The Novels of Alexander the Great

by Mary Renault

  It was only I who, when all these questions ceased, asked for news of the King. They said he was dead; they supposed Alexander killed him.

  The time had come for me to be on my way. Somewhere, Artabazos must have left a camp, when he himself went to Alexander. I asked the hunters. They said a Persian lord was camped in the forest, a day’s journey eastward; who, they did not know. He and his people were all strangers to those parts.

  Doriskos and I said our farewells that night; I must start at dawn. No one else on earth cared if I lived or died, and now I felt it.

  “I never had a boy like you,” he said, “and I never shall have. You’ve spoiled me for all the rest. Henceforth I shall stick to women.”

  All day I went through the forest by hunters’ trails, fearful of snakes at my feet and leopards in the branches, wondering what I should do if the Persians had moved their camp. But before the sun was low I came to it, tucked away by a mountain stream; a thorn-hedge round it, and a guard at the gate who looked like a well-trained soldier. When he saw I was a eunuch, he lowered his spear and asked my business. I became aware I was almost in rags, my clothes worn out and filthy. I told him who I was, and begged for a night’s shelter. After the forest, I did not care who they were, if they took me in.

  He sent in the message. Presently a civil man, like a soldier-servant, brought me inside. It was a camp for no more than a few hundred men; there had been thousands with Artabazos. Huts had been run up from timber and thatch; no tents. It seemed these people had come traveling light; but there was a corral of splendid Nisaian horses. I inquired the name of my host.

  “Never mind. He offers you hospitality. These days, least said is best.”

  His dwelling was built like the rest, but much bigger, with several rooms. To my astonishment, the servant led me to a well-furnished bathroom, which could only be the master’s. “You will like to bathe after your journey. The water will not be long.”

  I was ashamed to soil the couch with my dirty clothes. Two Scythian slaves filled the bath with hot water and cold; there was scented oil in it. It was pleasure beyond words. I washed myself and my hair; scarcely noticing when the well-trained servant came in, his eyes politely downcast, and took away all my garments.

  While, drowsy with contentment, I reclined in the warm water, the inner door-curtain moved a little. Well, I thought, what of it? That fight in the thicket has made me nervous as a girl. A man like that would have come in. Must I take everyone for an enemy? I got out and dried myself, and put on the fine wool robe that had been left ready.

  Instead of my clothes, came a tray of excellent food; sucking kid with sauce, wheat bread, a fragrant wine. Wondering at all this in so rude a setting, I remembered glimpsing, below, the city of Zadrakarta. It seemed my host had arrived with nothing much, except a good deal of money.

  I sat full of well-being, combing my hair, when the servant brought in a suit of clothes, saying, “The master hopes you will find these fit.”

  They were of fine cloth, a loose coat of dark red, blue trousers and embroidered slippers. They had been stitched here and there, to make them smaller; they must have been measured against mine. I felt like myself again. To honor the event, I touched up my eyes and put on my earrings.

  The servant, returning, said, “My master will see you now.”

  It was only as I settled my sash, that I remembered my dagger. It had been taken with my clothes, and not brought back.

  In the master’s room, a filigree lamp hung from the rafters; bright hangings of local work relieved the timbered walls. My host reclined on the divan, a wine-table before him. He smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.

  It was Nabarzanes.

  I stood dumb as an ox, my mind in turmoil. Rather than come under this man’s roof who had sold away my master’s life, I ought to have slept out in the forest. Now, bathed, fed, clothed and sheltered, I could not help what I felt; it was gratitude that he had not told me.

  “Come in, Bagoas.” He seemed not at all put out by my lack of manners. “Come, sit down. I hope that they looked after you.”

  I collected myself and bowed, the least I could do now, and said, speaking the bare truth, “My lord, I am greatly in your debt.”

  “By no means. Sit here and let us talk. It is rarely I have a guest here; I am grateful for your company.” I sat down on the divan, and took the wine he offered me. “But,” he said, “whom did you expect to find?”

  I told him Artabazos, or his people.

