by Tom Holt
Indeed. It’d have been nice, I guess, if it had stayed that way.
They called for me a couple of hours before dawn, in the early autumn of the eighth year after I came home. I’d made a start on the pruning the day before; I was tired out and fast asleep, so I didn’t hear them ride up. The first I knew about it, in fact, was when Aeschrus grabbed my shoulder and shook me awake.
‘There’s soldiers outside,’ he said, in a terrified whisper.
‘What are you talking about?’ I mumbled. He’d pulled me out of an all-too-familiar dream, the one in which I’d decided not to leave Antolbia after all; curiously enough, he woke me at the point in the dream where Theano usually shook me awake to tell me the Scythians were overrunning the city.
‘Soldiers,’ he repeated. ‘In armour, on horses. Can’t you hear?’
I listened. Someone was kicking the door. ‘Get out of sight,’ I told him, swinging my legs off the bed and discovering that I had pins and needles in both of them — well, I wouldn’t be running far like that. No escape option; well, it simplified matters. ‘And get the other two under cover as well,’ I added, as he scurried off. ‘I’ll keep them talking if I can.’
I suppose I was scared; most of all, though, I was just plain sleepy and bewildered. It was perfectly possible that I had enemies, considering everything I’d been responsible for over the years, but I couldn’t think of any who were in a position to send soldiers to get me.
I didn’t have to wait long before I found out the answer. They were Macedonians;
to be precise, they were troopers from King Alexander’s mobile reserve.
‘Are you Euxenus?’ one of them asked, as I opened the door a little wider.
No point in denying it, I thought. ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘How can I help you?’
‘You’re coming with us,’ the soldier said. ‘If you want to pack some stuff, be quick. We haven’t got time to hang about.’
I stayed where I was. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
The soldier grinned at me. ‘ India ,’ he said. ‘Are you taking anything with you or not?’
‘ India ?’ I repeated.
‘You heard me.’
Of course, I didn’t have the slightest intention of going to India , or anywhere else for that matter, in the company of these ferocious-looking men. They were a sight to see, no question, standing there in their armour — Macedonian-pattern helmet, breastplate and greaves; if you looked closely you could see dozens of small repairs, where a dent had been raised or a hole had been patched and brazed. Their clothes told the same story — here bleached by the sun or by being soaked with water, there darned and patched, all neatly done (a soldier may be reduced to wearing rags, but they’d better be neat rags if he doesn’t want to find himself pulling extra latrine-digging duty). I could well believe that they’d just come from somewhere like India , and in a hurry too.
I tried to think of a plan of campaign, a way of getting away from them and keeping away until either they gave up and left me alone or neighbours showed up in force and rescued me. Unfortunately, both versions of a happy ending were no end improbable. I had no way of calling for help, and these people didn’t look as if they’d just go home again if they didn’t get what they wanted.
‘Who sent you?’ I asked. They didn’t reply; instead they surged forward into the house, pushing me gently but firmly out of the way. ‘Could you at least tell me what it is I’m supposed to have done?’ I added.
The soldier looked at me oddly. ‘You haven’t done anything,’ he said. ‘At least, not anything wrong. Alexander needs you for something, that’s all I know. And that’s enough, too.’ He picked up a small terracotta statue of a man riding on the back of a bird, examined it as if checking to make sure there wasn’t a company of archers hiding in it waiting to ambush him, then put it back. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘time’s up. Your things’ll have to be sent on later. I expect the Colonel’ll see to that for you.’
One of the soldiers took hold of my shoulder. His grip didn’t hurt, but it was firm, like a well-trained dog retrieving a hare in its mouth. ‘Colonel?’ I hazarded.
The soldier nodded. ‘Colonel Eudaemon,’ he said. ‘Your brother. The one who’s going to be living here now you’re going to India .’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The soldier’s name was Colonel Timoleon, and as soldiers go, he wasn’t so bad.
Once we were safely on board the ship and there wasn’t any likelihood of my getting him into trouble by escaping or wandering off, he relaxed a little.
‘Colonel Eudaemon,’ he said. ‘We served together for years, off and on. Of course, he was mostly in the rear of the line of march, being an engineer.’
I looked out over the dark-blue sea, the same view I’d got so thoroughly sick of on the long journey back from Olbia. ‘I haven’t seen him for — oh, twenty years at least. In fact, if you’d asked me I’d have told you he was probably dead. He was just a kid when he left home.’
Timoleon nodded. ‘It’s easy to lose touch with home when you’re in the service,’
he said. ‘Me, I’ve been away sixteen years, and I wasn’t with the original army, the first lot who crossed into Asia and fought at the Granicus. Most of them have never been back — the ones who’re still alive, that is. Even losing as few men as the King does, the casualties mount up over twenty-odd years. And that’s just the ones who get killed in the actual fighting,’ he added. ‘Mostly they die of disease, bad water, bad food, that kind of thing.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Truth is, the enemy’s always the least of your problems.’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never been a regular soldier, so I wouldn’t really know.’
