I got to my feet and stumbled down the road, determined to find Usse and ask for something to make my migraine go away.
I hadn’t gone far, before Plexis fell in step next to me. He held a bit of meat in his hands and gnawed on it as we walked along.
‘Why are you following me?’ I asked after a while.
‘I couldn’t let you go back on your own. Look at yourself.’
I glanced down. I was wearing Plexis’s cape, so most of the bloody tunic was hidden, but my hands and arms were still stained with ribbons of dried blood, and I guessed my face must have been just as dirty. My eyes were probably red from crying, and swollen. I sighed, and turned to Plexis. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Come to the creek and I’ll help you wash. Then we’ll all go back together. If Iskander sees you coming back like that, he’ll kill us all. You don’t know his temper.’
I tried to smile. ‘No, I don’t.’
We left the road and walked to a clump of trees on the side of a small stream. Once in the shade, I dipped my hands in the cool water and washed my face and arms. My feet were blistered, so I took off my sandals and dabbled my feet in the water. I thought of my donkey.
Plexis looked at me worriedly. ‘What is the matter?’ he asked. ‘The oracle was most auspicious and for once very clear. It’s rare that the questions are answered so directly. Have you seen Barsine? She’s positively glowing. She asked if she would have Iskander’s son, and the oracle actually replied “yes”, clearly. It’s rare, it’s unique!’ He peered at me. ‘Do you understand? Why are you crying again? Aren’t you happy for Barsine? If I remember, the other night you said that you wished that she had a baby, and she will! A boy! Won’t Iskander be pleased? He’s always wanted a son. He’ll be a wonderful father. I’m sure ...’
‘I know what I wished,’ I said. ‘Just shut up! I think I liked you better when you ignored me!’
He stepped backwards as if I’d hit him. His face hardened. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he said. ‘Not at all.’
‘You can never understand me,’ I cried. ‘No one can.’
We faced each other uncertainly. He was angry, I could tell, but something kept him in front of me. ‘What about Iskander?’ he asked.
‘Perhaps Iskander least of all,’ I said, my voice breaking. I stared at the horizon. ‘It will all be for nothing,’ I shouted towards the uncaring mountains. ‘Nothing! Do you hear me! Nothing! All this! All his effort, all his dreams, all his children, everything, gone!’ I shook my fist at the empty sky and screamed. ‘Damn you! Damn ...’ I got no further. Plexis leapt forward and grabbed my arm.
‘Stop it!’ He pulled me to him and held me immobile. ‘Don’t do that,’ he begged. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘I do know, that’s the problem,’ I said, struggling against him.
‘If the others see you, or hear you, they’ll think you’re mad!’ His body was tense, a coiled spring.
In the struggle I’d lost his cape and my tunic had fallen off my shoulders. Our naked bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. I was shivering, I was afraid my nose would betray me again, and I’d already lost too much blood. I was feeling light-headed.
Or maybe it was Plexis. I had gone too long without a lover. My body hated solitude, it wanted to be touched, held, and possessed. With a groan, I wrapped my arms around his neck and dragged him to the ground on top of me. I arched my back, feeling his penis pressed to my belly. I found his hand and guided it between my legs. He touched me and I moaned. I kissed his chin, his neck and then his mouth, wanting him, needing him. He responded with passion. Then he pushed me away and started to get up. I grabbed him and pulled him back on top of me. He struggled, but he was aroused, and although his head might have been saying ‘no’, his body betrayed him. I managed to get him inside me, but he thrust only once before pulling away again.
‘No!’ I cried, panting. I grabbed him and rolled him over, straddling him, intending to rape him. But then I got a look at his face. It was terrified.
‘Damn you, Plexis,’ I cried. ‘Damn you, then, and your big brown eyes. Oh ... damn!’
He uttered a startled laugh. ‘Do you want to have me killed?’ he asked. ‘What price do you think will be on my head if Iskander knows I’ve touched you?’
‘Is that the only reason?’
He blushed. ‘No, of course not, but I won’t play games with you. I said I’d never understand you, and I won’t. But I respect you.’
