The Road to Alexander

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The Road to Alexander Page 22

by Jennifer Macaire


  Alexander wanted to see elephants.

  He’d seen his first elephant when he’d fought against Darius in Gaugamela. Now his conversations with Darius were filled with questions about what to feed them, how to capture one, and what happened when they stepped on someone.

  Darius’s elephants were both killed during the battle at Gaugamela, which had saddened him more than losing the battle – so it seemed to me. They had been named Vasi and Kish, and were Indian elephants, captured from a marauder on the very borders of his kingdom in the east. Alexander couldn’t wait to go and see one for himself. He was as enthusiastic as a boy, jumping up to mime the lumbering walk of the beasts, or imitating their trumpeting bellows.

  Even Darius forgot his customary frown and laughed at Alexander’s clowning. He had taken the silken beard off to eat, but it was never out of his reach – always on his lap, or held in his hands and stroked like a cat. He laughed, but then his golden eyes grew sad again, and he sat still, staring into the firelight, his fingers twisting themselves into the glossy silk of his beard. Alexander sat down again and picked up his golden cup. It was a lovely object, shaped like a griffin. The beast’s wings held onto the cup while its paws served to hold the cup upright. Darius had offered him the cup when they’d met in Babylon.

  ‘Would you like to come with me to Bactria?’ Alexander asked him.

  He’d asked in a low voice, but his words carried over to me.

  ‘No, I think I’ll stay here, in Persepolis, if you don’t mind,’ Darius said reflectively.

  ‘As you like. You can visit Stateira in Babylon, if you want,’ Alexander offered.

  Darius smiled briefly. ‘Thank you. Maybe I will. I will give it some thought.’ He looked at Barsine and asked, ‘Did you have a good visit, my queen?’

  She smiled broadly and began to talk about her stay, telling him in great detail about all the sporting events she’d organized and the results of each. He started getting a glazed expression after an hour.

  Alexander was talking to a man on his left, a satrap from the village. They had been chatting idly mostly about the crops and the hunting in the region, when suddenly the man said something that made my skin prickle.

  ‘Our oracle died last night,’ he said, taking a piece of flat bread and scooping up a helping of lentils with it.

  ‘Oh?’ Alexander raised his eyebrows. ‘Was it sudden?’

  ‘No, no, she was very old, but we’ll have to find a new one. It’s a bother. She could have waited until after the spring ceremonies. Now we’ll have to get another one quickly, so that the village can organize the sacrifices and festivals. You wouldn’t happen to be sending a messenger to Babylon?’ This was said in a hopeful tone of voice.

  ‘I do, often.’ Alexander was just a shade evasive about his messenger service. He didn’t seem to care about spies, but he took extreme care when sending messages. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  The short, plump man’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Oh, if you could send a message to the syndicate, and tell them we need an oracle right away. If they could possibly get one here before the festival of Apollo, we’d be so grateful. Our village needs to be purified.’

  ‘Purified?’ Now Alexander looked interested. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just before she died, our oracle said that a stranger had profaned our temple. She wouldn’t say any more, but she insisted that the village be purified during the festival of Apollo, or else our harvest would fail.’ He shrugged. ‘It all depends on whether you believe in that or not. As you can see, our village adopted Greek customs. Our oracle was Greek.’ He said that with more than a trace of pride.

  ‘You don’t worship the Persian gods?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘Some do, still, in the temple of Mazda. But most of us worship Zeus now.’ The satrap blushed. ‘We wanted to worship the strongest gods, you understand.’

  Alexander smiled. ‘Well, it’s always nice to talk to someone with such a liberal viewpoint. I’ll do my best to send a messenger. I hope the new oracle will arrive before Thargelion.’ That was May, month of Apollo.

  I remembered the dark room under the temple, full of stinging smoke, with the distorted voice of the old woman coming from behind the heavy curtain. I shivered. She was dead now, and with her gods.

