Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon

by Peter Messmore

  Copyright © 2001 by Peter B. Messmore and Copyright © 2013 by Peter B. Messmore as an Amazon/Kindle eBook.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  eISBN: 978-0-75964-957-6

  DEDICATION

  for

  Noreen who grew and nourished the seed.

  Rosemary who taught that gestation was over.

  Cover Images: Philip’s reconstructed skull image courtesy of the Department of Medical Illustration, University of Manchester, England; Image of Queen Olympias: photograph by the author at the Thessaloniki Archeological Museum, Thessaloniki, Greece

  Comments for the eBook Edition

  The 2013, eBook version of Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon is presented at the request of many readers who wanted it available in digital form.

  I edited and improved the manuscript, sharpened its historical accuracy, and honed the literary impact of the work in preparation for this digital version.

  The novel was also improved by the many lectures (both on cruise ships and on land) around the world that I presented from 2001 to 2013. Discerning audience members asked intelligent questions that caused me to rethink parts of the book and improve the story.

  Philip and Olympias is still my wife’s favorite of my four novels. The revision process was an enjoyable one as I revisited and encountered three of the most outrageous and intriguing characters in history.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright & Permissions

  Dedication

  Comments for the eBook Edition

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Name Pronunciation and Guide to Characters

  The Characters' Names and Pronunciation Guide

  Novel Glossary of Terms and Concepts

  Aspects of Macedonian and Greek Life

  The Gods and Goddesses of Greece

  Time Line for the Novel

  About the Author

  The life of thought endangers every civilization that it adorns. In the earlier stages of a nation's history there is little thought; action flourishes; men are direct, uninhibited, frankly pugnacious and sexual. As civilization develops, as customs, institutions, laws, and morals more and more restrict the operation of natural impulses, action gives way to thought, achievement to imagination, directness to subtlety, expression to concealment, cruelty to sympathy, belief to doubt; the unity of character common to animals and primitive men passes away; behavior becomes fragmentary and hesitant, conscious and calculating; the willingness to fight subsides into a disposition to infinite argument. Few nations have been able to reach intellectual refinement and esthetic sensitivity without sacrificing so much in virility and unity that their wealth presents and irresistible temptation to impecunious barbarians. Around every Rome hover the Gauls; around every Athens some Macedon.

  Will Durant,

  The Life of Greece

  CHAPTER 1

  “Aristotle warned me that your hubris knew no limits. I didn’t believe him. Your’e proving him right,” shouted a furious Prince Alexander of Macedon. He and his father stood before hundreds of wedding guests in Macedon’s great banquet hall. Everyone heard their words.

  “Stop talking to me like that,” King Philip of Macedon shouted back. “I’ll have my guards kill you before all of these people.” Philip’s eyes were bulging and veins stood out from his neck. “I won’t be stopped just because you’re my son. It would solve many of my problems. Join your mother. She’ll listen to your bleating complaints.”

  Alexander moved to confront physically his father, but stopped. He glared at Philip, threw up his arms, and stomped away toward Philip’s former queen, Olympias.

  Philip saw Olympias hold the palm of her hand toward Alexander. It was a warning sign that she had used since he was a boy. Philip smiled. He had won again. His ex-wife understood what actions he was capable of when fury overtook him. The confrontation was over.

  Superficial calm returned to the gathering. King Philip motioned to three flute players and a percussionist to resume their music. They had stopped their playing when the quarrel started. He loved the haunting Macedonian flute music. It reminded him of the many expeditions he had mounted in the western mountains of Lyncestis province. He seated himself on Macedon’s gold, jewel encrusted throne, and looked at the wedding guests. They had resumed their drinking and gossip. They’re talking about the quarrel, he thought. Let them gab—I’m in charge here. Philip’s face was an unusual mix of human expression. The lower part smiled but the top part, especially his eyes, was frown-dominated. He took another drink of the strong, red wine named after him, then with a wave of his hand, signaled for the wedding procession to begin.

  Philip, now nearly drunk, watched the bride and groom enter the great hall. He knew that they had been escorted by torchlight through the city streets, to the palace’s open-air central courtyard, and into the hall. He had done the same thing with Olympias so many years ago in Pella. The hall grew quiet and all heads turned to watch the couple enter. Philip looked proudly at his daughter. Kleopatra, dressed in white and completely veiled. He glanced at the other Alexander, Alexander of Epirus, his new son-in-law. He wore a deep-blue military uniform and carried the royal sword of Molossus.

  The couple arrived before King Philip and smiled at each other. Philip stood and studied his daughter. For a moment, he remembered her as a tiny infant. How his life had changed since those early days.

  The bride beamed at Philip and whispered demurely, "Begin, father."

  A seer from Epirus, acting on King Philip’s command, gave a favorable marriage prophecy from the oracular temple at Dodona, home of the bride's mother and the groom. “I have stood beneath the great oak at Dodona,” he began. His eyes were distant, his voice quivered as he spoke. “A prophecy from mighty Zeus himself blesses this union. A secret message from him will be given to the bride upon the birth of her first child. Let the ceremony begin.”

