Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  Ptolemy smiled and cracked the knuckles of his hands. "Very good, Alexander. It's about time you came to your senses."

  Alexander grinned. "You always were the sensible one, weren't you?"

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  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chafing at the postponement of the Arabian expedition, the army became restless. A number of small incidents indicated falling morale, so Ptolemy, together with some of the other senior army officers, led detachments out into the countryside and put them through grueling manoeuvres. They returned to Babylon two days later, tired but content in their abilities. Ptolemy washed the grime from his body and donned clean clothes before hurrying to the king's suite, anxious to check on his friend's health.

  Alexander was not there. The squires let the general into the bedchamber, where he found Tomyra and Bagoas carefully preparing another batch of medicine, the air pungent with aromatic herbs and ingredients less discernible.

  "My lord Ptolemy," said Tomyra, turning to him with a smile. "You are welcome."

  "Thank you lady." He nodded, smiling at Bagoas, who withdrew to the far end of the room.

  The eunuch busied himself with the herbs though he watched Tomyra and Ptolemy sidelong through his long eyelashes.

  "How is Alexander?" Ptolemy asked.

  "Responding nicely," replied Tomyra. "He's gained some strength but he's impatient to resume his life." She smiled ruefully. "He insisted on riding to the sacrifice this morning and conducts business again in the main hall."

  "That is indeed good news. I can tell you I was worried about him."

  "He isn't out of danger yet." Tomyra paused, folding her hands in front of her as she sought the right words. "He...he has a fire inside him. He seeks to do so much, so soon, that I fear he will consume himself."

  Ptolemy nodded. "That was ever Alexander's way. He isn't content unless he excels. He drives himself to succeed where lesser men give up."

  A commotion in the hallway outside the apartments caused the two of them to swing round, breaking off their conversation. One of the squires on guard detail threw open the doors. "It's the k...king, sir," he stuttered in agitation. "He's..."

  Alexander stumbled through the doorway, half supported by the other squire and Nikometros. Behind them crowded half a dozen others.

  Ptolemy rushed over and helped Alexander to the couch by the pool.

  Nikometros and the squires hushed the hubbub and started shepherding the concerned courtiers toward the doors.

  Tomyra beckoned to Bagoas and together they stripped Alexander's sweat-soaked robe from him and helped him into a clean one. The king's body shook and his teeth chattered, fresh sweat breaking out on his brow.

  "I...I'll...'ll be...fine," he gasped. "I just got up a bit s...soon."

  Ptolemy rounded on Nikometros as he shut the door, finally cutting off the clamour in the hallway. "What happened?" he snapped. "I thought the king improved."

  "He was," Nikometros replied tersely. "He conducted business all afternoon and showed just normal tiredness, nothing more. He broke for a rest and a drink..."

  "A drink?" Tomyra asked, turning from the bedside. "You didn't let him drink wine?"

  "Of course not. Water only, chilled but not too cold."

  Ptolemy nodded. "What then?"

  "He resumed business but a short time later his bowels cramped and he broke out into a sweat. He made it to the privy but collapsed as he came out. We brought him back."

  "The water," said Tomyra grimly. "It must be. Did you see which pitcher he drank from, Niko?"

  Nikometros nodded. "Yes. I know because he remarked on the fine painting on the outside of it. It was a new one."

  "Can you bring it to me, Niko? It's important."

  Nikometros stared at his wife then nodded and left the room.

  Tomyra and Ptolemy turned back to where Alexander lay on the bed. The king shook as if lying on ice, his arms clutching the sheet to his body, his eyes wide but vacant. After a few minutes he started to relax. He let the sheet slip down and lay panting. Moments later he moaned and started thrashing his limbs about, breaking into a new sweat.

  "This is bad," muttered Tomyra. "Bagoas, restrain him as best you can. Don't let him hurt himself."

  Bagoas glanced at Tomyra reproachfully but held his king firmly but gently, wiping the sweat from his face.

  Alexander lapsed into uncontrollable shivering again.

  The door opened and Nikometros strode in, clutching an elegantly worked pitcher. He handed it to his wife who held it up and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled.