‘Oh, God.’ I rolled over on the ground and stared up at the sky. ‘The man I just tried to rape says he respects me.’
My body was burning with lust. That’s the only thing I could feel at the moment. I closed my eyes. It was torture. I was surrounded by half-naked or fully naked men, and my husband had been sleeping with his first wife for over three weeks now.
I felt a gentle touch between my legs, and I moaned. ‘Don’t do that unless you plan to finish what you start,’ I growled.
‘The oracle said I’d go east and see the sacred river. This is west, and this stream isn’t sacred, so I suppose I won’t die this afternoon.’ Plexis lowered himself onto me and took possession of my body. I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him in deeper. We said nothing for a long time. He moved slowly, thoughtfully, while I came, and came, and came again. All the tension left my body, all the frustration I’d been feeling. My headache disappeared completely. I hadn’t realized just how tightly I’d been strung. His movements accelerated, and his breath came in short gasps. I rolled over and pushed him back to the ground, holding his shoulders, grinding my hips into his until he gave a hoarse cry and spent himself inside me.
We lay near the stream, watching the water flow, not talking. Actually, I had no idea what to say. Maybe he respected me before, but now? I wasn’t sure I respected myself. I was supposed to be madly in love with my husband. I wondered if I should cry or something.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked me, after a long silence.
‘I feel peaceful,’ I said, propping myself up on my elbows and looking at him.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. He was lying exactly how I’d left him. His body was dappled in the shade, his arms and legs akimbo, his hair tousled, his penis lying sweetly in its curly nest. ‘I do too,’ he said. ‘But how long that will last I don’t know. Probably until I see Iskander.’
‘Probably. Do you love me?’ I asked, curious.
‘Love? By the gods, I don’t know. I like you. I think you just needed a man, don’t fool yourself. I’m familiar with that feeling. Remember, I was perverted when I was young.’ He grinned.
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
I was getting cold in the water so I got out and draped his cloak around me and put on my sandals. He picked up my tunic and my skirt. We walked together out of the grove and towards the road.
When we got back to the camp we went to our separate tents. I took off Plexis’s cloak and spread it on my bed, and then I lay down on it and buried my face in it. Plexis was both wrong and right. Alexander had hurt me more than I would admit. I knew he didn’t love Barsine. I knew that he’d married her for politics, but he shared his body with her, and it tormented me. I felt shut out and alone. I knew he’d come back to me after she left, and I even thought he might love me. I was afraid, because I’d never really loved anyone in my life as much as I loved Alexander. I realized I was changing – that the shell around my heart was cracking open, and it frightened me so much I felt paralyzed. The sorrow I’d felt when I’d lost my son had nearly destroyed me. When he’d been snatched from my arms, I’d lost my mind and blanked out whole months of my existence. The thought of that happening again terrified me. Alexander had made the first crack in my defences, and now I was afraid that the whole dam I’d been so careful to build was about to burst, and I would be swept away. I thought if I could just love Plexis a little, it would save me.
I hugged his cloak to me and closed my eyes. I
was ashamed again. I wondered if I’d ever make a right decision in my life. I could hear my mother’s voice, mocking. ‘So, Ashley. In trouble again, I see. First you run away, then you divorce. Now what? A baby out of wedlock? A lover? Don’t you have enough problems?’ I put my hands over my ears and tried to shut out her voice. ‘Oh, Ashley, don’t try and hide. Stand up straight. Stop snivelling. Don’t embarrass me. Grow up. You should be ashamed.’ I was. I wasn’t surprised to find my nose bleeding. As usual, I’d goofed up. A prisoner in a time not my own, alone, misunderstood, frightened, and desperately in love with a legend.
Someone called my name, softly. I opened my eyes. Plexis was sitting next to me, his face next to mine.
‘Why did you come here?’ I asked. Then, ‘I’m so sorry. I wish we’d never met.’
‘Do you really? I hope you’re not telling the truth.’ His breath was warm on my cheek. ‘I came back to get my cloak, and to say thank you.’