  Philip smiled at the seer and dismissed him. Even the gods were supporting his decision to have Kleopatra marry Alexander of Epirus. Then he rose and approached Kleopatra. He picked her up with some difficulty, due to his two lame legs, and carried her around the banquet hall. Walking beneath the hall’s Doric columns, the king presented his daughter to his guests. "My lovely daughter," he said. "Isn't she beautiful?" When the circuit was completed, he approached his throne, turned, and faced his guests. Without letting Kleopatra's feet touch the floor, he handed her to Alexander of Epirus. At this signal, attendants brought in dowry tribute and placed it before the waiting groom.

  The wedding was only the first of two important events being held in Macedon. King Philip’s deification would follow it. The festivities were part of a two-day celebration marking the culmination of a twenty-three-year quest of Philip of Macedon. Held in Aigai,
the spiritual capital of Macedonian kings, the event was attended by guests from Greece and the Aegean world. Only representatives from Sparta and Persia were absent. Barbarian tribal leaders from Illyria, Paeonia and far-off Triballi came to honor the bridal couple and give homage to Philip of Macedon, the new supreme leader of Greece.

  The wedding was an arranged political match linking Alexander of Epirus with the daughter of King Philip and his former queen, Olympias. Such were the marriage habits of Macedonian royalty. The deification was going to be enacted upon a man who dominated his time. Now on the verge of his invasion of Persia, the timeless Greek adversary, Philip was power-intoxicated.

  "Take my daughter as your wife, Alexander of Epirus," Philip said. "Take, also, these gifts as dowry tribute. They are symbols of Macedon's wealth and power, a bond linking Macedonia and Epirus."

  King Philip of Macedon and King Alexander of Epirus exchanged positions. Alexander was surrounded by an array of jewels, gold chains, bolts of purple fabric, and three gold chests. The chests had the Macedonian starburst emblazoned on their lids. Each contained gold and silver Macedonian coins. "These gifts and my daughter are now yours," Philip said. He then returned to his throne.

  Watching the nuptials were former queen, Olympias, and twenty-year-old Prince Alexander. They stood together near the back of the hall, removed from the retinue of court sycophants that formed a large semicircle around the king.

  Philip pronounced the couple married and commanded his royal companion cavalry officers to form a double serpentine line down the center of the hall. A space was left between the facing cavalrymen so that the bride and groom could walk among the officers as they left. As they wound their way through the line of coarse war veterans, Philip raised his hand and gave the couple a final admonition. "Life is difficult, married ones. Like the path of a snake—it twists and turns. Alexander of Epirus, lead the way. Show your wife what a stalwart man can do. Kleopatra, follow your husband's example. Pause with each other when the path gets rocky. Believe me, it will!"

  He shot a scowling glance toward Olympias to punctuate the remark. All but a few of the assembled guests snickered knowingly. The king continued. "The gods of Olympus and King Philip of Macedon sanction your union. Keep this sacred trust in the spirit that we have given it to you."

  The ceremony was over and the guests filed out of the crowded banquet hall. Philip was the last to leave, deliberately waiting until Olympias and his son, Alexander, had exited. Limp-walking out of the banquet hall, he spoke with his palace soothsayer. "When will Olympias return to Epirus?"

  "I've not spoken with her yet," the seer replied. "Her brother told her before she came that she was to stay in Macedonia only for the wedding, your enshrinement, and the games tomorrow. You realize that she'll continue to work against you when she returns to Passaron. That's inevitable."

  "I know," Philip shot back testily. He hated how seers overspoke—repeating the obvious incessantly. "Her brother knows my plans for her. My son will stay in Pella with me during the final days before the Persian invasion. We'll need his leadership when the battles begin. But I want him where I can watch him. He'll be my greatest cavalry commander, nothing more. He knows I'm watching him. Get Olympias to Epirus immediately after the games. Alexander must forever be kept away from the snake-loving harlot."

  The king and his soothsayer left the hall. The soothsayer helped his king into a litter and then ordered litter-carrying slaves to follow the several hundred guests down the hillside into the streets of Aigai. It was a festive group. Flute-playing girls played the Macedonian wedding song. Young boys sang and chanted the lyrics repeatedly. Townspeople cheered the bride and groom.

  Finally, the march ended back at the old Aigai palace. Philip’s litter finally caught up with the entourage. He saw Alexander of Epirus take Kleopatra into his arms and carry her into the palace, making his way toward the royal bedchamber. The king heard ribald shouting and jeering from the crowd. He didn’t join in. The throng, gathered before the palace steps, began singing the wedding chamber song while they awaited the wedding’s consummation. Philip remembered this part of his marriage to Olympias too. It had been the best night of his married life with Olympias.

  In due course, the groom opened the door to greet what had become an even more unruly crowd. "Kleopatra is now my wife," he said. "Leave now for the wedding feast. We'll join you after we have bathed."

