The Novels of Alexander the Great

by Mary Renault

  His teeth grinned white in the torchlight. I knew he was as dangerous as a hunting leopard, yet could not fear him, nor even hate him as I knew I ought.

  “No, my lord Nabarzanes.” By rights I should have bent my knee; I decided not to. “But if he did, the King is the King.”

  “Well, so. It would have disappointed me, if your loyalty had not matched your beauty. Do wipe that dirt off your face. I shan’t harm you, my dear boy.”

  I found myself rubbing it with my sleeve, as if I owed him obedience. He means, I thought, that it is too late.

  “That is better.” He took off with one finger a smudge I had passed over. Then he laid his hands on my shoulders. His face was no longer mocking. “Your father died for the King, I’ve heard. But Arses was the trueborn heir, and fit to lead us. Yes, in Arses we would have had a warrior. Why do you think Alexander has not overtaken us? He could have done it long ago. I will tell you the reason; it is contempt. Your father died for our Persian honor. Remember that.”

  “I don’t forget it, my lord. And I know where my honor lies.”

  “Yes, you are right.” He pressed my shoulders and let them go. “Go back to him. You might lend him some of your manhood.”

  It was like the pat of a leopard, claws pricking through the soft paw. As he left, I found that, without thinking, I had bent my knee.

  At the royal tent, I met Artabazos leaving. I made reverence and would have passed, but he put out his blue-veined hand. “You have come from the camp, my boy. What did you find?” I told him it was full of Baktrians, trying to subvert the loyal Persians. He clicked his tongue tetchily. “I shall have to see these men.”

  “Sir!” I said, careless of the impertinence, “you must sleep. You have had no rest all day and half the night.”

  “What I must do, my son, is see Bessos and Nabarzanes. At my age, we don’t sleep as you young folk do.” He did not even take a staff to lean on.

  He was right. As soon as I’d told Boubakes the news, I lay down, and fell asleep like the dead.

  The horns aroused me, with the call “Prepare to march.” I opened my eyes, and found all the others gone. Something was happening. I scrambled my clothes on, and went out. The King, dressed for the march, was standing before his tent, his chariot already waiting. At his feet knelt Bessos and Nabarzanes. Old Artabazos stood by.

  The King was saying how their disloyalty had grieved him. Both hung their heads, and beat their breasts. Bessos’ voice, one could have sworn, had tears in it. His only wish, he cried, had been to ward off from the King a curse called down by others, as he would have lifted his shield in battle; he would have taken the curse on himself, and borne the wounds. Nabarzanes, touching the King’s robe, said that they had withdrawn in awe of his displeasure; it would be their life’s joy to be received in his grace again.

  I looked with respect and wonder at Artabazos, whose work was thus rewarded; a soul beloved of Mithra, one to go straight to Paradise, whom the River of Ordeal would never scald. All was well again. Loyalty had returned. Light had conquered the dark Lie. I was still quite young.

  The King, weeping, reached out his hands to them. They prostrated themselves and kissed the ground before him, declaring themselves the happiest of men and the most devoted. The King mounted his chariot. Artabazos’ sons tried to get their father into a wagon, where he could rest. He scolded them soundly, and called for his horse. They withdrew abashed. The eldest was over seventy.

  I went off towards the horse-lines. The soldiers, who had been milling and mixing and disputing through the night, were being shoved into marching order. The Persians were shaping best; but then, they were fewer. Fewer than last night, by far. So were the Baktrians; even with their numbers, it showed.

  That came of the long night’s trafficking. The Persians, knowing themselves outnumbered, had made off by hundreds; but they had put some Baktrians, too, in dread of vengeful Mithra. Between fear of him and Bessos, they had chosen the long walk home.

  Riding back towards the Household wagons, I saw the Greeks lined up in column of march. They were all still there. Also, all armed.

  On long marches when no action threatened, they had always piled their armor, helmets and weapons in their carts, keeping only their swords; wearing their short tunics (made from all kinds of stuff, they had been so long from home) and the wide straw hats Greeks travel in, their skins being tender to sun. Now they had on corselets or cuirasses, helmets, even greaves if they owned them, and their round shields hung at their backs.