  "There's a faint smell of decay," she said softly. "This isn't spring water." She hurried to the table and selected a clean bowl, pouring the water into it. The water swirled clear but with tiny grey flecks that settled slowly. "Look, there's a residue." She slipped her fingers into the water and rubbed at the grey slime on the bottom of the bowl. Lifting her fingers from the bowl she sniffed again. "Faugh! Something died in this water." Tomyra wiped her hand on a cloth.

  "How did he come by this water?" asked Ptolemy. "Who gave it to him?"

  Nikometros frowned. "It was there on the table when the king came in from business. I supposed the king's cupbearer..."

  "Iollas," grunted Ptolemy. "Who else had access to the room?"

  "The squires on duty, slaves. Perhaps a court official or two."

  "I'll have enquiries made," Ptolemy said grimly. "However, I don't think we'll find out." He looked over to where Alexander lay on his couch, his limbs shaking with fever. "What are his chances?"

  "This morning--good," Tomyra replied. "Now," she shrugged. "His life hangs in the balance. I'll do my best. Pray to your gods that he has a strong constitution."

  Ptolemy called in the squires and oversaw while they moved Alexander to the formal bedchamber.

  Tomyra dosed the king with potions and left him in the care of Bagoas, withdrawing to the shadowed far end of the room with Nikometros and Ptolemy. "The next day or two will tell. He must be watched, guarded even. The tainted water has injured his intestines. That means he's to drink boiled spring water only, no wine, no citron. I'll prepare a healing tonic for the morning."

  Ptolemy nodded. "I'll set the squires to guard him." He looked around the chamber. "The room is large enough, I can get four of five in here comfortably enough."

  Tomyra shook her head. "Not in here, outside. He must have quiet. It's vital he sleeps."

  "Very well then, outside in the hallway. No man will be admitted alone to see the king."

  "Don't let any food or drink into the chamber unless it comes from me," went on Tomyra. "I'll put my mark on it, see?" She scratched a symbol on a cup.

  "Who watches the king then?" asked Nikometros. "There must be somebody here in case he needs anything in the night."

  Tomyra turned her gaze toward the bed with the still figure of Alexander lying on the coverlets. Bagoas sat on the edge of the bed, dipping a napkin in cool water and gently wiping the sweat from his master's face and limbs.

  "I think he's in good hands."

  Nikometros saw the dark circles beneath the eunuch's eyes; the taut and stretched look to his face. "He's dropping from exhaustion. He must have relief."

  "He insists," replied Tomyra. "However, I'll relieve him at midnight."

  Ptolemy went outside to leave detailed instructions with the captain of the squires. He helped the captain arrange the guard roster and made sure every man understood that no one was to enter or leave the room alone except Bagoas, Tomyra, Nikometros or himself.

  The captain looked troubled. "Er, sir...I cannot tell someone like, well...General Perdikkas they cannot come in."

  "Of course not, captain," replied Ptolemy. "Who said anything about keeping them out? You admit them, but you make sure you're with them at all times. Don't allow them to give the king anything. Don't leave them alone with the king--for any reason. Say it's on his doctor's express orders. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir," said
the captain.

  "One more thing, captain. If anyone seeks admittance, you're to send word to me immediately...before letting them in."

  Ptolemy re-entered the bedchamber and motioned Tomyra and Nikometros to follow him out. "I think I've set up sufficient safeguards but you can never be sure. Tomyra, if you would watch the king after midnight? And Nikometros, I'd appreciate it if you could be here before dawn tomorrow. Bring your loyal Scythians. I need people around the king I can trust."

  Nikometros raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You'd trust Scythians above Macedonians?" He glanced at his wife anxiously. "I'm sorry, Tomyra. You know what I mean."

  Ptolemy nodded and lowered his voice so the guard outside Alexander's bedchamber could not hear. "Your Scythians have proven their loyalty...to you and the king. Most Macedonians would die for Alexander but family feuds and distrust have a way of surfacing in times of trouble. A man loyal to the king may find he has other loyalties...given the right incentive." He turned and walked away.

  Nikometros and Tomyra exited the palace and returned to their apartments where, for a while, they enjoyed the company of their daughter and sought to forget the troubles crowding in on them. After Starissa was put to bed, they had a meal sent in and whiled away the time in conversation, watching the fireflies winking in the shrubberies in the summer dusk.

