Alexander and Alestria

by Shan Sa

  I lost no time finding the explanation for this pandemonium, and hurried to explain it to the queen. Alexander, the warrior who came from the West with his army of lancers and crossbowmen, had defeated Darius, the Great King of Persia. Babylon had fallen, and part of the Persian army had joined the ranks of the invading foreigner, setting off in pursuit of Darius, who had fled eastward. Alexander’s name was on everyone’s lips in every language. People said he was intelligent and beautiful as no man had ever been. They said that, decked in armor that flashed golden rays of light up to the very clouds, he had launched himself at the ramparts at the head of his army, and that no arrow could harm him. They also said this king liked only men; he was not drawn to a woman’s flesh, had rejected Darius’s three thousand concubines in Babylon, and declined the princess’s proposal of marriage. They said he did not want to be the Great King of Persia, he wanted to be master of the world.

  Talestria smiled. I asked why she was not worried like the chiefs of other tribes.

  “Why worry?” she asked me.

  “None of this bodes well. A powerful king has defeated an emperor. The Persian Empire that acted as our shield has fallen. The West will reach farther and farther into the East.”

  “Tania, we can wield weapons as well as any man. If the enemy appear on our horizon tomorrow, we shall fight them.”

  “Alexander, the son of a warrior and a sorceress, wants to be master of the world. His appetite knows no limits. He tortures and kills anyone who resists him. His army rapes the women in its path. Not satisfied with invading lands, they sow their seed and multiply using the wombs of the defeated. With such a strategy they will turn every free people into slaves!”

  “The world is in decline,” said Talestria. “The Persians were weakened by their wealth. Babylon was conquered because it had walls instead of wings. We, the daughters of Siberia, form attachments to nothing; we have no houses, no land, no fields, no gardens. We are invisible and invincible. We shall defend our freedom down to the last of our number. Death is nothing, you know that.”

  There was great agitation among the one hundred tribes of the steppes. Concerned about Darius’s defeat and Alexander’s advances, the chiefs wanted to find a common strategy to bar the way for the West. Some advocated a temporary tactical submission, citing those cities that had resisted and then perished in flames. Others sang the praises of courage and combat. Others suggested the possibility of sending men to infiltrate Alexander’s army, to secure his trust and then put mortal poison in his food. Still others put forward the idea of a counterattack: We should invade Persia, they said.

  The discussions went on for ten days. The debates were punctuated with banquets, when the men succumbed to alcohol, and sang and danced. The queen and I stood in our corner, watching impassively.

  As usual, the kings reached no agreement, each afraid the others would steal his cattle while he was at war with Alexander. The men of the steppes had many, many discussions but never made any decisions. Tempers flared; they argued and then dispersed like a swarm of flies.

  The tribes withdrew with their men, women, children, and flocks. Talestria, queen of the Amazons, ordered us to sharpen our weapons and stay vigilant on our homeward journey. She had spotted numerous Persian spies mingling in the Great Assembly. In her thoughts she had heard the inner murmurings of the tribal chiefs. These cunning ambitious men had decided to profit from the atmosphere of fear: they planned to devour the weaker tribes.

  THE WIND MADE the white clouds billow. Green waves of vegetation reared up and crashed down toward us, then flattened to let us pass. A girl who had been sent ahead as a scout returned announcing that there were hundreds of horsemen in the hills. Talestria ordered us to slow our pace and form a line of attack.

  A square formation of soldiers appeared, wearing magnificent clothes dulled by the dust. Their purebred horses looked exhausted; I had never seen such beautiful stallions, so tall and fine with long, thick manes. Ten men came forward from the ranks till they were one arrow’s range from us. They called out to tell us that the Great King of Persia wanted to speak with our queen.

  A quiver ran through the troops, and the soldiers stood aside as one man rode along the alley formed by the imperial guard. He had a long curly beard and wore a white coat muddied by wind and rain, and a white turban dripping with jewels. Talestria urged on her chestnut horse and went to meet him.

  “By the power of He who holds the Mysteries of Creation and governs life from the highest spheres of heaven,” cried the man, “I, Darius, king of the eternal fire, ask to speak with the queen of the Amazons.”

