by Max Overton
Persian nobility, distinguished by their height, beautifully coiffed beards and rich garments, stood in posed groups. They nodded politely to anyone who looked in their direction but maintained an aloof silence for the main part.
To one side of the raised dais at the far end of the hall stood a group of ladies garbed in the rich clothing of nobility. Veiled against the coarse looks of common people, the ladies whispered softly amongst themselves as they gazed around.
Several armed guards stood facing outward, their faces watchful. Tall and muscular, only a certain grace and beauty hinted at the loss of their manhood, the price they paid for the privilege of guarding the wife of Alexander. Roxane herself, short and dark, with the smouldering beauty of Bactrian women, stared haughtily about her, ignoring the deferential bows of the other guests.
Servants bustled through the crowded hall, bearing trays of finely worked silver goblets filled with iced citron and well-watered wine. Others bore huge platters of sweetmeats redolent with the aroma of pungent spices.
Tomyra gazed down on the packed hall from a small room near the rear of the hall, where a flight of marble stairs descended to the main chamber. She nervously smoothed the rich red woollen cloak about her as a flock of women busied themselves primping her hair, adjusting its raven folds beneath a golden diadem. Some touched up elaborate makeup while others fastened gold and enamelled brooches to her gown and cloak, fussing and clucking to each other in a mixture of Greek and Persian. One lifted the hem of Tomyra's flowing white silk gown; tucking and fastening the folds clear of hennaed feet within softly tooled calfskin sandals. She glanced to her right where Bithyia stood patiently undergoing the same detailed treatment.
Bithyia felt her mistress's gaze and turned with a grimace. "My lady?" she enquired, in the Scythian tongue.
"Nothing, Bithyia." Tomyra sighed and looked out over the crowded hall again.
"What is wrong, my lady? I thought this day would be joyful." Bithyia slapped a hand away from where an old woman was struggling to attach a brooch to her gown. "You are marrying your lord." She grinned. "It's unheard of for a serving priestess to marry. The Goddess must truly favour you."
"Does Niko marry because he wants to or because he must?" Tomyra looked down at her manicured hands. "Alexander commanded it. You too, Bithyia," she added.
Bithyia shrugged. "Timon and I planned to marry anyway. I know Nikomayros loves you, my lady. He would have asked you I'm sure." The tall Scythian girl smiled again. "Besides, how many chiefs or kings have a wedding like this?" She fingered her shimmering blue silk gown. "They say this gown came from Chin and was a year on the road. I shudder to think what it cost."
"And what is all this costing?" asked Tomyra. "Yet I cannot even bring a dowry to my lord."
"No more can I. Yet Niko...and Timon are rising in the world. If Alexander chooses to give us such a rich gift, can we refuse?"
Tomyra shook her head, ignoring the cries of annoyance from the women touching up her hair. "No, it would be neither polite nor politic, yet I would rather wed Niko simply in some village than with all these riches in the hall of a king."
A cascade of trumpets sounded in the Great Hall, followed by loud cheering. The mass of guests surged toward wide entrance doors, clapping and shouting. Flushed by the occasion and a liberal consumption of wine, even the tall sombre Persian lords unbent sufficiently to bow towards the entrance. The younger Macedonian officers scowled at the Persians then ignored them once more, taking fresh drinks from the servants. A few called out and made ribald remarks as the wedding procession entered the hall.
The Great King Alexander led the procession, resplendent in a pristine white tunic and a cloak of Tyrian purple. A garland of olive leaves rested on his golden hair. He walked lightly up the avenue of onlookers toward the raised dais at the far end of the chamber.
Nikometros and Timon paced behind, each arrayed in fine white linen. Nikometros' hair was freshly washed, brushed and ribboned, rivaling the king's in its lustre and hue. Timon's black beard was trimmed and curled, lending a regal air to the stolid soldier. Behind the two bridegrooms walked a small group of young army officers and lower ranks from the Fourth Squadron of the Companion Cavalry. In the absence of close kinsmen, the cavalrymen stood in for the families. They followed, laughing and singing praise songs and nuptial hymns.