Timoleon turned his head to watch a seagull flying low. ‘I heard about what happened in Antolbia,’ he said. ‘Bad business. One of these days, he’ll sort them out for what they did, you can count on that. After all,’ he added, ‘it’s one of the few parts of the world he hasn’t been yet, so he’s bound to go there sooner or later.’
The way he said that impressed me. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Do you believe Alexander will end up conquering the whole world? Every last bit of it, I mean?’
He nodded. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘You look at the rate he’s been going. In ten years he’s taken in the whole of Asia ; and next year, once he’s finished tidying up in India , he’ll reach the far ocean, which is the end of the world, you just can’t go any further than that. Then he’ll head back north-west, clean up those Scythians and bits and pieces up there; then it’ll be Africa, and afterwards on to Italy and Spain; and everyone knows, they’ll be easy as squashing grapes compared with the East. I reckon he’ll have conquered the whole world by the time he’s forty. Just think of that, will you? The whole world, one end to the other.’ He shook his head, then grinned. ‘Then maybe we can all go home,’ he said. ‘Unless he goes ahead with this idea of settling us all down in these new cities and creating this ideal society everyone’s always banging on about. Can’t see it ever happening myself. Still, I expect they said the same about the idea of conquering Asia .’
I looked away so that he couldn’t see my face. ‘I heard rumours about that idea,’ I said. ‘But we get so many rumours in Athens , it’s hard to know which ones to believe. So that’s really a serious proposition, then, planting Greek colonies all over Asia ?’
‘Too right,’ the Colonel replied. ‘Only it’s more than that. He reckons that the only way there’ll ever be peace and harmony between us and them is if there isn’t any more Greeks and Persians, just one big happy family. So we’re all going to be given land and wives in Asia , and they’re going to ship most all of the people out of Greece and settle them down all over the world. Greeks and Persians, Greeks and Egyptians, Greeks and Italians when we get there, Greeks and Indians, Greeks and Scythians—’
‘Been done,’ I interrupted. ‘Didn’t work too well.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s because
it wasn’t done right,’ he said. ‘No disrespect to you and your people,’ he added quickly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really know enough about all this to have an opinion, I’m just a soldier, me. But you’ve got to admit, if it can be made to work, it’s got to be a bloody good idea.’
‘Ideal,’ I said. ‘Wonder where he got the notion from?’
Timoleon looked at me oddly. ‘From you, of course,’ he said. ‘Else, why’s he sent me all this way to fetch you?’
‘I’m sorry?’
He raised a shaggy eyebrow. ‘He wants you to lead his new colony,’ he said. ‘In Sogdiana. It’s to thank you for how you inspired him, when he was just a kid, gave him the burning ambition to create the perfect society.’
‘Me,’ I said.
‘Yes, you.’ He grinned. ‘You look surprised.’
‘I am surprised,’ I replied. ‘I don’t remember ever mentioning it. And if he thinks I’m going to get involved in that bloody game again—’ I shook my head.
‘I’m sorry,’ I went on, ‘really, it isn’t your problem. But I think you’ve probably had a wasted journey.’
He looked at me for a long time before he spoke again. ‘If he says you’re going to lead a colony in Sogdiana,’ he said, ‘you’re going to lead a colony in Sogdiana. Bet on it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but no.’ ‘Bet on it,’ he repeated.
I thought for a moment. ‘A drachma,’ I said. ‘Athenian.’
‘Done.’
I owe Colonel Timoleon a drachma, Phryzeutzis. When I die and you clear out my things, you’ll find it in the little cedarwood box beside my bed, along with Theano’s comb. It’s the only genuine Athenian drachma I’ve got left. I’m sure I can rely on you to travel all the way to Macedon, track down Timoleon or his next of kin and hand it over. Be sure to get a receipt.
We made landfall at Ephesus , where I found a letter waiting for me. It was written on best-quality Egyptian paper and was presented to me by the Macedonian prefect’s first adjutant in person, as I staggered down the plank feeling like death. I read it in a quiet corner of the public baths the next day, and I’ve still got the wretched thing somewhere, still in its dinky little bronze tube embossed with prancing lions; but I know it by heart, so I won’t bother looking for it now. It went:
Alexander son of Philip to Euxenus son of Eutychides; greetings.
This message is twenty years overdue, my dear Euxenus; please forgive me, I’ve been busy. You left before I could say goodbye, and what with one thing and another I’ve never got around to writing.
Do you remember those bees? There are times when I’m ready to believe the gods sent them,just to mahe sure our paths crossed that day. The debt I owe you is incalculable, and hardly a day goes by when I don’t think about the things you taught me. I can’t believe it’s been so long since we sat together under the trees at Mieza; it only seems like a week or so ago that you were handing out our study assignments, or explaining to us about the battles of the Great War.
In a very real sense, anything I might have achieved so far in my life is largely due to you. Without your teaching and, to an even greater extent, your example, I don’t suppose I’d be where I am today. You opened my eyes, my dearest friend and mentor; you showed me that life can have a purpose, that it can mean something. What greater treasure could anybody possibly give, or receive?