  Just then one fell out, and waved to me. It was Doriskos. What does he take me for, I thought; I will show him if he can make a fool of me in public. I was just going to kick my horse to a canter, when I saw his face. It did not look like dalliance. I rode up.

  He grabbed my boot, and motioned me to lean over. No dalliance in that either. “Can you get word to the King?”

  “I doubt it. He’s on the road, I’m late. What is it?”

  “Tell him not to be fooled. He’s not seen the end of it.”

  “Oh,” I said cheerfully, “that’s over, they’ve sued for pardon.”

  “We know that. That’s the thing; that’s why Patron made us arm.”

  My belly closed on itself. I said, “What does it mean?”

  “No one kept camp last night. It’s common talk. They hoped to bring in the Persians; if they had, they’d have acted today. But the Persians said it was god-cursed; that’s why so many made off. It’ll be later now, when we’re through the Gates; then they’ll do it.”

  I remembered my life, and despised my faith in men. “Do what?”

  “Take the King, and trade him to Alexander.”

  I had thought that I knew treachery. I had been an unborn child.

  “Steady up, don’t look so green.” He reached up to keep me in the saddle. “Listen now; they’re snakes, but they’re not fools. The King’s the King, but he’s not the world’s best general, let’s admit. This one stroke would get him out of their way, and let them buy peace with Alexander. Then they’d go to Baktria, and make it ready for war.”

  “Don’t hold me on, people are looking.” I had quickly come to myself. “Alexander would never trust them, men who had done that.”

  “They say he’s overtrusting, when faith’s been pledged to him. On the other hand, God help you if you break it. I saw what he left of Thebes … No matter; just tell the King.”

  “But I haven’t the rank to go up to him in public.” This would have been true even when I was in favor. “It must be your general; no one less.”

  “Patron? The King hardly knows his face.” He spoke not without bitterness.

  “I know. But he must.” None too soon, I had started thinking. “The King can speak Greek. Some of us do in the Household. But Bessos always asks for the interpreter; so does Nabarzanes. If they’re listening, Patron can still warn the King.”

  “That’s worth knowing. I’ll tell him that. We’re a handful to the Baktrians; but if the King trusts us, we might still get him away.”

  I soon overtook the Household; it had not gone a quarter-mile. The Sun Chariot had been lost at Gaugamela; but two Magi with the altar still walked in front. Behind that, all order was falling apart, all precedence shattered. Men of both kinds were edging each other to get near the King. Boubakes was riding just behind his chariot, a thing unheard of. At his side, on a great Nisaian charger as heavy-boned as a bull, rode Bessos himself.

  I fell in by Boubakes. He looked at me with dull sleepless eyes, as if to say, “After all, what matter?” We were too near the King to talk.

  The shaded litter was left behind at Arbela; those days were gone. He would be tired, after all day in a chariot. Something I felt for him still, beyond mere duty. I remembered him playful, kindly, amused, and in the follies of pleasure. He knew himself despised. Perhaps he had known it when he struck me.

  The King was the King; he could not have believed this sacred state could be altered, except by death. Disaster after
disaster, failure on failure, shame on shame; friend after friend turned traitor; his troops, to whom he should have been as a god, creeping off like thieves every night; Alexander approaching, the dreaded enemy; and, still unknown, the real peril at his elbow. And to trust in, whom? We few, who for the use of kings had been made into less than men; and two thousand soldiers serving for hire, still loyal not for love of him, but to keep their pride.

  As we marched, the road rising through bare uplands, I suppose there was no one in the Household who was not thinking, And what will become of me? We were only human. Boubakes thought, perhaps, of want, or a dreary life in some low-rank harem. But I had only one skill, I had only known one employment. I remembered slavery in Susa. I was no longer too young to find the means of dying. But I wished to live.

  The road climbed higher. We were coming to the pass. Here was the barrier range of the Tapourians, great peaks, barren and harsh, so high that in summer they were still tipped with snow. Up the foothills wriggled our worm of road, and vanished in a cleft. In spite of all, my heart quickened. Beyond must be the sea, which I had never seen.

