There were archery competitions, marathons, spear-throwing, different sorts of ballgames, field hockey, gymnastics, and shows of strength. The preliminaries were held in the morning, and the finals took place in the afternoon.
Alexander took part in some competitions, but Barsine wouldn’t let him do anything too physical, so he was banned from wrestling, rugby, and soccer. The soccer was more like rugby, the rugby was more like a free-for-all, and each sport saw half its players in the infirmary after the games.
Alexander particularly loved polo, even though it was dangerous. There were roughly six men to a side, though this number varied from game to game and could go from four to ten. The field was larger than the ones I had seen. There was no referee for any game except wrestling, and half the time the referee was there to make sure it didn’t degenerate into a melee. Polo was as hard on the horses as it was on the men, but it was the oldest sport and the most ceremonial. Trumpeters and drummers lined both sides of the field. The horses were decked out in gold and silks, and the players sported brightly coloured, padded jackets, and wore turbans to protect their heads. I thought they wore more protection for polo games than for battles. The game was incredibly violent. Anything went. The fist-sized wooden ball was hit with a whippy bamboo mallet, but they could scoop the ball up and carry it, throw it, or kick it in the air. One could hit the ball with his mallet, or hit the opposing players, although hitting the ponies was considered bad sportsmanship. The players rammed into each other, trying to unseat their adversaries. Half the time, everyone ended up in a pile on the ground, ponies thrashing wildly, players shouting and swearing, trumpets blaring, and the spectators screaming. The ponies weren’t shod, which was lucky, considering the number of kicks the players received. Only half trained, the horses would often rear or buck just as a player was leaning out to hit the ball.
Bucephalus was a great polo pony. Tough and quick, his stocky strength was an advantage in a melee. Plexis played in every game, riding like a centaur on his black pony.
I was persuaded to play a ceremonial game with Barsine and Alexander one night. We didn’t play a regular game, although women did play polo, I was told. Their games weren’t as rough and crazy as the men’s games, but I was pregnant. I didn’t want to take any chances. We rode sedately, hitting the ball to each other, torches showing the goal posts. The ball was ingeniously made of silver filigree with a gyroscope inside of it. It held rags soaked in oil, burning brightly to make a glowing ball. In the darkness, we could see the sparkling light, flying like a tame comet around the field.
Barsine insisted on dragging me out to the archery field one morning. I liked archery, but I wasn’t familiar with antique bows. The string took half the skin off my arm when I released the arrow. I’d forgotten to secure my arm guard.
I was happiest just sitting in the stands under an awning held up by four soldiers. Usse sometimes sat with me, when he wasn’t binding someone up or setting bones. Barsine could usually be seen in the very middle of the field. Plexis took part in most equestrian competitions. But Alexander was busy elsewhere. Alexander did play some games, but aside from polo, he didn’t shine at contests. He was too serious for the frivolity of sport. He was made by the gods to lead an army and to found a kingdom, not to run foot races or shoot at targets. Besides, as Aristotle wryly said, he hated to lose. Alexander, dressed in his finest, came to watch the games. He handed out prizes, congratulated the winners, and comforted the losers, but mostly he held himself aloof. On most days he was in Persepolis, sorting out the treasure, writing letters, giving orders, making plans, visiting Darius – and waiting for Nearchus.
Chapter Thirteen
Alexander had already decided to go to Bactria to recover our son, but he hadn’t told anyone. Even the soldiers didn’t know.
‘They think they’ll be heading back to Babylon in the spring,’ Alexander told me, handing me a bowl of steaming tea and perching on the side of my bed. He came to my tent and spoke to me every morning after he inspected his troops. I looked forward to these visits; they were the only times we had to be alone all day.
‘I hope they won’t be disappointed,’ I said, sipping my hot tea. I was aching to be on the road to fetch back Paul, but my pregnancy was making me tired, and in the morning I always felt nauseated. Alexander had started bringing me herbal tea in the morning. Usse made it, and Alexander would fetch it in the cook’s tent before coming to see me.
Alexander shook his head. ‘They’ll be thrilled, I promise. I’m saving the news as a sort of surprise.’