Alexander led the grooms up to the dais then turned and faced the noisy throng. He lifted his arms and waited patiently, a smile on his face, for the hubbub to die away. When all was quiet, he spoke, softly, but in a voice that carried to all parts of the great chamber.
"Greetings friends, Royal Kinsmen, noble lords and ladies, men of Macedonia...we are gathered once more to join together two races in marriage. It is my desire that the peoples in whose land we now reside, scions of the race of Great Kyros..." Alexander bowed toward the Persian nobles who bowed deeply in acknowledgement. "...should evermore be one with us. I see a future in which no man is judged to be Persian or Macedonian, but rather a citizen of the world's greatest empire. But we must not forget that other races exist. To the north of us lies a great open land, rich in pastures and horses, peopled by a fierce but noble race, the Scythians. It is my desire that we forge ties of blood and kinship with these people. From Macedon comes Nikometros, son of Leonnatos of the noble house of Ermacyon, and Timon, son of Kerobates of Messa. These men have served loyally and with distinction in my Companion Cavalry. More recently, they have furthered our interests in Scythia. Here, Nikometros so distinguished himself that he earned the praise-title of Lion of Scythia.
"These valiant soldiers are to wed Tomyra, daughter of Spargises, king of the Massegetae Scyths and her warrior hand-maiden Bithyia, daughter of Allotroces." Alexander paused, letting his words fade into the silence before lifting his voice in command. "Let the brides come forth."
Heads turned toward the staircase at the rear of the chamber as Tomyra and Bithyia appeared. Tomyra took a deep breath and, quickly squeezing Bithyia's hand, started down toward the sea of upturned faces. Despite being used to the attention of crowds in her capacity of priestess, Tomyra quailed slightly. She caught a glimpse of Nikometros and steadied herself, descending calmly to the floor of the chamber. As she stepped on to the carpet an old lady thrust a burning torch into her hand and another into Bithyia's.
"From your quarters, my lady," muttered the old woman. "As if from your home hearth."
The crowd parted before Tomyra, whispering and smiling as curious eyes took in her beauty. A shower of flower petals, seeds and nuts speckled her robes and crunched underfoot as she walked slowly toward the dais. As she drew level with the group of ladies and eunuchs around Roxane, she felt her presence. Tomyra glanced at her and for an instant caught a look of intense malevolence. She shivered, despite the warmth of the chamber, and looked away.
Alexander smiled again as the two brides came to a halt in front of him. "Greetings Tomyra and Bithyia." Raising his voice he addressed the assembled crowds. "Let all things be done and be seen to be done. Let all customs be followed that this union be blessed. The gods have been invoked and the sacrifices accepted. The gods and goddesses of Macedon, Persia and Scythia look down with favour on these marriages."
Alexander smiled at the two couples standing in front of him and lowered his voice. "In the interests of all parties I altered the wedding proceedings somewhat. I know, Tomyra, that in Scythia you would invoke the Goddess for a marriage ceremony, but it wouldn't be proper for you to do so on your own behalf. However, Tirses sacrificed to your other gods for you and I myself have petitioned Apollo and Artemis. The portents were all favourable."
Alexander turned to Hephaestion who stood beside him bearing a silver tray. He picked up a loaf of wheat bread and ripped it in two, passing the halves to Tomyra and Nikometros. He repeated the action with Timon and Bithyia. Turning to Hephaestion once more he lifted a great golden cup from the tray and a Scythian arrow. He dipped the arrowhead in the wine and flicked the liquid toward the nort
h, south, east and west before passing the cup to Nikometros. He drank and passed the cup to Tomyra. When both couples had drunk from the cup, Alexander drained it and put it back on the tray. He lifted up his arms and addressed the wedding guests.
"Behold, Macedon weds Scythia. May the gods bless their union."
The hall erupted into a cacophony of cheering. Blessings and good wishes washed over the couples in several languages and a storm of flowers, nuts and small fruit cascaded over them.
Alexander let the cheering carry on for a few minutes before raising his arms once more to call for quiet. "As Nikometros and Timon are far from their homes in Macedonia I have given them rooms in the Ambassadors Palace. Let them be escorted there and the ceremony be complete."