  At each higher turn, rose a new wall of stark stone, weather-scoured, no living thing but a few cypresses bent like cripples. Here and there by a stream were poor fields and huts, whose wild people fled like rock-rabbits. But the air was like crystal. Ahead, plunging in shadow, was the steep gorge of the Gates.

  Alexandria is a splendid city, with everything a sensible man can need. I daresay I shall end my life here, without ever again going far away. But when I remember the high hills, and a pass mounting to its unknown revelation, I will not think so. Even then, knowing the evil and the danger, knowing all I had known before, even then I felt it; ecstasy, prophecy, light.

  A sheer cliff close above, a sheer drop below, far down the roar of water; we were in the Gates. Even so high, the rock-wall flung back the heat and the column labored. Surely, this pass could have been held. Just ahead, Bessos on his great horse still rode beside the King. No sign of Patron. Why should he heed my message, second-hand, and from the King’s minion at that?

  The road flattened and opened. We were at the pass-head; Hyrkania lay below us. It was another country. The mountains were clothed with forests, green fold after green fold. Then a narrow plain; and beyond, the sea.

  From this height, the horizon stretched immense round its sheet of silver. I caught my breath with delight. The black shores puzzled me; I did not know they were covered with flocks of cormorants, millions and millions, fed by its endless shoals of fish.

  The Tapourian range is a great parting of the waters. Truly, it was to be so for me.

  Soon we were winding down among the trees. Streams plashed and trickled over red-stained boulders; the water was delicious, very cold with a tang of iron. We made halt in a pine grove, setting cushions for the King, and seeing to his retiring-tent.

  When we set off again, the air grew closer and moister, tall trees held off the breezes that had tingled on the pass. We had halted late, because of its bleakness; now in the deep groves already the shadows darkened. Looking about, I was aware of someone new, riding just behind me. It was Patron.

  He was a veteran. He had not labored his horse uphill when the going would soon be easier. I caught his eye, and fell back to give him my place. He dismounted, and led his horse; in sign of respect, or to be noticed. His eyes never left the King.

  It was Bessos who saw first. His back stiffened; he came nearer the King, and started some kind of talk with him. Patron plodded along behind.

  The road bent sharply. As the chariot turned, the King saw him, and showed surprise. No one should stare at the Great King’s face, but Patron fixed his eyes on it. He made no gesture; just looked.

  The King spoke to Boubakes, who fell back, and said to Patron, “His Majesty asks if there is anything you want of him.”

  “Yes. Tell His Majesty I would like a word, without interpreters. Say it is not for myself, but in his service. Without interpreters.”

  Boubakes, his face changed, repeated the message. The chariot had its drags on for the slope, and was moving slowly. The King beckoned Patron up. I took his bridle, and led his horse for him.

  He stepped up to the chariot, the other side from Bessos. His voice was low, I did not hear what he said; but Bessos could have heard it. Patron had taken the risk, on my bare word.

  Soon he must have seen, from Bessos’ look of baffled anger, that I’d not misled him. His voice grew louder. “My lord King, pitch your tent in our camp tonight. We have served you a long time. If you ever trusted us, believe me, you need to now.”

  The King was quite quiet. His countenance hardly altered. I was the better for his fortitude; one needs some pride in one’s master. “Why do you say this?” He spoke haltingly; his Greek was no better than mine. “What do you fear for me?”

  “Sire—it is your cavalry commander, and that one there beside you. You see why I can’t speak names.”

  “Yes,” said the King. “Go on.”

  “Sire, they lied this morning. It will be tonight.”

  The King said, “If it is ordained, so it will be.”

  I understood his quiet. My heart sank like a stone. He had despaired.

  Patron came nearer, leaning to the chariot. He was an old soldier, he knew what he had heard. He put out his strength, as if to hearten a flagging battle-line. “You come over to us, sire. What men can do, every one of us will do it. Look at all this woodland. When night comes, we’ll get you away.”