I hoped the surprise would be well received. I also hoped Nearchus would agree, and wondered what Alexander would do if he did not. Alexander looked out the tent flap and sighed. It was getting late, and the myriad of things he had to do wouldn’t wait. He kissed me tenderly on the lips, and left.
At night I lay in my tent and watched the stars through a hole. I could hear Barsine’s snoring, and the snoring of all her tribesmen. It sounded like a bestiary. Barsine said that her tribe’s ancestors had used snoring to deter enemies. I could imagine how reluctant any enemy would be to attack a village apparently full of savage animals.
Axiom stayed with me, but he slept in a small tent next to mine. He explained now that he was a free man, it wouldn’t be correct for him to be alone with me. Usse usually slept in the infirmary – to escape the sound of snoring – and Brazza refused to leave Alexander’s side. So I was by myself. I hated it. It reminded me of my prison and the isolation I’d suffered in the temple of Gulu.
A cloud scudded across the sky, hiding the stars. I closed my eyes, but sleep eluded me. Pregnancy was making me tired, yet I suffered from insomnia. I wondered if Usse could give me some herbal potion for sleep. I decided to ask him the next morning and was just about to pull the covers over my head in a vain attempt at sleep, when I heard a faint noise.
Silently, I got up and pulled my tent flap aside. A man was sitting under the fig tree. In the starlight, I saw him pluck a leaf and roll it tightly. It was Plexis.
Axiom was asleep in his tiny tent, the tips of his feet just poking out. He didn’t stir.
My tent was nearest the hillside. Then came the fig tree, Alexander’s tent, and an open space leading towards the stables and the bathhouse. Beyond that, the white, dusty road to Persepolis reflected the moonlight.
We were above the field where the infantry camped, and thousands of tents stretched out beneath me. Lamps were lit inside a few of the tents, making them glow like Japanese lanterns. Guards stood in the flickering light of campfires or sat on grass mats, quietly playing dice. Behind me, the hillside was covered in long grass and stubby bushes. A rocky path led to the top, its white quartz stones gleaming faintly.
Plexis didn’t move, so after a few moments I tiptoed over to the fig tree.
‘Can't you sleep either?’ I whispered.
‘You make more noise than a charging hippo,’ he replied, not turning his head.
‘Come, we can’t stay here. Let’s go up on the hill. I bet the view is lovely from there.’
He sighed and tossed the leaf away, following me across the clearing and then up the path marked with bits of quartz. When we reached the top, we sat on a large, flat rock that had kept the heat of the sun. It was still pleasantly warm.
‘Why can’t you sleep?’ I asked him, after we’d sat in silence for nearly half an hour.
He looked at me. In the starlight, his eyes were black holes. ‘Why can’t you sleep?’ he countered.
I sighed. It was so difficult to talk to him, yet I decided to be frank. ‘When I was captured, a year ago, I was taken to Mazda and put in the temple of Gulu. I was kept in a room with no windows, and only taken out twice a day for exercise. I was pregnant, had a baby, and no one spoke to me.’
‘No one?’ he sounded sceptical.
‘One day a midwife came and she talked to me. She said three sentences, I think, and then she left. That was it. A deaf-mute watched me while I was in the garden. Two pries
tesses were in charge of me, but they never said a word. When my baby was born, he was born in silence. Even now, sometimes, I think he was a dream, or part of one.’
‘A child?’ Plexis suddenly realized what I’d been saying. ‘You had a child? When? Was it Iskander’s? Where is it now?’ His voice was oddly tense.
‘Weren’t you listening? I had a baby. Six months ago, I think. I’ve lost track of time. Of course it was Iskander’s. When he was ten days old he was taken away from me. I haven’t seen him since.’ I felt my eyes brimming with tears and my cheeks grew hot. Why was I talking about Paul to this horrible person?
‘Where is he? Did the babe die?’
‘I don’t know.’ I was crying and my damn nose was bleeding again. I dabbed at it furiously with my tunic and cursed.