  “I am queen of the warriors of Siberia, of the white birds with red heads and of winged horses,” Talestria replied in Persian. “Why, King Darius, have you ventured all the way to the steppes?”

  “I have waited three days and three nights for you, oha, mistress of arrow-throwers, queen of soothsayers. I came to you because the world is at war, because the world is in flames. Only the magic ice of Siberia can put out the venomous flame of the setting sun.”

  “We, the daughters of freedom and speed, we cast aside evil spirits in the wake of our mares with their flaming red manes. We are not a mercenary army. We lend our strength only to the will of our God. If you follow the path of the stars for ten days’ gallop from here, you will find the powerful warmongering kings of the Scythians. They will forget the rancor of the past and provide you with an army of archers.”

  “The kings of the Scythians do not know the secret of the glacier. Their fierce warriors were defeated by your weapons forged by the People of the Volcano. No one on earth has the power to make a man invincible. We, the men clothed in white light, we, the spirits with folded wings, we throw ourselves at your feet, oha, divine priestess of a vanished world. Your people and mine are branches of the same tree.”

  “We,” replied Talestria, “the daughters of the ice, the indomitable birds who sing of our ancestors’ pride, shall give your soldiers food and drink. We shall tend to your injured and to your horses. But you must set out again tomorrow morning when the sun returns to the steppe. Come, Darius, I offer you my tent and my hospitality tonight.”

  Darius and my queen dismounted, and on this signal, the two armies set up camp at the foot of the hill. The girls handed round remedies and shared out food among the Persian soldiers. Their colored eyes and curly beards were a source of great curiosity. The girls hovered around them cautiously like little birds not wanting to frighten away their prey. Suddenly, one of them grabbed hold of a beard, and the other pulled the man’s hair. When the soldier cried out in pain, the girls ran away, unable to stifle their laughter.

  The conversation between Talestria and Darius continued after the meal inside the queen’s tent. Two scribes were called for—myself, Tania, who kept a wary eye on the defeated king, and a young Persian with no beard or turban.

  Now clean and with his beard combed, Darius had put on a shimmering tunic and a less imposing turban. His exquisite perfume hung in the air. His hands rested on his knees, glittering—he had a jewel on every finger. I loathed his fine features, his haughty expression and slow, graceful movements. Flames from the animal-fat candles danced in the shadows. Talestria sat at the far end of the carpet from him. Although small, she somehow looked imposing. Without jewels and wearing a scarlet robe, she dominated the Great King with the sheer strength of her expression.

  Without any further preliminaries, Darius proposed sharing his empire with my queen. My hand holding the reed trembled, and I looked up. That long face with blue lines around the eyes hid an impenetrable heart. Why was he offering his empire to a queen who owned nothing?

  On the steppes women liked to speak ill of us, and men, though they cursed us, dreamed of capturing us and forcing us to bear their seed. Our queen was inaccessible and elusive; people compared her to a venomous flower that killed all those who wanted to pick it. Why was this man, Darius, Great King of Persia, apparently not afraid of my queen?

 
; Darius spread a vast display of jewels before Talestria. He said he had another ten chests of precious stones of the same quality, and was prepared to offer them to the queen if she would become his wife. He said that in his kingdom they had dug into the heart of a mountain to create a stronghold housing millions of chests of precious items bequeathed by his ancestors, and that this mountain of treasures would bear the name Talestria if the queen agreed to join him. He told her that his empire had ten million horses, each more beautiful and more swift than the last. He claimed he was master of a million white elephants, of a billion bees and birds, master of millions of men and women. If Talestria married him, he said, she would be mistress of the most extensive kingdom on earth. She would have a life of pleasure, dress in beautiful fabrics, and be served by the loveliest women. Agile acrobats would make her laugh, the very flowers would bow when she walked by; the whole universe would sing to the glory of Talestria, the mother of a new dynasty.

  Darius became impassioned, reciting a poem he had just composed for Talestria:

  Be praised, mother of myths.