  “To what, my friend?” With despair, he had recovered dignity. “I live too long already, if my own people wish me dead.” I don’t know what he read in Patron’s face, which I could not see. “Be assured, I trust you. But if what you say is true, you are outnumbered ten to one, you and the faithful Persians. I will not buy a few hours more of breath, at the cost of all your lives; that would be poor thanks to you. Go back to your men; and tell them that I value them.”

  He saluted, and fell back behind the chariot. As he took back his horse, his eye said, “Well done, boy. No fault of yours.” I turned to look at Bessos.

  Dark blood engorged his dark face. He looked like a demon. He could not tell what Patron had revealed. For one moment I thought he would draw his sword upon the King, and butcher him out of hand. However, a dead king was spoiled merchandise. He took time to master himself; then he said to Darius, “That man means treachery. No need to know his tongue, it was in his face.” He paused, hoping to draw some answer; but the King was silent. “The scum of the earth. No stake in any country, on sale to the highest bidder. Alexander must have outbid you.”

  Even from a kinsman, this was insolence. The King said only, “I trust not. His suit was refused in any case.”

  “Sire, I am happy for it. I hope you trust my good faith as you did this morning; may the gods witness it.”

  The King said, “May they be my witnesses also.”

  “Then I am happier still.”

  “But if Patron is the man you think, he will be foolish to count upon Alexander. He rewards surrender; but he is very harsh to treachery.”

  Bessos looked sidelong under his black brows, and said no more. We wound downhill through the darkling forests. The high peaks, where we could glimpse them, still glittered golden. Here it would soon be night.

  We made camp in a broad open glade. Long fading bars of red sunlight crossed it. It felt close and hot. I daresay at sunrise it would have looked delightful. None of us saw the sun rise on it, so I cannot say.

  There was a village somewhere near. The Persian soldiers went off to forage in the usual way. When they were gone into the trees, the place was still full of men. The Baktrians had all remained, and were building watch-fires. They were still all under arms. We knew what it meant. It was like the last turn in a long fever.

  Oxathres came to the King, and said that when the loyal Persians came back, they would make a fight of it. The King, embracing him, told him to do nothing without orders. He w
as a brave soldier, but none of that kin had the makings of a general. Patron could have done more with two thousand men than he with twenty thousand; I daresay the King knew it. When he had gone, he sent for Artabazos.

  I found him, a little stiff from his ride but still alert. As I led him to the King, I saw the Greek camp by itself among the trees. They were still all armed, and had set outposts.

  Round the royal tent stood the Royal Bodyguard; there were still some Immortals left, armed with their spears of honor. The gold pomegranates caught the firelight; and their eyes, staring somberly before them.

  From within, we heard the King give Artabazos Patron’s news. He was some time silent, thinking no doubt of his long night’s labors. Then he besought the King to make camp among the Greeks; the Persians, for whom he himself would answer, would rally in strength to the Greeks, if the King were with them. I was thinking, Poor good old man, you have lived too long for your peace, when he added briskly, “These Greeks are soldiers by trade. The Baktrians are only called out on levy. I saw discipline in Macedon. The difference between a blood-horse and an ox. Trust to the Greeks.”

  How often we had listened like this from mere curiosity, or to be abreast of some small intrigue. We listened now for our lives.

  “It is finished,” said the King. “All my life I have hoped too willingly. Lately it has cost too much, to too many men. Now I have put hope away, do not wish it back to me.”

  There was a smothered sound. It was Artabazos weeping.

  “Dear friend,” said the King, “you have lost many years with me. The rest are yours; go with the Wise God’s blessing.”

  The weeping went on. The King raised his voice and called to us. Artabazos was clinging to him, small against his height, the old face buried in his robe. He embraced him, saying, “This faithful servant will not lay down his charge; but I have released him. Lead him away.”

  He loosed the old man’s hands, which clung like a child’s; it took all of us to ease him out without roughness. The King hid his face from it. We saw Artabazos to his people; when we returned, and looked for the King, at first we did not see him. He lay prone on the ground, his head upon his arms.