The Conqueror's Wife

by Stephanie Thornton

  “Is this your way of professing your love?”

  He grew stern then. “Yes, Thessalonike. Against my better judgment, I do love you.”

  I quashed a grin even as my heart threatened to burst from my chest. This wasn’t quite how I’d envisioned receiving my first declaration of love, drenched in another woman’s blood, but then, my life had rarely followed convention. “Despite the fact that I’ll make the world’s most terrible wife?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no denying that I’ll be a wretched husband. It seems fitting that we not punish any other undeserving souls by forcing them to marry us instead.”

  I’d never sought out marriage, but had always accepted that one day I’d be a wife and mother. Cassander claimed that he’d be a dutiful husband, but it was more than that. I had a duty to my brother, not to ensure that his blood continued to rule Macedon and beyond, but that the best man rule in his stead.

  The best man was Cassander.

  Cassander was ambitious and driven, but he was also loyal, dedicated, and honest. And if he was to be believed, he loved me despite the fact that it went against everything that was right and sane in this world.

  I rose on tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. “Yes,” I whispered, tasting the mint on his breath.

  “Yes, what?” he asked, appearing for all the world like he was negotiating a peace treaty with some fearsome tribe of barbaroi, even as his dark eyes sparked deep.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I said. “On one condition.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “That you let me continue to be an improper beast. After all, I don’t intend to change now.”

  Cassander tapped his chin and gave me a hard stare. The flutter of nerves in my stomach surprised me, for against all odds, I wanted a future filled with Cassander’s black stares and philosophical screeds. “I accept your condition,” he said. “In fact, I demand it.”

  I wrapped my arms around him then, Drypetis’ advice echoing in my mind as he caught me up in an exuberant embrace.

  And I was delighted to let him do it.

  EPILOGUE

  308 BCE

  Alexandria, Egypt

  Drypetis

  A tomb hewn of cold stone now sufficed to house the lion of a man for whom the world had not been enough.

  It had been fifteen years since Alexander had breathed his last, but I’d waited until nightfall to approach his tomb, its grounds littered with trampled rose petals and the walls stacked with towers of bread and coins, all offerings to the man who was now revered as a god. The spiced tendrils of an Egyptian breeze still tugged at the hem of my Persian robe as I stepped inside the sanctuary.

  Alexander’s tomb was a gaudy monstrosity of thick-veined marble attended by stark and silent columns. A geometric mosaic underfoot made my head whirl if my eyes lingered on it too long, and led visitors to a raised porphyry platform bearing a sarcophagus of hammered gold. The stone walls were a testament to Alexander’s empire, the flickering torches illuminating Macedonian sun symbols and images of Zeus and Ammon, along with inscriptions written mostly in Greek and Egyptian hieroglyphs, but also in Persian and Indian, recounting tales of elephant charges, of scaling the colossal wall at Sogdian Rock, and of the celebrations of the Susa weddings.

  This tomb was a graveyard of dusty dreams and tarnished triumphs.

  Yet it was also a monument to all that Alexander had accomplished, his joining of two massive nations to become the largest empire on earth and his melding of their cultures, languages, and gods. Alexander had always believed that the gods’ golden ichor flowed in his veins and he had proved it with his actions in this life, guaranteeing that his deeds would be sung for eternity while he celebrated in the afterlife.

  My own name was absent from the list of revels, which I preferred, but I let my thumb linger on Hephaestion’s name, slowly tracing the same Greek letters that I’d carved into sand and wood and parchment, all left behind at the pyramids of Gizeh and the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, and the Colossus of Rhodes. My husband would have commented about the folly of wasting such manpower on the pyramids and mocked Artemis for the cacophony of egg-shaped breasts on her statue, but still, I liked to think that perhaps he’d seen all those wonders and more through my eyes.

  My time with him was the greatest treasure of my life, each day a glittering jewel atop the pile of memories I kept of Stateira and my brother, my mother, father, and grandmother.