Plexis stared at me. I couldn’t read his expression. He opened his mouth, then frowned and shut it again. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said finally, almost angrily.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,’ I said, not hiding my sarcasm. ‘You have to understand. First Olympias kidnaps him, then Darius, and now he’s disappeared. I didn’t particularly feel like trusting anyone.’
‘Does your nose bleed often?’ Plexis’s voice held a note I hadn’t yet heard from him.
‘No. Only when I get upset, embarrassed, go from hot to cold too quickly, or get banged on the nose. When I was little, I had to learn to control my emotions because of my stupid nose. OK? Are you happy?’
‘What does oh-kay mean?’
My mouth twitched. ‘It means all right.’
‘Most people think it’s a sign.’
‘My nosebleeds?’
‘Yes. Oracles often get them.’
‘Well, for me it’s just a sign that I’m upset, or that I’ve just gotten hit on the nose,’ I snapped. I looked at my tunic, decided my nose wasn’t bleeding any more and sniffed loudly.
He drew his legs up and folded his arms across the tops of his knees. ‘You have been honest with me, so I will be honest with you. I can’t sleep because Iskander is so near. He’s in his tent, right down there. I can hear him breathe if I listen. But he might as well be on the other side of the earth.’ Plexis laughed mirthlessly. ‘I made the mistake of falling in love with the Sun God.’
I was startled. ‘But didn’t he kill your brother? Don’t you hate him for that?’
‘I thought I did. Cxious was my older brother. He was a bit like Iskander. He caught the eye and held it. He was dark-haired like me, strong and well built, with a talent for making friends and for making people laugh. When he was thirteen, my mother sent him to study with Aristotle. That’s where he met Iskander. I was there already; I’d been sent away by my mother when I was ten.
‘Iskander and I were best friends. When Iskander tamed Bucephalus, I had the first ride. He even invited me to his home in Macedonia during the holidays. And then we turned fourteen.’ His voice had become crystalline. I shivered.
‘If you don’t want to tell me about it, you don’t have to,’ I said. But he didn’t seem to hear me.
‘A man named Agathon took a fancy to my brother. Although Aristotle told him to beware, Cxious started to go to this man’s house and follow him everywhere. Agathon was a well-known playwright, and he wrote several plays especially for Cxious. My brother loved attention and this turned his head. He was invited to all the banquets Agathon gave, and he became a sort of celebrity within the theatre society. He even had small parts in the plays.
‘We thought Cxious was wonderful – he was older than we were and he lorded over us. Iskander didn’t mind. I think he was amused at first. We were all were still the best of friends. But then Agathon seduced Cxious. He opened up a new world for him. The world of pleasure. For a sixteen-year-old, it was too much to handle. Cxious lost his head. He insisted on initiating Iskander. And Iskander fell in love. It was unfortunate, because as friends they could survive. As lovers they burnt each other out.
‘Agathon was insanely jealous, and plotted to turn Cxious away from Iskander. He wrote a play portraying a young, licentious barbarian who seduces a noble Athenian, then breaks his heart and kills him. He managed to convince Cxious that Iskander was playing him false. There was a huge row one evening after the theatre. Iskander wasn’t stupid, he recognized himself in Agathon’s play. It was a terrible blow to his ego. The boys had been drinking, and Agathon and his cronies egged them on. It started out as a simple wrestling match, but Cxious ended up dead.
‘The older men would sometimes organize these matches. The things they made the boys do were against the law, but the pleasures of the flesh, and the beauty so worshipped by the Athenians, made it seem “oh-kay” as you put it. Only it wasn’t.’ Plexis stopped and drew a ragged breath. ‘In the end Iskander rose above it. Aristotle helped – after all, he is a philosopher and he loves Iskander, as do we all. Agathon was ruined and his friends disgraced. And I was left to pick up the pieces.’
‘Why you?’ I asked gently.
‘I had lived in Athens longer than Iskander or Cxious. I was the one who introduced Cxious to Agathon. I was one of the boys who would wrestle at night at the banquets to entertain the playwright’s friends. At the time, I only thought about the enjoyment. What mattered was the physical pleasure and the admiration that was showered upon me.’ He shook his head. ‘I never thought about love. It was only when Iskander’s heart broke that I started to see how wrong I’d been. You see, of the three of us, only Iskander really loved. That’s why he’s still intact.’
