bathing I felt better. Usse gave me a bitter drink that made my headache go away. He told me it was boiled willow bark. Then I hunted down Brazza and asked him to find me a new tent. I’d decided to leave Alexander and Barsine together. There was no way I was going to share a room with Barsine, nice as she was. It was still early morning. My head felt much better, and I thought I’d get my things out of Alexander’s tent.

  I ducked under the tent flap and saw everyone was still asleep. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw Barsine, all seven feet of her, splayed on the covers. Half-hidden next to her was Alexander. I started to smile but it froze on my face. Underneath Alexander was Plexis. I hadn’t seen him earlier. Otherwise I probably would have vomited on him.

  It was hard enough having to share my husband with his first and second wives, but sharing him with that insufferable Plexis was unthinkable. I narrowed my eyes.

  Alexander was still half-hidden beneath Barsine’s arm, but I could see the curve of his cheek, pale next to Barsine’s tan. His face was turned towards Plexis, who was sleeping soundly with his head on Alexander’s shoulder. Their hair was tangled together, dark and golden curls. Plexis’s shoulder was wedged beneath Alexander’s and their legs were entwined. Actually it was oddly sweet, and the scene would have been almost erotic if it weren’t for the giantess spread-eagled and snoring on top of everyone. And if it weren’t my husband. I shook my head. This would never do. I bent to pick up my things. There weren’t many. A small gilded box with my comb and my jewellery, two halves of wool flannel material, a linen towel, my silk robes, and a pair of sandals. All these fit into a plain sandalwood box I tucked under my arm.

  I moved everything to the new tent Brazza set up for me near the fig tree. It was about thirty feet away from Alexander’s tent. I told Brazza, with my awkward hand signs, that he was welcome to sleep in mine. The floor was covered in woven grass mats, and I had a small bed and a small rug. Brazza, Axiom and Usse each had a mattress to sleep on, and I had given them each a woollen blanket. The night air was cold in the winter.

  Brazza seemed to consider, then his hands flew as he explained that he couldn’t leave Alexander alone. He had to protect him.

  I was piqued; after all, I was sure Barsine was more than a match for anyone who’d want to tackle Alexander, but I knew how devoted Brazza was, so I just shrugged. My hangover was making it hard for me to hide my feelings though, because Brazza peered at me in surprise. He mimed sadness and pointed to me.

  I hesitated, then nodded.

  He smiled and startled me with a hug. ‘Oh, stop it,’ I said, pushing him away. But I was pleased just the same. We grinned at each other shyly. It was a start.

  I pointed to Alexander’s tent and mimed Barsine, then mimed snoring, plugging my ears and grimacing to show him that the noise was horrendous. He was deaf, so he didn’t hear anything. He laughed and pointed to Axiom, sitting on a mat not far away mending one of Alexander’s dress outfits. Axiom looked exhausted. He probably hadn’t gotten any sleep. I nodded. Brazza was telling me to ask Axiom to stay in my tent.

  I was starting to thaw out at last, and it was both an uncomfortable and exhilarating feeling. To let people know how I was feeling about them, or what my feelings were, was so difficult that when I did, it surprised me as much as it surprised the others.

  Chapter Twelve

  Barsine had no such reservations about letting her feelings show. I was lying on a fragrant grass mat in a patch of pale, morning sun, drying my hair, when I heard a lion’s roar. I jerked upright, my thoughts scattering all over, unable to figure out what was happening.

  The next instant there was a frightened scream from Alexander’s tent. Axiom’s head whipped around and he grabbed Brazza by the arm. They both bolted towards the tent. They hadn’t made it halfway there, when they were suddenly met by a flying man. Plexis sailed out of the tent, accompanied by the raging bellows of a furious barbarian.

  Barsine strode out of the tent and stood, legs spread, hands on her hips, red hair standing straight up on her head, blue eyes throwing sparks. She was naked, except for the sword belt – thankfully empty, or Plexis would have been skewered – and she looked like one of the old gods you read about in Celtic myths or Nordic legends. She had presence, and I could imagine her as an opera diva captivating an entire audience.

  Plexis obviously didn’t know what had happened. I thought that if he felt even half as bad as I’d felt upon waking, it was criminal to shout at him the way Barsine was. He sat in the dust gathering his wits. His wits were scattered all over, and he was having trouble finding them. He blinked and tried to stand up. That didn’t work, so he sat very still and put his hands over his ears. It took a couple of tries to find his ears. When tears of pain started leaking from his eyes, I decided he’d had enough.

  A good-sized crowd was presently gathered around the tent, so I had no trouble finding Usse.

  ‘Can you make some willow-bark tea for Plexis?’ I asked him. Then I put on an engaging smile and went to stand in front of Barsine.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  She blinked at me owlishly, then her usual good humour asserted itself. ‘Oh yes, very well. Thank you.’