  And while Alexander had caused great tumult in my life—in so many people’s lives—without him, I never would have met Hephaestion. I knew not whether Alexander’s strivings had been worth the cost, but I had long ago made peace with the reality. Everything was as it was, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” a woman’s too-loud voice sounded behind me. “I waited all day, and finally decided you’d washed your hands of us.”

  I turned and grinned, for although many years had passed since I’d laid eyes on Alexander’s sister, Thessalonike looked the same, save for the bulge of her obviously pregnant belly. “I wouldn’t have missed all this—or you—for anything.”

  “Is Hephaestion’s tomb as grand as this?” she asked, gesturing to the surrounding decadence even as she toyed with the gold collar around her neck, a tangle of acorn and lotus pendants intermingled with several Dionysian heads.

  “Almost,” I answered, for I’d been at Hephaestion’s tomb mere months ago with a spotted dog at my heels, the descendant of the four-eyed mongrel Hephaestion had given me in Tyre. I’d left my husband an offering of a fine vintage of Lesbos wine and some newly penned Greek poetry he’d have abhorred. It had been more than fifteen years since I’d seen him in the flesh, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still tease him on occasion.

  I hugged her, then stepped away to marvel at the swell of her belly. “Cassander certainly keeps you in swords and babies, doesn’t he?”

  She smiled broadly and waved an absent hand at her queen’s retinue, causing the flock of rainbow-colored geese to fall back. “This will be our fourth. I’m hoping for a girl to give her brothers complete and utter hell.”

  “And how fare young Philip, Alexander, and Antipater?”

  “They fight like demons, just as their namesakes once did,” she said, but her eyes sparkled with pride. Motherhood sat well upon her, had tempered her. We had both found our peace in this world, mine by tramping over it and drinking in its sights as Hephaestion and I might have done, and she by settling down with her unlikely husband.

  “Cassander must be a proud papa,” I said.

  “He can barely look at them without bursting at the seams.” She laughed. I felt a pang as she linked her arm through mine as my sister had once done. Time had softened that pain too, to a dull throb.

  “And I believe he’s proud of you as well,” I said. “I heard from little Greek birds that your husband just renamed a city in your honor.”

  She waved off the accolade. “The city of Therma was built on a mosquito-infested swamp. I’m not sure how its residents feel about now being citizens of Thessaloniki, although surely it’s an improvement over living in a city named for malarial fever.”

  I chuckled as she bumped my hip with her own, a movement that made her look like an off-balance hippopotamus, albeit a beaming one. “You should stop there someday,” she said. “On your way to visit us in Macedon.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  She stopped and clasped my wrist with a hand covered in gold rings, some shaped like snakes or twined laurel leaves, and each studded with a king’s ransom in pearls and gemstones. “Really?”

  “I’d stay in Pella with you for a while—if you’d have me, that is.”

  Regardless of the sanctity of her brother’s mausoleum and its air of solemnity, Thessalonike’s screech of excite
ment sent the pigeons flapping from the rafters, even as she grabbed me in a hug so tight that my ribs creaked. “My home is your home,” she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Forever and always.”

  Together we approached Alexander’s sarcophagus, gleaming gold and hammered into the shape of a man. We knelt amid fresh piles of offerings—balls of frankincense and myrrh, Bucephalus coins and silver bangles—and I waited as Thessalonike whispered a prayer to her brother’s shade in Elysium. I had no doubt that Hephaestion was at his elbow there, sharing a glass of wine with the likes of Pindar and Socrates, and laughing as in old times.

  It was Alexander who had brought us all together, the golden lion of a warrior who carved out an empire from Macedon’s shores all the way to India’s rocky hills, from the barren mountains of northern Persia to Egypt’s vast deserts. He had transformed the world and our small lives forever.

  I both hated him and loved him for it, yet I refused to dwell on what my life—what any of our lives—might have been without him. After all, we cannot choose the lives the gods give us, only how we face them.