  I stared at the satrap, who was busy stuffing his mouth with food. He seemed like a nice fellow. Modern, forward-looking, willing to change gods if some proved stronger than others. Well, why not? We traded in our cars. We dumped our computers for newer, more powerful models. We changed husbands and wives, tossing the old ones away, getting different, more interesting ones. If we found another god who was stronger, better, more merciful than our god, mightn’t we change too? I nibbled on a crust of bread and wondered.

  Darius was looking at me. I saw a flash of gold. His yellow eyes reflected the firelight. I smiled, but he turned his head. He still hadn’t forgiven me. I couldn’t blame him.

  Barsine and Alexander left before anyone else. They went back to his tent to spend their last night together. Plexis caught me staring after them, but his startled glance showed he had never expected me to be watching them with so much pity. I smiled quickly, but he didn’t answer. His eyes were searching, worried. I gave his hand a squeeze and went back to watching the sparks fly upwards from the fire.

  The party ended after that. Like most parties when the host leaves early, it fell apart. Some die-hards insisted on playing flutes and drums until dawn, but most people left right after Alexander, fading into the night, shadows walking back towards the village or the camp.

  Darius left, surrounded by his honour guard; three of his generals he’d chosen to accompany him into exile. He bowed to Nearchus, and Plexis, but didn’t even glance at me. Plexis looked startled; after all, I was Alexander’s wife, but Nearchus’s face was expressionless. Lately, Nearchus had been watching me closely. Perhaps he was wondering what would happen when Barsine left. He never tried to hide from me the fact that he was attracted to Alexander. Barsine had been very nice to Plexis after throwing him out of the tent. I guessed Alexander had something to do with that. But she had been fooled by Nearchus, who had the sense to make his advances to Alexander well out of her sight. However, I had seen them embracing. Nearchus’s face had been intense, but Alexander’s had been inscrutable. I couldn’t tell what Alexander was feeling. Nearchus was a Greek admiral, and Alexander admired him greatly. He also knew he needed him, and Alexander, as I was discovering, could be absolutely ruthless.

  * * *

  Barsine left early the next morning. Trumpets blowing, seashell sky above, spring grass pale green on the fields, and the horizon blue as an opal. I waved until she was out of sight. Thirty of her giant tribesmen accompanied her on her journey. The rest were assimilated into Alexander’s army.

  The day passed quietly. The soldiers cleaned up the remains of the banquet. Alexander went to Persepolis to see Darius. Usse went to gather herbs, and I wandered around the hillside wondering if now Alexander would ask me to rejoin him in his tent, or if he’d leave me in my own tent. Sunlight sparkled on white quartz, and I amused myself searching for the prettiest pieces. I also picked some spring flowers, watched as two snails made love to themselves, and wondered what to do about Nearchus. He was standing guard in front of Alexander’s tent, probably waiting for me to make my move.

  I was waiting for Alexander. I had no idea what he was feeling about me. He had given himself wholly to Barsine, and I had faded into the background like a good little ghost. Now she was gone, and I was sitting on a gentle slope, wondering if I should start watching out for poison.

  A cloud of dust appeared on the road leading to Persepolis. Someone was fast approaching. I could make out shrill cries now. The air was so fresh and still, sound travelled through it like water. I stood up and shaded my eyes. It was one of Alexander’s messengers, the one jokingly called ‘Hermes’ because of his incredible swiftness. He was small and light, a consummate rider. He was the equivalent of
a Pony Express rider, and he boasted he could go as many as four days without sleep.

  I scrambled down the hill. Whatever had happened must be important. Soldiers were jogging towards the rider.

  I reached the bottom of the hill just as Hermes flung himself off his steaming pony. Nearchus waved everyone back and said, ‘What is it?’

  Hermes paused to gasp for breath and cried, ‘Darius has escaped! He left this morning with one of his generals. Iskander has decided to raze the city. All the soldiers are to join him there. He has given me messages to send to Babylon, Athens, and Ecbatana. Where’s the scribe?’

  Nassar stepped forward and bowed, his narrow face stern. ‘I am here. We can begin.’ Since being appointed my translator and camp scribe, he had become important. Alexander now trusted him with messages he sent all the way to Athens. He even wrote in hieroglyphics, sending notes to Egypt and Alexandria.