I rolled over and sat up. ‘Why?’
‘Because you gave me something special. I may not be an expert on women, but I’m starting to become an expert on you.’ His mouth covered mine, and then his body. He pressed me back onto my bed and we made love again.
‘I wanted to show you that it wasn’t a mistake,’ he said when it was over. ‘I wanted to show you that we could do it, and that it wouldn’t matter, and it wouldn’t change anything. If Iskander can do it, so can we.’
‘Are we doing it out of revenge?’
‘I don’t think so. I think we’re doing it because we need each other. You don’t know any other way to bind a man to you. Your land must be a very difficult one in which to live. I will be your friend and, if you choose, your lover. I’ve shown you that I want you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. I stretched. My body felt languorous and relaxed. ‘But isn’t it dangerous here?’
‘No. Axiom is with Iskander in Persepolis, Brazza is at the river with Usse helping him gather clay, and there are no soldiers around. Barsine is in the tent snoring. She wouldn’t mind anyway.’
I took his face in my hands and kissed him. We became lovers, Plexis and I. Lovers, despite our love for Alexander. Or maybe our love for Alexander was the foundation upon which we stood. I didn’t know, but I began to wake up in the morning with a light heart. I was no longer alone.
When Barsine was sure she was pregnant, she decided to return to her people. I was upset. She was the first girlfriend I’d ever had, even though she treated me like a slightly retarded little sister. She spoke slowly and clearly to me –which made her sound even more comical – giving me advice about spear-chucking, arrow-shooting, feeding an army, and giving me little gifts. My favourite present was a short lance made for a woman, with a bronze spearhead. She had been determined to teach me to wield the lance from horseback, and we’d spent hours on the playing field, riding full tilt at a small ring hung from a string. I was supposed to poke the lance through the ring. When I finally did it she slapped me so hard on the back I thought she’d broken some ribs. Then she announced she was leaving, and I burst into tears and embarrassed her by crying on her shoulder.
‘I have to leave before the snows block the pass,’ she said apologetically. ‘My baby will be born into my tribe. It’s only right. Why don’t you come back with me? Iskander can come in the spring and we can show him his children.’
I dried my tears and sniffed. ‘I would love that, but I can’t. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I don’t want to leave Alexander.’
She shrugged. ‘I understand, but I’ll miss you. I hope we’ll see each other soon.’
‘I hope so too,’ I said sadly. I knew that neither Alexander nor I would ever see the jolly princess again. Her life would most likely end in a siege in Macedonia, prisoner of Olympias, victim of the insane scramble for Alexander’s kingdom after his death. I tried to smile bravely, but knowing what the future held for Barsine was too depressing for me. Forty, fifty, a hundred times I nearly opened my mouth to put her on guard against Olympias, but each time the words died in my throat. How could I warn her without changing the future? How could I save Barsine and the baby she carried? Even if I did warn her it would do no good. Once I was erased, the timeline would just continue as if I’d never been there.
At least that’s what I’d been told.
* * *
People had already tried to fiddle with time.
In school we studied the more famous attempts. The one that tried to save Martin Luther King, the one that tried to save the Archduke Ferdinand, or the one that was supposed to bring back Steven Hawking. Every one had failed miserably. After the debacle of 2089, when the whole world teetered on the brink of disaster after a time-travelling journalist killed Hitler and someone even more diabolical took his place, the time-senders perfected the system of erasure. The undertaking was enormous and cost an astronomical sum. Erasing history meant going to the point where the change occurred and taking out a chunk of time. It’s the last resort. Don’t ask me how it’s done, it’s used only in dire need. Mostly, they use correctors to set time right.
When a journalist is sent back in time, he – or she – is left there for exactly twenty hours and then brought back with the molecular magnetic beam to fame and fortune. When a corrector is sent back in time to correct a mistake, he’s left there to fend for himself for ever. The job is not coveted. Usually the ‘volunteer’ is taken out of a prison programme.