‘You were too young to know what you were doing,’ I protested. ‘Those men were adults, they should have been punished! They had no right influencing young people like that. Why, it could happen to anyone. What happened was awful, but it wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of your hormones. When you’re that age you are ruled by hormones, you’re incapable of thinking clearly. Adults should be there to help you, not pervert you. I’m so sorry your brother died.’
There was a long silence while he digested this. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he admitted finally. ‘Hormones don’t rule us, we elect our own leaders in Athens. What do they have to do with perversion? Are hormones kings who pervert children?’
We stared at each other. He had such a perplexed look on his face that I giggled. It began as a nervous little hiccup that I tried to smother, but it turned into a snort. I started laughing, and then couldn’t stop. I laughed hysterically. Plexis smiled, uncertainly, then started chortling. It was contagious. We dissolved into gales of laughter, holding on to each other, tears running down our faces. Every time I stopped laughing, his chuckles would start me up again. We whooped, choked, howled and cried with laughter. Finally we stopped and lay still, gasping for breath. My stomach was sore. I wiped tears off my face, sitting up stiffly.
Plexis rubbed his eyes, and sat cross-legged in front of me. His handsome face was open for once, and I thought I could almost get to like him.
‘You’re not what I expected,’ he said, after he’d gotten his breath back.
‘What did you expect?’
‘The goddess’s daughter. Lysimachus calls you “Ashley of the Sacred Sandals”, and the soldiers claim you wrought a miracle with an arrow. I heard about what you said to Darius. You frightened me, but I was wrong to think of you as a goddess. Obviously you’re not Greek. You’re not a barbarian. I don’t know where you’re from, but you’re different.’
‘After what you told me, I’m not sure I’d like to be Greek,’ I said.
‘No. You’re right, it’s up to the adults to channel youth. But if the adults are dissolute, they will pervert.’
‘I don’t mean to imply that you’re a pervert,’ I said.
‘I know the difference.’ He looked down the hill towards Alexander’s tent and his face softened. ‘I love him.’
I nodded and put my arm across his shoulders. ‘It is the difference. And he loves you, too.’ I smiled, remembering Usse’s words. ‘He loves everyone, perhap
s that’s his problem.’
‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t shrug away from me, but he held himself perfectly still.
‘Do I make you uncomfortable?’ I asked, withdrawing my arm.
‘I don’t understand you,’ he admitted. ‘You are like a shadow without form or substance. You profess to love Iskander but you make no claim upon him. You bore his child and have another in your womb, but it seems to touch you not. Neither the bearing nor the losing. I can’t explain it. You make me uncomfortable. I think it’s because you seem to be looking at us the same way Aristotle looked at his collection of sea-creatures. He would study them for hours, making notes and observing, watching and trying to understand. That’s the impression you give me. I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I am trying to be honest.’
‘I’m sorry, too.’ I wiped away a stray tear and tilted my face to the stars. ‘I do love Iskander. More than I love myself.’
‘It is your selfless love that I understand the least and admire the most,’ he admitted.
I took a deep, shaky breath. ‘It’s not easy. But you have to understand, Iskander has things to do, important things. The gods put him here for a reason, and it’s not me, or a baby, or anyone else that will stop him. You knew Iskander as a boy, so you don’t see him the way I do. I knew him as a legend.’ I frowned, was that giving too much away?
‘A legend?’ He was serious again. ‘Where are you from, Ashley of the Sacred Sandals?’ His voice wavered, as if he were afraid of the answer.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if I do I will die.’ He looked confused, but I’d learned by now the Greeks believed in anything connected to oracles, so I explained further. ‘An oracle told me never to reveal my secret.’
He accepted that, and we sat on the flat rock in a silence that was almost companionable. I leaned against his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. Just before the sun came up he asked me, ‘Aren’t you afraid Barsine will bear a son? And that she will take your place in Iskander’s heart?’
The Road to Alexander Page 19