  ‘So, what’s the trouble?’ I asked, surreptitiously motioning to Brazza to take Plexis away to the bathhouse.

  Her face darkened. ‘I don’t hold with the ideas of the Greeks,’ she stormed.

  ‘Which ideas?’ I thought I knew, but I thought I’d give Plexis time to make his escape, and Barsine a chance to vent her anger to someone neutral.

  ‘The idea that real love is friendship between men, and that women are just for procreation. I don’t hold with that. If the Greek women want to act like silly, downtrodden geese, that’s fine with me. But no homosexual Athenian is going to fornicate with my husband while I’m around.’ Her face was like a thundercloud, and I hoped Plexis was out of earshot. Her language was crude and loud, and I wondered if it was a good idea to go
on shouting like that in front of the soldiers. They had started to mutter, and I was unsure what their personal opinions were. If they were Greek, they would side with Plexis. The barbarians would side with their princess. I didn’t want the camp to start fighting. I wondered what was taking Alexander so long to wake up.

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t doing what you’re thinking,’ I said desperately. ‘Come, why don’t we go into my tent. I’d love to show you the present I picked out for you. I didn’t have the chance to give it to you last night.’

  She calmed down and followed me like a tame bear. In the confined space of my tent, she was overwhelming. She sat on the rug and watched as I opened my gilded box. I had asked Alexander to give me something I could offer to the barbarian princess, and he’d obliged me by finding a necklace. It was made of large squares of gold, hammered flat and carved with lions. In the centre of each square was a ruby. I thought it was magnificent, and luckily so did Barsine.

  She put it on and asked for a mirror. She admired it for a few minutes then her smile faded and she sighed deeply. ‘It’s very pretty, to be sure. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ I said, troubled by her expression. ‘Iskander was so glad when he heard you were coming.’

  ‘Was he?’ She brightened a minute. ‘That’s good.’ However, her happiness didn’t last. ‘Why did he have to be taught by an Athenian? That stupid father of his, infatuated with Athens, infatuated with Greek culture. Why didn’t he stay in Macedonia?’ She glared at her reflection. ‘It’s the fault of the Greeks..’

  I was shocked. ‘Surely you don’t mean that!’

  She looked at me in surprise. ‘Where did you come from? Don’t you know anything about the sort of education they get?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, all I know is that Aristotle taught Iskander.’

  ‘Well, he’s not too bad,’ she admitted. ‘Most of the time the boys are taught that friendship is the highest form of love. It’s supposed to be pure and noble. In principle, there is nothing physical between men and boys, and there are rules forbidding it. In Greece, love is reserved for men, between men. It doesn’t usually exist between a man and woman, unless the woman is particularly beautiful and cultivated, which is rare since in Greece the women aren’t educated. However, in Athens the youths run around naked while the girls and women are secluded in their households.

  ‘The Greeks admire beauty above all else. I know that I’m not the Greek ideal for beauty. Perhaps you think I don’t realize that, but I do. In my tribe we don’t care. So I don’t mind, except with Iskander.’ She shook her head and fingered her necklace. ‘When I saw Iskander, I finally realized what beauty was. We don’t worship it as the Greeks do, but I fell in love with him. In our tribe the women choose their husbands and we love them well. Usually, we don’t share.’ Here, she looked at me and smiled to take the sting out of her words.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I knew how she felt.

  ‘When Alexander was a youth, he studied in Greece. Because he was a barbarian, he wanted very much to become Greek. His father was enamoured of all things Greek. But Philip never slept with men. Philip loved women – beautiful women – like Olympias. And there’s another problem,’ grumbled Barsine. ‘The army. In the army, there are no women. Oh, I know there are whores, slaves and a few wives tagging along, but there certainly aren’t enough to go around, so they fall in love with each other. Luckily Alexander’s army isn’t all Thracian.’

  ‘What about the Thracians?’

  Barsine rolled her eyes. ‘While they’re in the army, Thracians form couples who care for each other and share a tent. They fight side by side in battle, and if one is killed, often the other will commit suicide.’

  ‘It’s not like that between Alexander and Plexis!’

  ‘But still I have to get rid of Plexis. I knew last night when I saw him there’d be trouble. I’ll chop his head off. Or maybe just his penis.’ She leaned forward. ‘What do you think?’

  My head was still aching from my hangover, and Barsine’s information about Greek education hadn’t helped. ‘Listen, Barsine. I don’t think you have to worry about Alex. He loves you very much.’

  ‘Alex? You mean Iskander.’

  I massaged my temples. I was having a hard time concentrating. ‘That’s right. He loves you. His problem is that everyone loves him. When you saw him, you realized what beauty was. Everyone has the same reaction. We all want to love him and want him to love us, whether we’re women or men. Don’t worry, Iskander still thinks like a Macedonian. He may have been educated in Greece, but he’s thoroughly barbarian, believe me. Why don’t you go back to his tent and get dressed? Then, if you want, I’ll show you my new donkey.’

