Alexander and Alestria

by Shan Sa

  Still Alestria said nothing, and tears came to my eyes. I caught a grasshopper and spoke to it:

  “You who are so small and so swift, you who travel the earth so tirelessly, be my messenger! Climb mountains, follow rivers, fly toward the steppes! Fly to the land of Siberia! From flower to leaf, from leaf to branch, from stone to tree…one morning you will leap into the open hand of one of our sisters! Tell her we are not dead, we will come back, the queen is well and thinking of her sisters. Then, grasshopper, do not waste any time, come back quickly to give us news of Siberia. You will tell us: everyone is well back there, the babies have grown and can already run and ride. One of the great-aunts has gone away to die. We were attacked, but we defended ourselves and our queen would be proud of us. Come back, Talestria! Come back, Tania!”

  Alestria started to run. I ran after her, crying:

  “Wherever Alexander goes, the earth shakes beneath his feet and birds fly away. Where Alexander’s army goes, the grass is trampled, flowers cut down, trees uprooted, and rivers filled with bodies. Where there are no paths, Alexander burns down the forests. Where men resist him, he massacres them and carries off their women. You have been blinded, my queen!”

  I held back my tears and gave one last scream:

  “I hate Alexander!”

  My voice was carried by the wind and resonated round the valley for a long time before going to join the clouds. I had never cried so loudly; that one scream set me free. I realized I was no longer afraid of the assassins who had torn me from my mother’s breast.

  CHAPTER 8

  T he rain kept falling. Rain mingled with hailstones spattered on the soldiers, who covered their heads with their shields. Violent winds pushed them over, battering them with broken branches. They struggled through the icy mud, looking in vain for some purchase by prodding their lances into the ground. The first row fell backward onto the second, who took all the rest with them. As they fell, they injured themselves on each other’s weapons. Their terrified horses whinnied and tried to clamber back to their feet. Lightning tore through the darkness, striking the earth with a terrible crackling and briefly illuminating the trees so that they looked like Titans looming out of the earth. The Persians knelt to pray while the Greeks and Macedonians looked for a means of escape.

  Still riding Bucephalus, I forged a route through the chaos. As the thunderclaps covered my men’s desperate cries, I shouted at them, forcing them to get back up, to form orderly ranks and advance. The rain blinded me and turned my limbs to ice, rain that wanted to wipe Alexander’s army from the face of the earth, rain acting as a messenger for unknown powers that wanted to stop me in my headlong race against myself.

  The rain kept falling, weaker but persistent. We had pitched our tents and lit fires when a Persian soldier burst into my tent to report the pitiful state of his regiment, and then himself collapsed. I had him carried to my bed and continued my discussions with my generals. When the poor boy came to, he was startled: ashamed and terrified to find himself sleeping in Alexander’s place, he prostrated himself at my feet and begged me to punish him.

  “Soldier,” I said, “Darius would have condemned you to death for sullying his throne. Alexander asked for you to be carried to his bed in order to save your life. With Darius your life had barely any value; you were an armed slave who could be broken and abandoned. With Alexander you are a free man, a respected warrior. Go back to your regiment and tell them to rest before the next battle.”

  THAT RAIN HERALDED painful ordeals. A young page called Hermolaus, the son of a noble Macedonian warrior called Sopolis, was secretly plotting to assassinate me. When his scheme was denounced by one of his accomplices, he was taken before an assembly of Macedonian soldiers because the law of our native land granted them the right to try him and condemn him. The young page acknowledged his crime without shame and used the opportunity to whip up the crowd.

  “You, Alexander, have killed innocent people! Attalus, Parmenion, Philotas, Alexander of Lyncestis, and Cleitos all protected you with their shields in the face of enemies; they suffered injuries to guarantee victory and glory for you. But this is how you thanked them: Cleitos drenched your table with his blood, Philotas was tortured and exposed to jeering from the Persians he himself had defeated, you used Parmenion to kill Attalus and then had him assassinated too. That is how you rewarded your Macedonians!”

  The soldiers cried out in protest, and Sopolis was tempted to throttle his own son. I calmed them with a firm wave of my hand, and invited Hermolaus to go on.