  Be praised, she who shall bear new divinities.

  Your lineage shall venerate you for ten thousand years.

  Your people shall give you oblations for one hundred thousand years.

  Oha, divine mother of thunder and lightning,

  Glorious souls await at your gates,

  Waiting to be conceived and brought into this world.

  They promise you the most beautiful crown known to men:

  Seven branches of gold and nine diamonds,

  Eighteen rubies and twenty-four emeralds,

  Thirty-six sapphires and eighty pearls,

  Twenty-five amethysts, eight onyx,

  Five continents and eight oceans.

  Bearing children, that was Talestria’s magic power to change fate, to turn the tide of time! That was Darius’s immortality, the advent of his power! It was said that Alexander had killed all Darius’s heirs. That was why the defeated king had come to ask Talestria to be the womb and the wet nurse of his descendants.

  He edged closer to my queen on his knees and said:

  “Talestria, be my queen tonight. Your warrior-women will protect and raise my heirs. You will rally the peoples of the steppes and expand the Persian Empire. I, Darius, must do my honor’s bidding: I must go back to war. My God tells me I must avenge myself and die. But my children, forged by the eternal fire and blessed by the glacier of Siberia, will be invincible. Darius will have lost an empire, but his blood will flow in the veins of his children. Although conquered, he will be master of the world for all eternity.”

  A great cooing of promises, praises, and declarations of love fell from Darius’s lips. My queen let him speak and said not a word. She smiled. From time to time I saw her eyes twinkle. I was worried. Was she seduced by this liar who was in love with power and wealth? Talestria must not betray the oath she had made to our God that she would never form an attachment with a man. She could not have a child!

  The night wore on. Darius’s eloquence frayed and tired. Talestria remained upright, motionless, and still she gave no answer. Dawn broke over the tent, and the birds’ shadows could already be seen moving. The Persian scribe was asleep. Darius, exhausted and in despair, blinked his eyes to keep them open.

  Suddenly the queen spoke:

  “Darius, your destiny as king is at an end. The God of Ice is putting you to the test. You must climb the glacier without adornment, without a horse, without a royal turban. At its summit you will find a priceless treasure.”

  Darius’s face lit up.

  “To please you, I shall go in pursuit of it.”

  Talestria smiled.

  “This treasure is in your heart, but the road there has been barred. Try to find your way instead of making war. Life or death, you can still choose.”

  After a brief silence she gave an enigmatic smile and added:

  “Dying is living.”

  Darius thought for a moment. I, Tania, had noted all this down without understanding it. My queen rose to her feet, arranged her crumpled tunic, and left the tent, and I followed behind.

  We set off again toward the land of the white cranes with the crimson heads.

  CHAPTER 5

  R einforcements came from Greece, and my Macedonian lieutenants put them in training with the Persian soldiers. I gathered information on the eastern territories and drew up better maps of them. At the head of a new army subjected to Macedonian discipline and reinforced with the battalions of camels and elephants abandoned by Darius, I marched toward eastern Persia.

  Suse capitulated without a fight, but a riot erupted inside the city. The leader, a slave who had been driven out of the palace by the eunuchs after Darius’s downfall, and who claimed he was the son of the winged god, had incited the poor to rebel. The uprising was swiftly quashed, and Bagoas chained and thrown at my feet. He was a slender young Persian with black hair and green eyes. The hatred, insolence, and religious fervor in those eyes bore right through me.

  With that first glance from him, I forgot the order to have him executed and his body displayed for all to see. Kneeling at the foot of the dais, he seemed to know no fear, staring me down and making me uncomfortable. I, Alexander, master of the world, flushed as I ordered that he should be thrown into a dungeon. But I was haunted by his face, I could not sleep, and longed to hold him in my arms, to bring him suffering and pleasure.

  I called for Hephaestion the very next morning and talked of my many concerns before tackling the question itself: I told him I would pardon the beautiful Bagoas, leader of the rioters, but that he would be punished with castration and would become my servant. Hephaestion smiled bitterly, understanding my message. He could not make me faithful, and did not know how to protect me from myself by saying no. He had always preferred my pleasure to his own happiness, and now, once again, his suffering would carpet the way to my delight.