  Thessalonike and I had been left behind to face this life and live after all the others had died. And we had lived, had laughed and cried, had bled and savored each moment. And one day we would greet all of those who’d gone before us to the afterlife and regale them with stories of all that we’d seen.

  And Alexander would be there too, lifting a cup in our honor.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  *denotes a historical figure

  The Court of Macedon

  *Philip II, king of Macedon and Alexander’s father

  *Olympias, Philip’s first wife and Alexander’s mother

  *Alexander, Philip’s heir

  *Eurydice, Philip’s seventh, and youngest, wife

  *Cynnane, Philip’s eldest legitimate daughter and Amyntas’ widow

  *Adea, Cynnane’s daughter

  *Arrhidaeus, son of Philip and an Illyrian dancing girl

  *Thessalonike, legitimate daughter of Philip, raised by Olympias

  *Hephaestion, Alexander’s companion

  *Antipater, regent of Macedon

  *Cassander, son of Antipater and former student of Aristotle

  The Persian Royal Family

  *Darius III, King of Kings

  *Stateira I, Darius’ queen

  *Stateira II, elder daughter of Darius

  *Drypetis, second daughter of Darius

  *Sisygambis, mother of Darius

  *Parysatis, daughter of King Cyrus, cousin to Stateira and Drypetis

  The Persian Nobility

  *Bessus, satrap of Bactria

  *Oxyartes of Balkh, minor noble

  *Roxana, daughter of Oxyartes

  *Alexander Aegus, Roxana’s son

  Parizad, Oxyartes’ son and Roxana’s twin brother

  *Mazaeus, satrap of Babylon

  *Ariamazes, rebel leader at Sogdian Rock

  Others

  Adurnarseh, Greek singer

  *Alcetas, Alexander’s general

  *Bagoas, eunuch and lover to Darius III

  *Barsine, Alexander’s mistress

  *Heracles, Barsine’s son

  *Glaucus, physician

  *Nearchus, Alexander’s admiral

  *Ptolemy, Alexander’s general

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although Alexander the Great (in typical, pompous Alexander fashion) reputedly bemoaned the fact that he had no Homer to record his triumphs in the annals of history, that’s likely due to the fact that he had his appointed historian, Callisthenes, convicted of treason and imprisoned for criticizing Alexander’s adoption of Persian customs. However, several of Alexander’s contemporaries—including Ptolemy and Nearchus—did write of his various campaigns. Sadly, their works have all been lost and thus, we are left with the often conflicting accounts from Plutarch, Arrian, and Quintus Curtius Rufus, all of whom lived roughly four hundred years after Alexander’s death. This sketchy historical record gave me the rare and wonderful benefit of being able to choose which historian’s account would best accommodate my story arc during various events. That said, I still took a few liberties regarding certain characters. For example, Cassander’s character is combined with that of his brother Iollus, who served as Alexander’s wine bearer in Persia and was rumored to have poisoned the great conqueror. Ariamazes is a mixture of the historical Ariamazes, commander of Sogdian Rock, but also that of Spitamenes, a Sogdian warlord whose wife reputedly cut off his head and sent it as a peace offering to Alexander. Also, while there is no mention of Alexander’s sister Thessalonike becoming a warrior, it is well documented that both Cynnane and her daughter, Adea, were trained in the art of war as befitted noble Illyrian women. It didn’t seem too far a stretch to believe that Thessalonike would yearn for the same training as she grew up with two warrior siblings. I also tweaked history to have Hephaestion take the place of two other documented soldiers, Peucestes and Limnaeus, atop the Mallian wall where Alexander was wounded. Finally, ancient historians disagree on the manner of Bessus’ execution, so I combined pieces of Plutarch’s and Arrian’s versions, giving the torture a decidedly Persian twist.