  “We have endured too much of your cruelty as well as the humiliation you inflict on us by making us dress like barbarians! You love living like a Persian, but it is a Macedonian we want to fight for!”

  Those names—Parmenion, Philotas, and Cleitos—echoed in my ears like so many thunderclaps. Those who had been father, lover, and friend to me had betrayed me and had all ended up in a bloodbath. But the evil they had sown lived on in men like Hermolaus. Even dead, they were still conspiring, urging soldiers to avenge their alleged innocence.

  If Hermolaus were put to death, other conspirators would soon replace him. There would always be discontent, anger, rebellion—they go hand in hand with victory. For Alexander was not unique; there were as many different Alexanders as there were Macedonians, Persians, Greeks, soldiers, women, and children. Every people judged him according to their own culture and religion. Every man understood him according to his upbringing, his parentage, and his past. Those who had already met him judged him on just one word, one look, the color of his skin, what he was wearing, or his mood when they saw him. Those who had never seen him formed an opinion about him from rumors and legends that could inspire admiration or hatred. They all took what they needed from him and rejected him when that harmed their own interests.

  Neither Plato nor Aristotle had ever pondered this phenomenon. No man had ever inspired such extreme passions. Loved and feared, desired and loathed, I had capitulated before this extension of myself. From East to West, I offered myself to the living and to those who would curse me or sing my praises after my death. I was their horrifying shade from the tenebrous depths, or a ray of sunlight awakening life and distributing poetry. I was their god and their sacrifice.

  “SOLDIERS OF MACEDONIA, you have voted for Hermolaus to die! He and his accomplices will be stoned. But I have decided to spare members of their families, who, according to our law, should die along with the criminals.

  “Alexander responds to violence with clemency! He is not afraid of betrayal, he knows how to live with conspirators, he feels no self-pity for his pain, he still trusts you.

  “A king who has not survived betrayal is not a great man, he is not worthy of leading an army. To those who want to deflect me from the path of my fate, to those who want to stop my progress toward the Orient, I say, Show yourselves now! Alexander is waiting for you!

  “Hermolaus accuses me of becoming a Persian. How could a Persian talk to you like this in Macedonian?

  “What is a Macedonian? He is a man capable of marching for days on end without food or water, and who throws himself at enemies with ten times as many troops. He is a man who kills without batting an eye and who does not weep when his father and brothers fall.

  “I am accused of exhausting you and dragging you into endless wars. I am accused of wanting to conquer the world. I am accused of spreading Macedonian glory to the very outposts of humanity. Soldiers, think of those who stayed in our native land and who are watching you! Aging men who envy you because you are marching with the greatest army in the world; children who dream of giving war cries on the battlefield; wives adorned with the gold you have sent them; and mothers weeping with pride when they hear of your victories.

  “You, my young, strong, beautiful soldiers, are you already thinking of going home? Are you ready to renounce being masters of the world; would you prefer to go back and plow fields, tend sheep, and die of old age in a bed? Are you not afraid of being called cowards, weakli
ngs, deserters? Are you not afraid to hear people muttering when you walk along the street: That’s the man who left Alexander, he’s hiding at home while his brothers, with a shield in one fist and a lance in the other, throw themselves at enemy ramparts and die in battle!

  “Soldiers of Macedonia, in your footsteps cultures blend together, languages intertwine, children are born with the intelligence of the Jews, the refinement of the Persians, and the vitality of the Macedonians. In a thousand years, in ten thousand years, people will still sing of our magnificent army, and your names will be engraved in all eternity.

  “As King of Asia, I lived as a simple soldier, you know that. All that is mine also belongs to you. I am your reason, your every word; you are my acts, my hope, the realization of who I am. My army and I are but one! What I want is what you want too: a path carved out by our weapons, a wide road to the very foot of the sun.

  “To achieve this unprecedented conquest we need the help of the Greeks. We also need the Persians whom we defeated by our strength and converted by our ambition. The differences in language, customs, religion, and gods mean nothing. Alexander unites them in this one truth: without him, warriors are merely instruments of death. With him they are a celebration of life!