  The crowd roared its approval and began walking slowly back to the banquet hall. It was only a short distance from the old palace. Philip, trailing his guests in the litter, noticed that Antipater had joined Olympias. Once one of his trusted confidants and generals, Antipater was now in disfavor. Philip’s son, Alexander, was nowhere to be seen. “Get Alexander,” Philip commanded an aid. “Bring him to my table when we reach the banquet hall.” He knew he must watch his son more closely tonight. The aid departed and Philip finally arrived at the hall. He was assisted from the litter and then entered the great Macedonian banquet hall.

  It was immense, able to seat over three hundred guests. Macedonians were well known for their feasts and rowdy drinking contests. A succession of kings had each expanded the hall during the last half century. Philip was the latest in a long line of Macedonian monarchs who used the great royal feasts to bring a sense of unity among the often-warring tribes comprising his nation. These feasts were nightly events when he was in the administrative and political capital, Pella, and when he was here in the ancient site of Macedonian royalty, Aigai. Large tables filled the hall and a variety of foods covered the tables. Ten different kinds of meats, ranging from chicken, pork, beef, and venison to sheep and cow organs awaited the guests. Vegetables, freshly cut from the nearby Gardens of Midas, were set among the meat selections. The scent that all of this food produced filled the hall. It was the first sensory impression that greeted the guests as they returned to the banquet hall.

  Then there was wine: Macedonian wine that was never mixed with water. Wine that Macedonians were notorious about drinking to excess. Philip had chosen this occasion to introduce the wine that he had named Philip Red. He was proud that, in time, all of Hellas would be drinking his bold, new creation. The grapes that had produced it had been grown in the Gardens of Midas. Women sat together on one side of the hall, men on the other. Only the bride was allowed to dine with the men as she reclined on a couch beside a sumptuous table. The flute music started up again. Each flute had a different, mellow tone. One was high-pitched; the second had a lovely mid-range tone. The last produced a deep, ominous bass that imitated the King of Macedon’s voice. Philip had told the musicians, more than once, that he loved that sound the best.

  Soon after the feast began, Philip saw his son, Alexander, walk briskly through the banquet hall and recline on a couch reserved for him, some distance from the King. Philip, who was entering the second stage of his drunkenness, broke off his conversation with the other Alexander, his new son-in-law, and yelled at his brooding offspring.

  "Alexander, get over here. I’m fed up watching you pout like a spoiled maiden. Is this the hero of Chaeronea? Can’t we put aside our differences?” The king punctuated his inebriated remarks by spilling wine down the front of his linen chiton. “In a few days the Persian invasion begins. Parmenio and Attalus already have met with success in their expedition across the Bosp…Bosporus." He stammered as he wiped wine from his beard. "They're already into Aeolia. Perhaps you haven't heard; my statue was enshrined as the thirteenth god in the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus. Every city along the Asian Mediterranean coast is eager to throw off the yoke of Persian domination."

  Alexander rose from his couch, walked over to his father, and stood there like a Doric column. Philip studied his son through inebriated eyes. Alexander was unresponsive. Glaring, the prince drank from a silver kantharos, a beautiful two-handled drinking cup. Without taking his bicolored eyes off Philip, his silence continued.

  "Walk beside me tomorrow,” Philip resumed. “After that, you’ll lead my cav
alry into battle, like you did in our greatest victory over the Greeks." It was the second time he had mentioned Chaeronea.

  Alexander took another drink, rotated the kantharos' handles in his small hands, and then spoke. "Let's discuss mother," he said. "What are your plans for her?"

  "You know the answer to your question. Olympias will leave for Epirus after the games. Her brother assures me that she'll be safe there."

  Alexander of Epirus, hearing a reference to himself, leaned forward.

  "Olympias will never return to Pella while I'm king," Philip said. "She's only at the wedding because of Kleopatra. There will be no appeal to that decision."

  "You expect me to lead your cavalry into battle with this contemptible treatment of my mother?" Alexander snapped. "Why should I risk my life in an invasion that will only glorify you? Do you plan to have me killed in some doomed cavalry charge? What's in your proposal that will elevate Alexander to the god status you will proclaim for yourself tomorrow?" The prince’s tirade grew louder and more rapid with every escalating question.

  "You little shit! You have no idea what's happening.”

  They both stood up, as if a punch could be thrown at any minute.

  "If you crave becoming a god, work your whole life to achieve it. Just as I have. You'll never become anything fighting barbarians in the hinterlands."

  Alexander took a step back, seeming to calm himself. "I'll lead your cavalry, father. We'll ravage the effeminate Persians. Still more glory will be yours. But I want your word that you will take no action against my mother. I demand that she be given her royal prerogatives in Epirus. Without that commitment, you'll have neither my services nor my allegiance!"

  "You're not in any position to make demands on the king!" Bellowing from a barrel chest, his voice echoed through the hall. Every banquet guest heard the exchange. "I've already decided to give Olympias the status you demand so rudely of your father. Not because of you, but because it's best for Macedon and me. My patience grows short. Give me your decision—right now! Macedon has other commanders who can lead the cavalry."