With a renewed burst of cheering the guests surged forward, pushing the wedded couples down the hall. Tomyra and Bithyia held their torches high as women, young and old, surrounded them, whispering suggestions and tales of the marriage bed. Nikometros and Timon, with big grins on their faces, bore the coarser jestings of the army men. The procession left the Great Hall and passed through wide corridors where large numbers of servants and officials paused in their duties to watch or participate.
By the time the wedding party reached the road, the couples were together again and the procession became more formal, falling in behind them. A pair of chariots stood by the palace steps, tall white horses yoked to them nervously stamping at the noise. A charioteer stood by each vehicle, reins in hand, awaiting the newlyweds.
Tomyra and Nikometros climbed into one and Timon helped Bithyia into the other. The crowd raised the marriage paean, startling the horses and sending a flock of birds screeching up from the trees overhanging the roadway. The charioteers shook the reins and urged their horses on, setting off at a walk. The crowd of guests followed, singing a nuptial hymn to the music of flutes and lyres. They progressed slowly through the gates in the gold and silver walls, attracting further crowds as they went.
Tomyra squeezed Nikometros' arm, smiling up at him. "Happy, Niko?" Nikometros grinned, waving to the cheering crowds. "Oh, yes. Can you doubt it?"
He looked over at the other chariot where Timon and Bithyia stood kissing. The chariot lurched over a pothole, throwing Nikometros against his bride. He lowered his face and kissed Tomyra, eliciting a fresh burst of applause from the guests.
The chariots came to a halt outside the Ambassadors Palace and the newlyweds stepped down. Servants hurried up, ushering them into the portico of the palace where fountains splashed among citrus trees, perfume heavy on the still air. The wedding party moved on, led by the servants, through the hallways, to a pair of great double cedar doors.
The servants flung one of the doors wide, revealing a bedchamber. A huge canopied bed dominated the room, the white linen sheets and covers thrown back, pillows cascading over it and onto the carpeted floor. With a shout, the crowd urged Nikometros and Tomyra into the room and Timon and Bithyia toward the other bedchamber before pulling back to the doorways where they jostled and called out, staring avidly into the chambers.
Tomyra frowned at the ribald crowd. "Do they mean to watch us?" she muttered.
Nikometros grinned. "No, my love. But we're not fully married until you light the fire in the grate with your torch and eat the honey cake. They must see us do that."
Tomyra looked around the chamber then moved over to the fireplace. She thrust her torch into the kindling and watched as the flames shot up. She turned to find Nikometros standing behind her, a large honey cake in his hands. He broke off a piece and handed it to her, watching as she nibbled on it.
Nikometros followed suit then turned with her to face the crowd. "Forgive us, friends," he said with a grin. "I wish to be alone with my wife." A great cheer erupted, sprinkled with lewd remarks. "Please return to the Great Hall where a feast awaits you." He gestured to a young man hovering at one side of the doorway. "Dymnos, will you keep our door?"
Dymnos grinned and waved a large flask of wine above his head. "Aye, Nikometros. I came prepared." He spread his arms wide and ushered the guests away from the doors before closing them. The crowd backed away, grinning and calling out until the doors shut then turning back to the King's Palace.
Nikometros barred the door then turned to stare at Tomyra, standing by the great bed in the firelight.
Tomyra smiled uncertainly at his continued silence. "Do I please you, Niko?" she whispered.
Nikometros smiled. "Do you need to ask?"
"This marriage was forced on you, Niko. I won't hold you to it unless you wish it."
"No one forced me. The king wished us to wed, it's true. It's part of his foreign policy. However, I wouldn't have done so if I hadn't desired it also."
"Truly?"
Nikometros crossed to the bed and took Tomyra by the shoulders. He bent to her upturned face and gently brushed his lips across hers. She flushed and returned the kiss, harder.
"I love you, Tomyra," he murmured. "Never forget that." He unfastened the clasp at her shoulder and let her cloak slip to the ground.
She shivered and put her arms around him, hugging him closely. Nikometros kissed her hair then, as she looked up, kissed her full on the mouth.