  In order to keep this tale from becoming a thousand-page saga, certain events and the overall timeline were condensed, especially toward the end of the book. According to history, the fire in Persepolis occurred weeks after Alexander entered the city and received the citizens’ gold, although sources do speculate whether the ancient city was burned at the recommendation of the courtesan Thais or whether the fire was ordered by Alexander as vengeance for the Persian War. The gruesome and never-ending string of murders that took place from Alexander’s death until Roxana’s execution took roughly thirteen years and many more men served as regent until only one man was left standing in Macedon: Cassander. I decided against making Cassander a villain, since the historians writing about him hundreds of years later seemed blinded by their awe of Alexander; it is easy to see why they cast suspicion on the role Cassander played in Alexander’s death.

  Both ancient and modern historians continue to debate the real cause of Alexander the Great’s premature death, with theories including typhoid fever, malaria, alcoholism, and poisoning. Lacking a time machine and the ability to definitively prove what felled the great conqueror, I chose to combine several factors: namely, his grief at Hephaestion’s death, his overindulgence in alcohol, and a possible infectious disease. Hephaestion’s death also remains a mystery; it was possibly caused by poisoning or typhoid compounded by an ulcerated intestine. It is unlikely that we’ll ever know the true cause of either of these deaths, so given the existing evidence, I chose what could be considered plausible for both men.

  After Alexander’s death, the main players on the stage really did drop like unlucky flies. It’s believed that Roxana colluded with one of Alexander’s generals, Perdiccas, who became regent after his death; Roxana’s real aim was to murder Stateira. In a book with a weighty list of characters, I replaced Perdiccas with Roxana’s fictional brother, Parizad. There is also debate as to whether Parysatis or Drypetis was killed alongside Stateira, but after being forced to kill off so many of my favorite characters, I decided to let Drypetis live.

  If I could, I would name several ancient cities after a number of people who were instrumental in shaping this book. I owe Kate Quinn a lifetime’s supply of swan fat beauty cream (or perhaps just a bottle of really great merlot) for her hilarious comments regarding severed heads and her talent for hashing out appropriate curse words for my leading ladies. Jade Timms makes Alexander’s achievements pale in comparison with her ability to critique my manuscript immediately after giving birth and while wrangling two very small children. Renee Yancy and Amalia Dillin both helped make this book readable in its infancy, a feat akin to storming fortified cities in the ancient world. My agent extraordinaire, Marlene Stringer, gave me th
e encouragement I needed when she insisted that readers want to read about ancient history’s infamous women. Thank you also to Jenn Fischer, for ushering this book through the final hurdles toward publication. And a seaside palace should be erected in honor of Ellen Edwards, my exceptional editor, who once pondered whether I’d consider writing a book about Persian women. (I just happened to throw in a few Greeks for fun!)

  Finally, I am forever indebted to my friends and family, without whom this whole business of writing books would be a long and lonely enterprise. To the usual suspects—Cindy Davis, Eugenia Merrifield, Kristi Senden, Claire Torbensen, and Megan Williams—for insisting that I get out to run and hike instead of living with my laptop. To my parents, Tim and Daine Crowley, for being the best and most persistent cheerleaders a girl could ask for, and to my sister, Hollie Dunn, for always asking about my latest book.

  Most of all, to Stephen and Isabella, who scarcely bat an eye anymore as I drag drafts and revisions to Hawaii, Peru, Disneyland, and everywhere in between. I’d rename Alexandria after both of you, but seeing as I lack that power (and StephenIsabellia is quite a mouthful), I’ll settle for saying thank you.

  And I love you.

  FURTHER READING ON THE EMPIRE OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT

  NONFICTION

  Arrian. The Campaigns of Alexander. Translated by Aubrey de Selincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1958.

  Carney, Elizabeth Donnelly. Women and Monarchy in Macedonia. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000.

  Dalby, Andrew, and Sally Grainger. The Classical Cookbook. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 1996.

  Foreman, Laura. Alexander the Conqueror: The Epic Story of the Warrior King. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2004.

  Fox, Robin Lane. Alexander the Great. New York: Penguin, 1973.

  Mayor, Adrienne. Greek Fire, Poison Arrows, and Scorpion Bombs: Biological and Chemical Warfare in the Ancient World. New York: Overlook Press, 2003.