  Later, Tomyra rose and stretched. "I think I'll go back now."

  "Stay a while longer," Nikometros pleaded. "It's not yet midnight."

  "I know but I think I should. Bagoas must be very tired." Tomyra kissed her husband. "I'll see you at dawn."

  She crossed the dark courtyards, her way lit by an avenue of flickering torches. Deep shadows moved by the old buildings and she wrapped her cloak tighter about her, despite the hot, humid night. All about her the palace grounds lay silent, though she knew that hundreds of people were still up, watching, waiting, fearing the impossible.

  The squires outside the king's Bedchamber were alert and challenged Tomyra when she approached.

  She knew one of the young men, Andremedon, and drew him aside before she entered. "All is well?"

  Andremedon shrugged. "Yes, my lady. But I only came on duty an hour ago. Before that a bunch of 'igher-ups arrived...Perdikkas, Peukestas, Eumenes...people like that."

  "They were admitted?"

  "Well, couldn't keep 'em out, could they? Don't worry, they 'ad someone with 'em at all times."

  Tomyra smiled. "And since you came on duty?"

  "All quiet. The king's fancy boy, beggin' yer pardon, ma'am," Andremedon jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the bedchamber. "'E came out and wanted more spring water. The servants brought it. Aside from that, nothin'."

  Tomyra frowned. "But there's water in there..." She broke off and smiled at the young man. "Thank you, Andremedon," Tomyra said, touching the young man's arm. "I'll go in now."

  Andremedon opened the door for Tomyra and stood back, allowing her to enter before shutting it quietly behind her.

  The bedchamber lay shadowed and quiet, though the air carried a sour smell of sweat and sickness. Tomyra moved toward the bed where Bagoas sat, wan and hollow-eyed, his hand gently stroking Alexander's sweat-matted hair.

  "How is he?" Tomyra whispered.

  "The fever has abated," replied Bagoas, his voice trembling with fatigue. "He rests easier, my lady."

  "You had better get some rest yourself, Bagoas."

  The eunuch shook his head. "I'll be all right. I must be here for my master. What if he should wake and need something?"

  "I'll watch him and wake you if you're needed."

  Bagoas stared into Tomyra's eyes then looked away, nodding. "Just for a few moments then, while he sleeps." He lurched upright and stumbled across the room to where a cot lay by a wall, almost lost in the shadows. "Just for a little while," he repeated, slumping onto the bed. "Wake me in..." Bagoas collapsed, unconscious.

  Tomyra crossed to the cot and gently eased the youth's legs onto the bed, arranging his limbs. She walked back to the king's bed and smoothed the bedding, checking her patient's temperature with the back of her wrist. She nodded, permitting herself a small smile.

  "The gods may yet grant you life, King of Macedon," she whispered.

  Tomyra picked up the cup of water beside the bed and sniffed it. She dipped a finger into it and touched her tongue with a drop.

  "Nothing wrong with it," she murmured to herself. "But why didn't he use my water pitchers?" Picking up the open pitcher she carried it across the room and set it down next to the door. Selecting a new pitcher from a straw-packed chest, she carefully examined the seal. Satisfied it was unbroken; she cracked the seal and tasted the water before placing it within easy reach on the bedside table.

  Wandering from the bedside, she checked on the sleeping Bagoas before looking around the room. She discovered a low table set out as if an altar in one corner. Candles burned low on the table, fitfully illuminating a score of figurines. Picking one up, Tomyra recognised it as a likeness of Hephaestion, carved from ivory. Others gleamed golden, some in bronze and copper or darkly polished wood, marble or stone. She handled one of some whitish stone, flecked and mottled with veins of green. In the flickering candlelight the green discolouration seemed to move and flow over the figure's surface. She replaced it, her lips curling in distaste.

  Turning from the altar, Tomyra made her way to a cushioned chair and settled herself comfortably to keep watch. Nothing moved in the bedchamber save for the laboured rise and fall of the king's chest, his breath rasping in his throat. Tomyra's eyes drooped but she caught herself and got up to walk around a bit. She poured a cup of water from the king's pitcher then sat down again. Tiredness again swept over her.