After a moment, Tomyra gently disengaged herself and stepped back. She loosened her gown and let it fall, standing by the huge bed clothed only in firelight. She looked down at her swollen belly and blushed, her hands covering herself. "I'm sorry, Niko. I should come to you a virgin."
Nikometros stepped forward and gently pushed her hands aside. He ran a callused hand over her belly. "I love you my fierce Scythian, and I shall love your child," he whispered. "The next one will be mine."
Tomyra smiled and loosened his tunic. "Then my lord," she said softly, "Let us practice for that happy day." She drew him with her onto the bed and lost herself in his love.
Return to Contents
* * *
Chapter Eleven
"I knew I should have killed him myself on the Royal Road rather than let you arrange it." Scolices cast a bitter look at the man seated by the fire and continued pacing. "Now he's safe within the citadel of Ekbatana."
Parates looked up from his contemplation of the flames. His hands continued to roll a silver goblet between his hands, dark wine swirling within it. "I misjudged the issue, I admit," he said mildly. "However, there'll be other opportunities."
"You think so?" snarled Scolices. "He's high in the king's favour, married to the bitch and with a household and command of his own. How are we to get close to him?"
Parates smiled. "There are always ways, my friend."
"Such as?"
"Certainly not by running at him with a drawn sword, as you would like to do. Your own death would be assured."
"At least I'd die knowing I accomplished his."
"I, on the other hand, would rather live, savouring my victory." Parates drained the wine from his cup and got up, stretching as he did so. He walked to a table and poured himself some more wine. He picked up another cup, briefly inspected it, wiping the rim with his fingers before filling it. "No, my eager friend. There are ways to bring death with no man knowing it." He handed the other cup to Scolices and walked back to his chair.
Scolices grunted and sipped from the cup. "So, friend Scorpion," he grated. "Enlighten me."
"Don't call me that here," snapped Parates. "Here, I'm a respected merchant prince having no connections with that border brigand. Remember that. My life would be forfeit if the authorities knew...as would yours."
Scolices grunted again and drew up another chair to the fire. He sipped again from his wine, staring into the flames.
"The royal court is a dangerous place," Parates mused after a few minutes. "One must be careful not to make enemies, or else have powerful friends."
"The Greek has powerful friends," Scolices said. "You cannot get more powerful than Alexander."
Parates laughed. "Alexander isn't his friend. A king doesn't have friends." He chuckled and raised his
cup to his lips. "Well, some maybe. There's no doubt of his love for Hephaestion but they were lovers once." He shrugged. "Maybe one or two of his generals but certainly not a young untried cavalry officer. No, Alexander recognises ability and means to use him, but they aren't friends."
"Your point being?" Scolices asked in a surly voice.
"No matter who he befriends, he'll make enemies. In a court filled with ambitious men it's almost impossible to avoid intrigue. If he makes friends with Ptolemy, Perdikkas will hate him; if he follows Perdikkas, Eumenes will plot against him; if Eumenes, then Peukestas. They all hate each other."
"And how does that work to our advantage?"
"There are many men of lesser talents in the retinue of generals. If one of these lesser men thought Nikometros a danger, he'd try to remove him. I, or rather one of my intermediaries, would be happy to assist him."
"So we are to rely once more on someone else's sword, rather than our own? Look what happened last time you tried that."
Parates shrugged. "There are more direct ways. A dagger between the ribs while out walking in the streets of the city or a stray arrow during an army exercise would take care of him. The assailant would almost certainly be apprehended and tortured to reveal whence came his orders, of course."
"So we can do nothing? Except plot and hope that someone else will do our work for us?"
"Maybe there'll be a war and Nikometros given a command. Accidents happen in war."
"What war?" snapped Scolices. "Alexander has conquered everyone. Who will he make war on?"
"On the other hand, perhaps he'll eat something."
"Eh? What do you mean?"
Parates sipped his wine and looked over the rim of his cup at the other man. "How is your wine, Scolices?"
Scolices grunted. "I've tasted better. I would think with your money you could afford...why?" He lowered his cup and stared suspiciously at Parates.