  “A fine old man, a pattern of antique virtue. Alexander will welcome him with open arms; it is the kind of thing that delights him.”

  He must keep himself well informed here. But I was thinking how far he had gone beyond the duty of host to wayfarer, and how the curtain had moved. As far back as Babylon, I had sometimes wondered.

  “You are anxious,” he said in the friendliest way. “I understand it; you can have had no easy journey, your dagger has had use. Set your mind at rest; I do not take guests under my roof and then abuse them.”

  My thoughts rebuked, I said that I was sure of it. His person had never been displeasing to me. I would have requited kindness gladly, but for what he had done. It was a matter of honor.

  “I know your loyalty to the King.” He must have read my face. “In one thing he was happy; he had devotion from his betters. There must have been something in him, though it was never my luck to find it.”

  “He raised me from nothing, and gave me all I had. Not even a dog would have turned against him.”

  “No. Even the beaten dog is true. Yet the master dies, and the faithful hound runs stray.”

  “He is truly dead, then?” I thought of the cart and the golden bonds, and my heart was angry.

  “Yes, truly dead.”

  Of a sudden I wondered why, after making this good bargain, he was lurking here in the woods with so small a following. And where was Bessos?

  I said, “I hear Alexander killed him.”

  “Peasant rumor, my dear boy.” He shook his head with a sad smile. “Alexander would never have killed him. He would have entertained him graciously; set his son on his knee; given him some minor palace to retire to; married his daughter, and courteously required to be named his lawful successor. If later he had rebelled, he would have been stamped on without pity; but of course he would never have done so. He could have lived quite peacefully into old age. All this he began to think of, while Alexander was overtaking us. He came like a Scythian wind; the pass must be strewn with foundered horses. The King’s conveyance was too slow; we freed him and brought a horse. He refused to mount, saying he put more faith in Alexander than in us; he would remain, and make his own terms. By then Alexander was cutting up our rear guard. Each moment was life or death. The King would not be moved. That was why we were forced to kill him with our own hands. Believe me, I regretted it.”

  I was silent, gazing into the shadows beyond the lamplight.

  “I know,” he said, “what you would be saying, if the laws of hospitality did not restrain you. Take it as understood between us. He was the King, such as he was. But I am a Persian; for me, the second outweighed the first … I did not seek, as the Vizier your namesake did, for a King who would be my creature; but for one who would lead us to honor, whom I could serve with pride. Well, Mithra has had the laugh of me. After all’s done, I am a Persian without a King.”

  Wine-softened I might be, but not yet stupid. Why was he telling me all this, why own he had killed the King? Why was he brushing off the difference of rank between us? I could make no sense of it. “But my lord,” I said, “you were all for proclaiming Bessos. Is he dead too?”

  “Not yet. He has put on the Mitra and gone to Baktria. He will be dead whenever Alexander gets to him. I am punished, my dear boy, much more for my folly than my treason. I thought I had found a King for Persia. I had found a mountain bandit.”

  He topped my wine-cup. “I had supposed he could put on kingship, when it was laid in his lap. Not so. As
soon as Darius was in bonds, the Baktrians became a rabble. He could not keep them from sacking the King’s tent, which was now his own. They would even have had the treasure-chest, had I not arranged to secure it.”

  He spoke with his leopard-purr. Much was now made clear.

  “That was a mere beginning. They rioted along as if in enemy country, plundering, raping, killing. Why not? They were not in Baktria. I reminded Bessos he was now Great King; they were violating his subjects. He thought it a fit reward for good service. I urged the need for haste; if Alexander overtook us, we would lose our whole enterprise. He made light of it. I saw the truth; he did not get them in hand because he could not. They had been good soldiers, serving in the old order they understood. Now they knew only that there was no King. And they were right. There was none indeed.”