  Hermes and Nassar went into Alexander’s tent to write the letters, while Nearchus rapidly gathered the army together and marched towards Persepolis. They were about to destroy the fabulous city.

  I shuddered. Whatever had happened, Alexander must be enraged to want to do that. He’d told me: ‘I do not destroy cities, I build them.’ What could have made him so angry? I stood in the shade of the fig tree, undecided. Should I go or should I stay here? Finally, curiosity overcame caution. I put a bridle on the grey mare and cantered off towards Persepolis.

  I caught up with the army as they came into sight of Persepolis. The city was empty of all its treasure; the endless caravan of heavily laden camels and donkeys leaving the city had ceased. Now the gates stood open, and a strange wailing was heard. I wondered what it was. Was it some sort of weird, warning trumpet? Whatever it was, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stayed well back, letting the soldiers file into the city and line up on the immense plaza. Then I rode my mare slowly up the stairs, her hoofs echoing on the stone.

  When I arrived at the plaza, I saw what had been making the sound. Two men were hanging by their wrists from a pole suspended over the king’s throne. They had been stripped of their clothes and were now being stripped of their skin. Bit by bit. Three soldiers with thin knives were carving them up, alive.

  Darius sat on the king’s throne.

  I gasped. He was supposed to be gone!

  Nearchus had seen me coming, and he stalked to my horse and grasped her bridle.

  ‘Come,’ he said harshly. The soldiers parted as he led me towards the gruesome scene.

  I sat very still on my mare’s back. As we got closer, I saw that it was not Darius, but a man who looked like him. He was tightly tied to the throne, his head held upright with rope. He was dressed in ceremonial robes and wore the beautiful silk beard. On his head was a golden crown. His eyes were open, staring up at the men writhing and shrieking above him. Blood dripped down and spattered his face. He didn’t move and I wondered at his stillness. Then I saw the crimson stain beneath the beard. The beard didn’t quite hide it. His throat had been cut.

  ‘Who was he?’ I whispered.

  ‘One of Darius’s slaves. He took his master’s place while Darius escaped.’

  ‘But ... but ...’ I faltered, at loss for words. ‘Who are the men being punished?’

  ‘The satraps who helped Darius,’ said Nearchus. ‘They are being executed.’

  I didn’t move. Nearchus held my horse’s bridle. I sat frozen in horror. Something warm fell on my hands and I knew it was blood. It fell from my nose in a crimson cascade, staining my robe, my hands, and the horse beneath me. The sun in the plaza was dazzling on white marble. Everything was white, bone-white and scarlet. The men’s screams were dwindling.

  I lifted my arms towards Alexander. He was standing behind the slave, his face as empty as the dead man’s, watching me, his eyes blazing with something like hatred. ‘I had nothing to do with this!’ I cried, then there was a roaring in my ears and I lost consciousness.

  Nearchus managed to hold me on the horse. As soon as my head cleared, I rode back to the camp. I left to the sounds of the city being smashed to pieces and the wails of the dying satraps. The dead slave sat and watched, impassive. After the city was ruined he was the only thing left, sitting on his throne in the midst of a shattered palace. They left the dead satraps hanging.

  I didn’t turn back once. The sound of shattering marble was like the breaking of bones.

  That evening Alexander held a meeting with his generals. He was grim and pale beneath the dust and smoke stains. He ordered everyone to be ready to march at first light. We were going after Darius, who was headed for Ecbatana, the city where the treasure of Persepolis was waiting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I had thought myself in disgrace but it wasn’t so. After his speech, Alexander came to my tent. I had been packing, and now everything was neatly arranged in my small sandalwood box. I had bathed and my hair was still damp.

  Alexander paused for a moment at the threshold of my tent, then stepped in. His presence filled it, making it seem tiny. Before, I had thought it too large and empty. Now it was full of a man whose body seemed to burn hotter than anyone else’s. My back was to him, but I could feel him as if he’d touched me.

  ‘Ashley?’