  Hephaestion had young Bagoas castrated, and was tender and patient with him while he healed, tolerating his insults and forgiving his attempts to murder him. One evening, when we were heading for Persepolis, he brought the youth to my tent, dressed in a eunuch’s tunic.

  I tore off Bagoas’s clothing. Naked and backed into a corner, my captive had only his fierce emerald eyes as defense. His stare was so intense it paralyzed my desire. Instead of raping him, I held out my hand and stroked his face, which was rigid with loathing and pain. Bagoas loved me! That was why he suffered in silence. That was why he continued to appear cold and rebellious when his skin burned and moaned beneath my fingers. To prove my love for him, I put his tunic back on and sent him away.

  I waited an eternity for Bagoas to come to me, and I waited another before he admitted he had desired me from our very first meeting. I did everything I could to make him a willing prisoner. He was a proud, tormented creature who showed me all the agonies of carnal passion. Bagoas was a wild bird I had forced into a gilded cage. He sang happily when he felt love, and raged for his lost manhood when hatred washed back over him. He dreamed up a thousand different ways to torture me. He told me Darius had let him mount him and had called him Little Bee. He chirped like a sparrow but refused to talk of his parents or homeland. One moment he would grovel at my feet, begging me to touch him; the next he would disappear for days on end, suffering and weeping over his infirmity. I was subjected to his mood swings and his determination to die, unable to impose my authority. His constant outbursts infuriated me, but as soon as he was away from me I missed his childlike voice, his honeyed skin, the blue shadows under his eyes, and the trace of tears on his cheeks. The Great Alexander capitulated, and Bagoas was given a place in my life: he oversaw my clothes and my meals. He was jealous of anyone close to me and complained that the Macedonians were brutal and the Greeks crude. He swept aside all rivals by intoxicating me with sensual delights of the Orient.

  We headed east, then west, then north, then east again. Following the steep roads along which Darius had fl
ed, I took cities by storm. To those that surrendered without resistance I gave their autonomy, setting up a garrison. I had scarcely arrived before I set off again, shield in hand, lance borne aloft. I no longer stopped to rest, there was not time. Towns, villages, fortresses, and fortifications reeled past, their names becoming confused. To simplify matters I called them all Alexandria. Every city that I embraced became my bride, but once married they were immediately abandoned.

  The road forked in the mountains, and I always bore left. I sometimes rode for days on end, spurred on by my desire to advance ever faster. Sometimes, as I looked down on the deep valleys and torrential rivers beneath my feet, I thought of that young girl in red waiting for me at the summit of a rock. Where was she? Had I missed her by skirting round the mountain to the left? I smiled bitterly at the thought that she might be on a path I had already trodden, in a land I had already conquered.

  Days of exultation alternated with times of despondency and sadness. I would shut myself away in my tent, refusing anyone entry. I wrote letter after letter to Olympias, one minute accusing her of failing to love me, the next praising her as the light of life. My mother was my only link with Macedonia, which grew a little more distant in my thoughts every day.

  The road wound on through the endless snow. Only the barbarians’ furs could protect us from the biting cold, and my Macedonian generals were forced to wear oriental clothes. In the evenings we lit large campfires, and the successive feast days of all the different tribes called for banquets, drinking, frenetic dancing, sacrifices, and incantations.

  One morning Bessos, a Persian general, delivered Darius’s body to me, an event that caused jubilation throughout the army but chilled me to the bone. A final victory without a battle is, for Alexander, a defeat. I leaned over my enemy’s mutilated body, unable to accept that he was dead. Late in the night, while my soldiers slept, I came back secretly with Bagoas. Darius’s former lover confirmed my doubts: this was the body of a double. Darius the coward was renouncing his throne by sending me his body: he wanted to live safely and to deprive me indefinitely of a face-to-face dual. “Dead,” he hoped to pacify me with his cities and his lovers. Alive, he would remain a latent threat: he could always reappear, avenge himself, and take back what had belonged to him, what he had temporarily lost.