  “Come now, soldiers, repeat after me:

  “Weariness is fleeting.

  “Nostalgia can be defeated.

  “Courage is our strength.

  “The Indus River is roaring, calling to us!”

  THE SUN WAS obstructed by trees so vast that seven soldiers with open arms could not encircle them. Their gnarled branches wrapped in lichen and fungus stretched out horizontally, bearing roots that hung down to the ground. Creepers wider than a man’s thigh clung round their trunks, entwining them to fill the gaps and reach the skies. We were lost, turning round in circles and coming back to where we had set off. Maps had betrayed us, and trading posts had long since disappeared. Instead of paths there were leaves, round, oval, serrated, shaped like feathers, hands, lances; and flowers, their seeping, gleaming, tufted throats exhaling a sweet, fetid perfume.

  My soldiers broke through the vegetation with axes and swords. We all suffered the same discomforts as leeches dropped from the trees and gathered on every patch of bare skin. When we tore one off, another arrived, still more thirsty for blood. Our legs were nicked by venomous thorns, and the swelling and itching spread all over our bodies. We scratched ourselves till we broke the skin. Some soldiers were bitten by snakes and died of sudden fever; others forgot my orders and rushed to drink from ponds, only to succumb to debilitating diarrhea.

  Seeing our expedition reduced to endless suffering, I took out a map, traced a straight line all the way to the Indus, and ordered my men to set fire to the trees where they formed impenetrable walls. The flames broke through the trees, and sunlight poured into the forest. Tigers, monkeys, snakes, and clouds of birds fled the columns of smoke. Near-naked men with tattooed faces and piercings in their ears and noses emerged from their hiding places in the luxurious vegetation, brandishing weapons.

  Whistling arrows, the screams of men fighting, and the clash of weapons woke me from the torpor of that wearying march. Turning a deaf ear to my advisers, who begged me to keep to the rear, I headed up the Macedonian troops to give my men courage and strength. But the fighting was more difficult here: my troops were used to confrontations in formation and were thrown by these men coming down from the branches, appearing from the undergrowth, and vanishing up rock faces. Their archers clung to creepers and jumped from tree to tree without putting a foot to the ground, and their trained monkeys threw themselves at our soldiers and bit their faces.

  On the ninth day our men abandoned their horses, and the enemy no longer needed to take refuge in the trees. The injured fought to the death, and the living, covered in blood, went on slitting each other’s throats in appalling hand-to-hand combat. I had lost my helmet, my lance, and my sword but grabbed the king of the savages and we rolled to the ground, his hands squeezing my throat. I saw stars against a dazzling white sky. As I struggled to free myself, I kneed him: my vision cleared and the enemy’s hairy fingers released their grip. I gathered the last of my strength, raised myself to my knees, and shattered his skull with a rock I grasped. His hideous face grew bigger and bigger as I hammered at his head, screaming, while his brains oozed over my fingers. His eyes rolled upward, his lips drew back to reveal yellow teeth, and he breathed the unbearable exhalation of death over me.

  For three days after that battle I shut myself away in the darkness of my tent and saw no one. I lay inert on my bed, surrounded by dancing flames. The fires of the shades encircled me; yellow flames burned me, blue flames chilled me to the marrow, black flames devoured me, and I ran screaming—there was fire everywhere. A wave of it swept over me, followed by another, and in the middle of those flames were dark, silent, icy corridors. I was burning but I was cold, fleeing while my teeth chattered. Every now and then I remembered I was Alexander, but the flames laughed and growling voices chorused:

  You are one of us!

  You are one of those warriors we send to the earth

  To burn and destroy.

  The sun, where is the sun?

  Where is Apollo who made me invincible? The flames grimaced at me and danced frenetically while the voices rang out:

  Invincible?

  This is where you will be destroyed.

  This is where you will return.

  “I don’t want to be destroyed!” I cried out. “I am Alexander! I am the king of all men, let me go!”