  I turned. ‘Alex!’ I held my arms out again, but this time he came to me. I put my head on his shoulder. Everything was all right. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you, too. I’m sorry.’ He held me lightly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About today. About our son. About Barsine. About everything. Plexis told me about your donkey.’

  I stiffened at the mention of Plexis, then relaxed. It didn’t matter. Alexander was here, in my arms, and I was happy. ‘I didn’t know Darius was going to flee,’ I said.

  ‘No one did. How could they? He went to join his family, did you know that?’

  ‘His family?’

  ‘Yes, he has a wife, children, and a mother, like most people.’ He chuckled, stepping back and holding me at arm’s length. ‘His mother is a wonderful lady, you’ll like her. She’s nothing like Olympias. She’s, well, motherly.’

  ‘I’m going to meet Darius’s mother?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t drag you all the way to Ecbatana and not present you.’

  ‘Alexander, what about Paul?’ I managed to keep my voice level. ‘I thought we were going after our baby.’

  ‘We are.’ He pulled me into a tight embrace, then stepped back. ‘We’ll be going in the right direction. At Ecbatana, we’ll get fresh supplies and rest the army.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, but Bactria is enemy territory. We’ll have to pass through Barsine’s father’s territory. She is carrying messages for me. They should let us through, but he’s allied with Darius. We have to get to Ecbatana as fast as possible.’

  I listened to him, the implications of what he’d said sinking in slowly. I’d been living in a daydream where Alexander’s army could just sweep into some satrap’s territory and demand his child back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. He’d never planned to go so far. He should be back in Babylon ruling Persia. Instead, he was spurring his army into battles, and I’d seen how many men were wounded and died. Were all their deaths my fault? I must have blanched, because he grabbed my arms.

  ‘You’ll love Ecbatana. And Darius’s family is very kind. His wife is believed to be the most beautiful woman since Helen of Troy. You must tell me if it’s true.’

  I managed to speak in a normal voice. ‘Why? You’ve never seen her?’

  ‘No, in Persia the women live in separate palaces. There’s the men’s palace, and the women’s palace,’ he explained, as if I hadn’t caught on.

  I made a face. ‘And in Ecbatana I’m supposed to stay in the women’s palace, right?’

  He smiled brilliantly. ‘Right.’

  ‘I thought you were on my side,’ I said.

  ‘You know what I miss,’ he said suddenly. ‘I miss swimming with yo
u in the evenings, talking, floating on our backs in the warm water, watching the stars, and fighting crocodiles.’

  I looked at him sharply, but the fun had gone out of his face. ‘I miss that too,’ I admitted. ‘But it seems so far away now.’

  ‘The army gets bigger every day,’ he continued. ‘More and more people following me. The other day the scribes counted thirty new families. Families! Men, women and children! Do you think I should allow it?’

  I wondered about that. History books had alternately described Alexander’s army as ‘a lean, mean, killing machine,’ and as ‘an unwieldy Dionysiac procession of soldiers, fortune-tellers and whores.’ Which was the true description? Perhaps somewhere between the two. I had seen from experience that some people attached themselves to the army for the space of a journey. They wanted to go in the same direction as the army, and they tagged along for protection, food, and company. When they arrived at their destination, they fell off like ticks from a dog. I saw nothing alarming about several families going to Ecbatana, and joining the army to do so. The soldiers had wives, the wives had children, and they tagged along at the rear of the army, camping a few kilometres away. The soldiers went to the ‘family camp’ when they were off-duty. When Darius had been at war, he had hauled his entire household along; Plexis had told me all about that. However, Darius had been in his own kingdom, and his army had been going from one residence to another. Alexander was going into hostile territory.

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ I said. ‘It’s probably not important. They might just want to go along with you north to Ecbatana. Who knows?’

  Alexander looked uncertain. He had chosen a seat on the floor, on a small grass mat, and he was plucking at it, pulling pieces of grass out and then shredding them. I cleared my throat. ‘Is anything else worrying you?’ I asked. He didn’t look quite like the confident king I’d been used to seeing.

 

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