  His dark eyes stared beyond me. Since he holed-up here, maybe I was the first comer to whom he could tell the tale. “So, when Alexander came storming down on us, with the handful who could keep up with him, he found our rear guard strolling like drunk peasants on market day. His hundreds rounded up thousands, like cattle. I had had enough. I had spent myself, my rank, my fortunes—my good faith too, you would tell me if you could—to change a useless coward for a useless bully. Even Issos was not so bitter. I took my own riders, who had still some discipline left, and led them cross-country to where you find us.”

  There was nothing to say; but I remembered my debt to him. “My lord, you are in danger here. Alexander is moving east.”

  “Yes, I have heard so. I am planning as best I can. But, my dear boy, enough of my business. Let us think of yours. It distresses me, to think of you living hand to mouth like this. But what prospect can I offer you? Even should God permit me to see my home again, I should be at a loss. I must own to having wished often that you were a girl; or that I could find a girl with your face. But that is as far as my nature takes me. Indeed, you look far less girlish than you did in Babylon. It improves you, it has given you distinction. I would be out of my mind, to put you anywhere in my harem.” He grinned at me; yet I felt something behind this play.

  “And yet,” he said, “you are without doubt the most lovely creature my eyes have rested on; woman, girl or boy. There can be only a few more years of it; it would be a crime to waste them. The truth is, you should serve only kings.”

  Since he chose to amuse himself, I waited in patience.

  “How I wish I could put some future in your way. But I have none myself. In fact, it is clear to me that I must go the way of Artabazos, with none of his fair prospects.”

  “Do you mean,” I said startled, “to Alexander?”

  “Where else? He is the only Great King we have, or shall have now. Had he been a Persian, and what he is, we should all long since have followed him. All I hope for, at the best, is to be let live in quiet on my own estates. Kings are always affronted by king-killing, and yet … He is a soldier. He has fought Darius twice. I think he may understand me.”

  In honor I could not answer.

  “He has given me, at least, a safe-conduct to know his terms. If he is set against me, I shall have safe-conduct back here. From then, I shall be driven game.”

  “I hope not, my lord.” It was true. He smiled at me kindly.

  “Did you see my gift-horses outside? They will be caparisoned, of course, with gold and silver. But he will have plenty just as good.”

  In courtesy, I said he could have none finer.

  “No, they are nothing much; not for Alexander. After all, he is now the richest man in the world. What can one give to such a man? If he wants it, he already has it. There is only one real gift for a man like that; something he has been wanting a long time, without being aware of it.”

  “That would be hard to find, my lord, when you do not know him.”

  “And yet, I believe I have seen the very thing.”

  “I am glad, my lord. What is it?”

  He answered, “You.”

  10

  WE PERSIANS HAVE A saying that one should deliberate serious matters first drunk, then sober.

  I woke next morning on my pallet in Nabarzanes’ room, where I had slept unmolested as with a kinsman. My head scarcely ached; it had been good wine. Dawn bird-song filled the forest. Trying to remember where I was, I saw across the room my host still sleeping. Memory stirred, together with the sense of some frightful thing impending.

  We had talked and drunk, drunk and talked. I remembered saying, “Is it true they paint themselves blue?” Yet at some much later time, it seemed to me he had taken me in a chaste but warm embrace, invoked the gods for me, and kissed me. I must have consented.

  In the camp a hound bayed deeply. Men were stirring; I must think before he woke. Some of the talk was coming back to me. “It is for you to choose. I have used no deceit with you. You would learn the truth when I had gone, and, if you prosper, might be a dangerous enemy. But you showed loyalty to Darius, in the presence of me who killed him. I trust you to keep as good faith with me. You will speak of me as you have found.”

  He had said also, “When I had my command, I made it my business to learn about Alexander. One should know one’s enemy. Among matters of more use, I found that his pride extends into the bedchamber. He has never lain either with slave or captive. I daresay the first thing he will ask is whether you are free, and have come there willingly.”

  “Well,” I had answered, “then I shall know what to tell him.”

  A little bird perched on the timbered window, singing so loudly its throat beat like a heart. Nabarzanes slept on, as peacefully as if his head had no price upon it. He had said, as I remembered, “Twice to my knowledge, men seeking favor have offered to buy him Greek boys famed for beauty. He refused with indignation. But, my dear Bagoas, it appears that none of these eager sycophants took the trouble to offer him women.”