How could anyone know if time had actually been changed? If you changed the past, you automatically changed the future, right? Wrong. Well, almost wrong. Most of the butterfly theory is correct. Little things can have enormous consequences. However, big things, things you assume would alter history, are usually swallowed up in what scientists call the ‘Molasses Theory of Time’. Time follows its schedule like inertia, starting slowly and then flowing like a bottle of molasses tipped over on a table. The molasses is thick and torpid, but it flows. To stop it one must be very quick. Otherwise, the sluggish, sticky stuff will ooze all over the table. It follows its own schedule, just as time does.
To make sure time isn’t changed in any irrevocable way, scientists placed a detailed history book in a permanent molecular magnetic beam located in the exact centre of the magnetic pole of the earth. The beam doesn’t send the book anywhere, but it does keep it from becoming altered in any way – no matter what happens when someone goes into the past and modifies time from there. A replica of the book is kept in another room, in a normal environment. After each time trip, the books are compared. The differences show up within a day. Any discrepancies are fed into a computer and the results analyzed.
If there is no danger of time moving from its flow, then the book is closed and everything continues blithely on its way. If, however, the changes are major and cause the flow of time to deviate, then something is done to put it right. Within a year, a ‘volunteer’ corrector is found and trained and sent to live and die farther away from home than most people ever imagine. A year to train a corrector and pray the mission is a success. After that, the possibility of correcting time becomes improbable and likely to influence the present in calamitous ways. Or so it’s theorized. It’s never been allowed to go that far. The TCF always erases it.
Because of the high cost, little alterations to the continuum are ignored, and time, like thick molasses, keeps flowing, as it should. Those changes never affect our present because the flow of time tends to glide over flaws without a bubble in its surface. Nor does the history book have the name and date of birth of every human being who ever lived on earth. The faceless mass remains anonymous. A person could go back in time and fade into the background, and no one would ever be the wiser if they did their job well.
At any rate, time-travelling journalists are painstakingly trained to stay neutral and as far removed emotionally from their jobs as possible. The time spent in the past is reduced to a strict minimum, and measures taken to ensure that nothing interferes with the smooth passage of time gone by.
To the time-senders, I had disappeared into the mists of time. After twenty-two hours, finding someone again was nearly impossible. As long as I did nothing to interfere, they wouldn’t waste the enormous amount of energy it took to erase me. For as long as I could remember, no one had been erased; it took the equivalent of an act of war to do so. The energy used was extravagant. Erasure was a story I’d heard about, but it hadn’t taken place in my lifetime.
I walked an emotional and mental tightrope, loving a man who would die in a few years, knowing the fate that would befall most of my friends. Unable to utter a warning.
I sought out Plexis and walked with him to the top of the hill. We watched the stars shift and blaze in the heavens. We watched the bonfires burning in the camp. We made love on the soft grass and held each other, and sometimes we’d cry.
It’s nice crying with someone when you’re both crying for completely different reasons. Plexis, because he was so desperately in love with the man who’d killed his own brother, and I, because I was in love with a man whose death was already written in the stars.
Alexander gave a great feast for Barsine the night before she left. Darius came as a guest of honour. It was not the first time Barsine had seen Darius. She had been presented to him shortly after her arrival, and she had gone several times to Persepolis to see him. She treated him with great deference.
Darius bowed to me and I bowed back, but we didn’t speak. He was wearing a bright yellow linen robe and his beautiful silk beard, made of thousands of intricate knots. He looked very impressive. He sat between Alexander and Barsine. I was sitting several places away, next to Plexis.
In public, Plexis and I were quite formal. He was polite, but distant. Alexander had even reproached him, telling him to be nicer to me. I wished he’d tell Nearchus, but Nearchus acted the perfect gentleman when Alexander was around. It was when Alexander was not there, that Nearchus let his true feelings show.
That evening I was determined to have a good time. Winter was drawing to a close. Soon Alexander’s army would be on the march again and I would start an incredible journey across the Middle East. I was looking forward to it. First, we’d head north to Bactria to seek Paul, and then we would go towards India. I’d always wanted to go to India.
The Road to Alexander Page 21