Above all, it was the example of what you set out to do in Olbia that fired my imagination all those years ago, Now, I expect you’ve long since despaired of me; you think that all I’m interested in is fame and glory, and extending my kingdom from one end of the earth to the other. I can picture you shaking your head sadly. ‘You’re missing the point,’ I can hear you say. And if it were true, if all I was interested in was making a name for myself, you’d be right.
Everything I’ve done would pale into insignificance compared with what you nearly achieved atAntolbia. But it’s all right, I promise you. I hadn’t forgotten, though I’ll admit I’ve been dreadfully slow off the mark. But it’s time now.
I have to tell you, I can’t spare the men or the time to come with you back to Antolbia, avenge the terrible loss you suffered, and rebuild the city. I’m sorry; it’d be a far nobler deed than what I’m doing here, but please understand, I have to finish here before I can do anything else, otherwise there’s a terrible risk that everything here will just fall to pieces, with nothing to show for all the lives it’s cost for me to get here.
So I’m going to do what I hope is the next best thing; in fact, in some ways I hope it might even be better, because this time it’s going to be that much closer to your original dream. I’m asking you to lead my new colony in Sogdiana.
This one isn’t going to be anything like any of the other cities I’ve founded, or which have been founded in my name. This time, Euxenus, we’re going to put into practice everything we talked about all those years ago, that day when I sat spellbound at your feet listening to you telling us about your wonderful ideas for the ideal society. That’s why I’ve waited so long; I had to find the right place, the right people. And Sogdiana, Euxenus — I knew at once when I first came here, this is the place we’ve been dreaming of, this is the perfect mixture of people to make it work.
How did you put it? The perfect fusion of opposites; that’s what we’ve got here.
These people here, they’re so different from us and so alike at the same time.
Here’s where we’re going to find that perfect fusion; Greek and Scythian, settled and nomadic, urban and rural, pure intelligence and raw energy, all the elements you said we’d need. You know, I really wish it could be me undertaking this wonderful experiment. I’ve said this so often over the years, Euxenus, but never to you, the one person it matters that I say it to; if I couldn’t have been Alexander, I’d have wanted to be Euxenus. Well, here’s another perfect fusion, my friend; you and me, fused together in a joint act of creation.
Well, that’s enough of that. I’m sure you remember howl always used to get carried away — brevity, Alexander, brevity; isn’t that what you used to tell me when it was my turn to say something in class? There’s nothing worth saying in twenty words,you said, that can’t be said better in ten. Come and join me, Euxenus. Together, we can make your dream a reality at last. Anyway, there you have it; better late than never, as we say back home.
If all goes well, you should arrive in Ephesus just as Eudaemon’s getting there.
Be warned; he’s changed a lot since you used to know him. He’ll explain the background.
Goodbye, Euxenus. Here’s one last promise: as soon as the foundations are laid, I’ll come and say hello properly, and we can sit together under a tree in the sun and talk over old times and new dreams. Keep well, my friend, and may the gods favour you.
And what all that’s about, I confess I have no idea. I’ve ransacked my memory scores of times over the years, but however hard I try I simply can’t recall any of those cosy chats in the shade back in dear old Mieza that the letter refers to. I don’t know; maybe he was getting me confused with somebody else, or maybe he’d recreated me in his mind as the wise old mentor he felt he should have had.
And the tone of the thing; I’ve asked around, at the time he was dictating that lot (it was far too neat to be his own handwriting), he was issuing edicts to his loyal fellow Macedonians requiring them to fall on their faces in his presence and worship him as a god. Of course, there’s a perfectly good explanation for the god business; the Persians expect to be required to worship their kings as gods, and if they saw the Macedonians treating him as an equal, a mere mortal, he’d lose their respect. Perfectly valid argument, by which I’m not in the least convinced.
I was tempted — ye gods, I was tempted — to write back telling him where he could shove his colony and his perfect society and all the rest of it, but fortunately I had more sense. I told myself that I’d never have dared say anything like that to Alexander even when he was just a kid; disobeying his orders n
ow that he was effectively the ruler of the world simply wasn’t an option. Now I’m not so sure. There was always a side to Alexander that positively invited the apparently humiliating rebuff from people who were entirely in his mercy; as witness, for example, the way he allowed himself to be insulted by Diogenes. On one level, it was shrewd public relations, demonstrating his humanity and self-assurance; after all, Alexander is always the hero of these stories, which make great play of his humility and sense of humour (and Alexander had just enough of both of these qualities to fill a small nutshell, provided the nut was left in place). Maybe if I’d written back a churlish, ill-mannered refusal he’d have smiled indulgently, handed the letter to a nearby hanger-on and let it go at that. On the other hand, maybe the last thing I’d ever have seen was the inside of the sack they put over my head as they rowed me out to sea and tipped me over the side. Someone capable of writing a letter like that would be capable of anything.
Well, then; I was going to Sogdiana, wherever the hell Sogdiana was — and by rights, Phryzeutzis, that’s the end of the story, because here I am still. It turned out, quite by chance, that Sogdiana is probably the nearest thing to a home I’ve ever had since my father died. At the time, though, I wasn’t to know that. I assumed I was being sent off to some crack in the mountains to live among monosyllabic Macedonian veterans and cannibal natives. You can guess, I wasn’t very happy about it.