  I seemed to recall his taking a lock of my hair still damp from the bath, and winding it round his fingers. We were fairly drunk by then. “It takes no great fortitude,” he said, “to resist a name in a letter, joined to the word beautiful. But the living presence, ah! that is another thing.”

  What had my life been, I thought, since the King had died? There was no trade I knew to live by, but what I had. Only one thing had been wanted of me; even by Nabarzanes, though for another man. If I went tramping on with nothing, I should soon end where I began when I was twelve years old.

  Yet it was terrible, to part from all I knew and make my life among barbarians. Who could say what this Macedonian was like in the inner room? I had learned at Susa that the outward man could be a mask for horrors. And then again, supposing I did not please him?

  Well, I thought, better the unknown danger than creeping miseries, coming slow like leprosy, till one bears at last a life whose mere thought would once have made one end it. One throw, win or lose; so be it.

  Nabarzanes stirred, yawned and smiled at me. It was not till we were at breakfast that he said, “Does sober agree with drunk?”

  “Yes, my lord, I’ll go. On one condition, that you give me a horse. I’ve had enough of walking. And if you’re presenting me to the richest man in the world, I should look as if I were worth something.”

  He laughed aloud. “Well begun! Never cheapen yourself with Alexander. You shall have clothes too, not those makeshifts; I am sending to Zadrakarta. In any case, we must give those scratches time to heal. Now I see you by daylight, you have certainly traveled rough.” He turned my face in his hand. “Skin-deep. A few days merely.”

  Four days later, our cavalcade rode down to Alexander’s camp.

  Nabarzanes had been generous. My horse, a chestnut with blond mane and tail, was even prettier than poor Tiger; I had two fine suits, the best one, which I was wearing, with real gold buttons and embroidered sleeves. “I am sorry, my dear boy,” he’d said, “that I can’t give you your dagger back. Alexander would think I was sending him an assassin.”

  Behind us came the string of Nisaian horses,
with sparkling cheek-rosettes and bridles, and saddlecloths fringed with bullion. Nabarzanes rode beside me, dressed as a noble suppliant; somberly but becomingly, looking as well-bred as his horses. I hoped Mithra would forgive my kindly thoughts of him.

  In front rode the guide, a Macedonian officer who spoke a few words of Persian. He pointed out the camp in the plain below, at the foot of the hills, beside a river. It was not very big; Alexander had divided his forces to search the mountains and man their strongpoints, and had only his own troops with him. We could see his tent. It was imposing, and had a Persian look.

  Nabarzanes said, “He took it at Issos. That was Darius’ tent. I would know it anywhere.” He never spoke of Issos without bitterness. I remembered his men in Babylon, saying how well he’d fought till the King had fled.

  We rode into camp through staring Macedonians, till we came to the open space before the tent. Grooms took our horses. Nabarzanes was announced to Alexander, who presently came out.

  How clearly, even now, I remember him a stranger. He was not so small as I had expected. Of course he would have measured like a boy against Darius; the young Macedonian who had come out behind him was taller, too. He was of middle height; but I suppose people had expected his stature to match his deeds.

  Artabazos had said that even in Persia he would have been called beautiful. Just now, he had been riding about for days in an open helmet instead of a hat, and had been caught with sunburn. Being fair-skinned, he had gone rather red, a tint not much admired among us, recalling the northern savages. But he had not their rufous hair; his was bright gold. He wore it rough-cut, in a length between neck and shoulders; it was neither straight nor curling, but fell like a shining mane. When he turned to the interpreter, I perceived his features were very fine, though marred by a sword-cut on the cheekbone.

  After a time, Nabarzanes bowed, and pointed to his train of gifts; then looked towards me. I was too far to hear his words; but Alexander looked, and for the first time I saw his eyes. Them I remember like yesterday; my own mind less clearly; a kind of shock, a sense that one should have been more prepared.