  But still the flames held me, stifling me. Voices whispered to me, saying there was no escape; I struggled and prayed to Apollo to send me his rays. Suddenly a beam of light pierced the shadows. I clung to it like a ladder, climbing back toward life, only to find I was lying in my tent in total darkness.

  Feeling my way, I stood up, then tripped, fell and stood again. I opened the door and saw shapes coming toward me. Thinking they were talking flames, I took a step back. Then my eyesight cleared, and I recognized Hephaestion, Crateros, Cassander, and Bagoas.

  “We greet you,” they cried respectfully. “We greet you, Alexander, King of Asia, and wish you a long life!”

  I came back to my senses under my friends’ watchful eyes and surrounded by gleaming weapons.

  “Bring me food!” I ordered. “I want to eat this life, to devour it. Bring me drink! I want feasting and drunkenness!”

  My eunuchs came running, my pages busied themselves. Soon there were tables laden with fruit, meat, pitchers, and goblets. Generals, commanders, and a whole display of beautiful young men lounged on soft carpets. I took the first young man I liked in my arms, and the heat of his youthful body warmed my limbs that still felt so cold; his kisses made me forget the burning scars. I gave him orders to press mangoes, grapefruit, and pineapple over my face, showering me with the sugar of life as I inhaled the fragrance of nature. For tomorrow, under the ground, the sky will be black forever and there will be no more pleasure.

  As I brought the umpteenth goblet to my lips, I remembered I had a wife: I threw down the goblet and called Bucephalus. Despite Bagoas’s weeping and exhortations, despite Hephaestion’s sad expression, I set off at a gallop with a troop of one hundred soldiers. I traveled for many days, flying across the land, I could not wait to have that feeling once again, the most vibrant feeling of earthly life: holding Alestria in my arms.

  I renounced sleep, forcing my soldiers to ride on through the night. I could not wait any longer. Waiting meant risking death itself.

  At last I saw the ornate outline of my flags, then a silhouette. Alestria was waiting on horseback at the entrance to the camp. I galloped on, and she kicked her mare toward me. I leaped to the ground and ran over to her; she slipped from her horse’s back and ran to me. How long it seemed to take! Let me reach her before the underground fires leap up and take me back to their kingdom! Alestria tripped, then tossed off her golden shoes and tied up the bottom of her tunic.
I opened my arms, and she threw her arms around my neck, pressing her weight against me. I carried her all the way to our tent, where I tore off her clothes and undressed myself in a flash. My lips clung to hers, my body found hers. Her cool skin soothed my worries, and her tongue rolling over my cheeks and my chest put out the shadowy fires.

  Bear me a child, Alestria! This child will be proof of our union and will have the purity I have lost. This child from your belly will wipe clean the horrors sown by Alexander. I am not worthy to be king. He shall be, though. He will be transparent as the glacier and ardent as a mountain on fire. He will have my dignity and your magic, the innocence of a girl married to the power of a warrior king.

  I DID NOT wait for daybreak before setting off on my return journey. I left behind the tears of my queen. I left behind her hair, which smelled of roses and mint. I left behind her wooden comb, her golden hair grips, her body curled up in despair. I galloped to flee my own pain while a voice inside my head screamed that I would never see her again, that that was our last embrace. Tears flowed over my cheeks but were dried by the wind. I urged my horse on to drive away my thoughts: I must carry on with my war.

  I rejoined my Macedonian troops, who complained that their legs were lacerated by the undergrowth. They showed me where their arms had been devoured by leeches, hornets, and mosquitoes, and dragged me to where the injured lay dying with gangrenous wounds. Hepahestion, Crateros, and Cassander took turns trying to convince me we must turn back. I clenched my fists and reasoned with them: beyond the forest there were cities more wonderful than Babylon, civilizations more evolved and religions more sublime than any westerner could have imagined. All these wonders had to be ours. The last of my friends withdrew, and Bagoas appeared to talk to me of conspiracies: I listened to him and then sent him away.

  Parrots chattered in the trees, and tigers roared in the distance. Then there was silence around the encampment. A rustling sound from deep within the woods wound between the tents, making the campfires flicker before disappearing into the trees.