  Barsine seemed to think about this. ‘So you don’t want me to kill Plexis?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t actually say that.’ I grinned. ‘No, I don’t want you to kill him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you any more, how’s that? Now, why don’t you go back and see Iskander?’

  ‘All right, I will. He should be regaining consciousness about now.’

  ‘Regaining what?’

  ‘Consciousness. I knocked him out when I woke up and found him fooling around with Plexis.’

  I winced. His hangover was going to beat all of ours.

  Luckily for Barsine, and the history books, Alexander didn’t remember a thing when he woke up the next morning. His wife had hit him so hard he was unconscious a full twenty-four hours. No one contradicted him when he woke up thinking it was still the morning after Barsine’s arrival. He lost a day out of his life and never knew it. Barsine had calmed down by then. The soldiers had settled down, and Plexis was in his own tent.

  The barbarian princess was easy to get along with. I wondered if I would have liked her as much if she’d been a raving beauty, like Olympias. However, if she had been, her personality would have been different. There was something touching in the way she saw herself. She was proud of her prowess in throwing spears and shooting arrows. Hardly a day went by she didn’t organize a contest that she invariably won, to her immense delight. At the same time, she knew she wasn’t the Greek’s ideal for beauty, and it rankled. It rankled the same way it would annoy you if you were a stocky, dark-haired woman in a culture that worshipped willowy blondes. It was, I reflected sourly, the Barbie-doll syndrome fifteen centuries too early. However, Barsine refused to change the slightest thing about her dress, her hair, or her way of thinking, even though she knew Alexander had been brought up by a father enamoured of everything Greek.

  Alexander had suffered from being called a barbarian when he was young, and he’d done everything possible to become fully Greek – to the point where he would spread Greek culture all across the Middle East. However, Alexander, to give him credit, was innocent. He saw Greek culture through the eyes of his father, who, as Barsine had so pointedly said, never slept with a man. He saw its culture through the eyes of Aristotle, who gave little thought to love, be it for women or men, and instead concentrated on the deeper questions of philosophy and science. Finally, he saw its culture through the eyes of his people who looked at the Greeks with envy, admired their art and way of life, and wanted to be thought of as Greeks, not as barbarians.

  Barsine didn’t understand that. She saw all the negative aspects of Greek culture, and she also foresaw the form its downfall would take. In some ways, she was ahead of her time.

  I told her that as we walked towards the village. We had taken my little white donkey and were going to shop in the market.

  ‘Is that so? You think I’m clever?’ She was pleased with the compliment.

  ‘Yes, I enjoy talking to you, and I think you’re absolutely right. The Greeks don’t have much time left if they keep on like they are. Even now the population has dropped by half, and it can only get worse. The army calls itself Greek, but most of the soldiers in Iskander’s army aren’t Greek. They come from Macedonia, or from places Iskander has already conquered.’

  Barsine patted White Beau
ty absently and then sighed. For a barbarian she seemed to sigh a lot. ‘It’s a pity Iskander had to go to Athens.’

  ‘It made him what he is.’ I wished she wouldn’t mope; it made me uncomfortable. I hadn’t seen Plexis since he’d been ejected from Alexander’s tent, though I knew he was still around waiting for Nearchus. I was worried about Barsine’s reaction to Nearchus. While I couldn’t fathom Alexander’s love-hate relationship with Plexis, I knew the bond Alexander had with Nearchus was very strong. Nearchus was Alexander’s admiral, and, I suspected, his lover as well.

  * * *

  Barsine loved sports and competition, so she started a regular Olympics in the camp. With more than forty thousand superbly conditioned soldiers, there was more than enough material for games.

  Soccer was a big favourite. Not the soccer I knew from my time, but close. Rugby was also played, and Usse was kept busy the week that tournament started. Alexander had spectators’ stands set up on a vast field, and every day there was some sort of competition.

  It was funny watching Barsine’s kinsmen playing rugby. They took the stuffed goatskin and trotted it to their goals. Thirty men couldn’t stop one of them. They were like bulldozers.

  The Greek soldiers loved wrestling. They mud-wrestled. A large pit was dug and filled with clay and some water. The men slipped and slid and wrestled in it, and I could see why Barsine would tighten her lips and refuse to let Alexander take part in the competition. Even I turned bright red and nearly got a nosebleed when I watched a game. The Thracians were the worst.

  Spartans never took part in the games. The reason was simple; they were terrible losers. They absolutely refused to admit they were beaten, and the words ‘I give up’ were not in their vocabulary. The first and only time a Spartan soldier was persuaded to wrestle with one of the barbarians, he ended up dead. The silly goose wouldn’t give up. His heart gave up for him. Usse shook his head and steered the Spartan warriors towards the horse games where they made excellent polo players. I started calling them ‘The Brash and the Brainless’.