  Abruptly, Tomyra jerked upright in a room that had become much darker. The candles on the altar were puddles of cooling wax. Tomyra cursed and hurried across to the bed. Alexander lay in sleep, breathing more comfortably. She felt his forehead and smiled in relief. Checking the water pitcher she saw it was still cold so she poured herself another draught, sprinkling some on her face and neck before sitting down again.

  Tomyra's thoughts wandered and she considered her life and its changes. In her mind's eye she saw her homeland; the high cold plains, rolling seas of grass and mile after mile of whispering pine forest. She smelled the pungent earth, churned up by a thousand hooves, tasted the thrill of the chase, racing through the river thickets after wild boar, heard the rumble of the tribe's wagons on the move, the excited cries of children, and the clash of arms.

  The shadowed room closed around her and Tomyra saw herself in one of the many shrines dedicated to the Great Goddess. She moved in the Dance of Greeting, heard the responses from the maidens consecrated to the virgin priestess of the Earth Mother, felt the pull of the robes against her as she bent to the sacrifice.

  As the blood gushed onto the hard-beaten earth floor she heard the voice of the Goddess, rising and falling in a formless susurration. Gradually, she distinguished words and she struggled to discern their meaning. "Why...do...you...fight...me?" came the voice in a sibilant, halting whisper. "It...is...his...time."

  "Great Mother," gasped Tomyra. "I am your servant."

  "No...no...longer...my...child."

  Horror gripped Tomyra's heart as she felt the divine presence withdrawing, ebbing and draining from her soul. "No!" she sobbed. "Don't leave me."

  "Tomyra...Tomyra...Tomyra, wake up." She felt her maidens pulling at her, drawing her back from the sacrifice, even as the Goddess left her. Her eyes flew open and she looked about her, her heart hammering.

  Nikometros stood beside her, his hand clutching her shoulder, shaking her. "Tomyra," he called again. "Wake up!" He strode across to Alexander's bed and stared down at the king.

  Tomyra staggered to her feet, her mind gradually taking in the cold grey light of dawn filtering through the open windows. She saw her husband standing by the bed and walked over to him. "Niko," she whispered. "What are you doing here? It cannot be...how c
an it be dawn already?"

  "You slept, Tomyra," Nikometros said, his voice flat and empty. "And while you slept..." He pointed at Alexander.

  Tomyra closed her eyes and shook her head. "I wasn't asleep, Niko. The Goddess, she spoke to me."

  "If you say so, Tomyra, but the damage is done either way."

  Alexander lay sprawled on the bed, a great purple stain on his robe and on the pillows beside his head. His eyes stared up at the ceiling and his mouth worked convulsively. "We must...march east," the king muttered. "I must see Encircling Ocean...I must see the end." He thrashed his limbs, sweat breaking out and rapidly soaking his sheets. He groaned loudly and sat up, pointing toward a corner of the room. "Don't harm it," he commanded. He cocked his head as if listening. "The snake. The gods have sent it." He collapsed back onto the bed and laid there, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

  "He's delirious," Tomyra said. "He shouldn't be, his health was improving."

  Nikometros picked up the cup, and then upended it with a curse. A dribble of dark wine splashed onto the table.

  "Who gave him wine?"

  "That's impossible," said Tomyra. "He had only water. I checked it myself."

  Nikometros pointed to the wine stains. "Someone got wine to him."

  Presently Ptolemy arrived. They sent for fresh bed linen and a clean robe and cleaned the king before settling him back into the bed.

  Alexander's delirium slowly waned into muttered incoherence, and then he slept.

  Tomyra woke Bagoas and suffered his silent but reproachful look. In the presence of the men, Bagoas lapsed once more into silence.

  Alexander woke as the sun rose above the black walls of Babylon. He opened his eyes and looked about him, his eyes moving from person to person until they lit on the worried face of Bagoas. "Bagoas," he whispered, giving the young man a radiant smile. "I had the strangest dream."

  "My lord," interposed Nikometros. "Who brought you the wine? Can you remember?"

  Alexander shook his head slightly and coughed. "I was thirsty, so thirsty. I woke and it was there."

  "Rest my lord Iskander," murmured Bagoas, his eyes bright with tears. "You are very ill."