by Mary Renault
It was long since I had remembered my father clearly. Now his face returned to me, blessing my sons to be. Maybe, after all, his words were not empty wind.
Alexander said, “Yes, tell me your thought, what is it?”
I answered, “That the sons of dreams outlive the sons of seed.”
“You are a seer. I have thought so often.”
I did not say, “No, I am just a eunuch making the best of it,” but told him all about the New Year festivals, which Kyros began as a feast of friendship; and how he led the peoples to conquer Babylon, the Medes and Persians vying to show valor before him. Sometimes from eagerness I stumbled in my Greek, and he would say, “Never mind. I understood you.”
All day there was a shine on him; and at night, it was as if I’d come to him Kyros’ boy, instead of Darius’s. He fell without grief into smiling sleep; and I said to myself, That’s one thing I’ve done for him that Hephaistion couldn’t.
How perverse is the heart. Darius had neither offered love nor asked it; yet I had felt it right I should be grateful for all he gave me, a horse, a mirror, a bracelet. Now in my riches I scorched my soul because another came before me; I must have him all.
In all but words, he showed he had more pleasure with me than with anyone before me; he was too generous to belittle it. But the words were never spoken, and I well knew why. That would have violated loyalty.
“Never be importunate,” Oromedon had said to me long ago. “Never, never, never, never. The quickest way to the dusty street outside. Never.” And he, who was always gentle as silk, had given my hair a twitch that made me yelp. “I did that for your sake,” he said, “to make you remember.”
Nobody owns the gods. But there are some they choose to make more their own than the rest. I remembered.
There were times when I could have grasped him in both hands, crying aloud, “Love me best! Say that you love me best! Say that you love me best of all!” But I remembered.
Standing by the wall in the audience room at Zadrakarta, I watched him giving audience to Macedonians. He had these people in without formality, walking about among them.
“You are a musician,” Oromedon had said. “All you need is to know your instrument.” He had simpler ones in mind; this harp had many strings, some never for my sounding. And yet, we had made harmony.
So I was thinking, when a courier came in with a batch of letters from Macedon. The King took them from him, and sat down with them on the nearest divan he saw, like a common man. He would do these things. I longed to tell him they did him injury.
As he turned the letters over, Hephaistion strolled across, and sat down beside him. I gasped aloud; this passed all other effronteries. But Alexander just gave him some of the rolls to hold.
They were not very far away from me. I heard Alexander, as he picked up the thickest letter, say, “From Mother,” and give a sigh.
“Read it first and get it over,” Hephaistion said.
Though I hated him, I could see how Darius’ ladies had done him royal honors in their grief’s confusion. By our Persian canons, I suppose he was the more beautiful; taller, with features regular to perfection. When his face was still, it was grave almost to sadness. His hair was a shining bronze, though much coarser than mine.
Meantime, Alexander had opened Queen Olympias’ letter. And Hephaistion, leaning easily on his shoulder, was reading it with him.
Through my own bitterness, I perceived this had shocked even the Macedonians. Their murmurs reached me. “Who does he think he is?” “Well, we all know that. But he need not shout it.”
One of those veterans who stood out by their beards and their uncouth manners said, “If he can read it, why can’t all of us hear?” He spoke aloud.
Alexander looked up. He did not call his guards to arrest the man. He did not even rebuke him. He just drew off his signet ring, turned to Hephaistion smiling, and laid on his lips the royal seal. They both returned to the letter.
I could always move smoothly, even if blind with tears. No one noticed me going. I ran to the stables, and rode off out of town, along by the sea-swamps, where clouds of black birds rose up wailing and screaming, like the thoughts of my heart. As I turned for home, my black thoughts settled, like crows upon a gibbet. I cannot bear my life while this man lives. He will have to die.
Walking my horse through sandy scrub, I thought it over. As boys they were vowed together, and while this man is faithful, Alexander feels himself bound. He will acknowledge him before all the world, though he loves me best in his heart, and my heart is scalding in fire. No! For Hephaistion, only one thing will do. I am going to kill him.
Tomorrow, then, I will go to the beggars’ market and buy old clothes. Somewhere out here I will change, and hide my own clothes in the sand. I will wrap my head in a clout to hide my beardless face, and go to the little streets under the wall. I shall find a druggist there who will ask no questions. It cannot be long before I have the chance to get at his wine or food.
In the stables I called a groom to my lathered horse, and went back to the audience room, to look at him and think, You will soon be dead.
Quiet by the wall, I went over my plan. I would buy the poison; so far, good. Would it be in a phial, or a bag? I would keep it—where? In my clothes? Round my neck? How long would I have to hide it?
As my hot blood cooled, I began to think of a thousand mischances that could discover me, before I could use the drug; milling over these little things, till like a lightning-flash I saw the great one. If I were found with poison, who would ever doubt it was for the King? I had been brought to him by a man who had killed one king already.
So, then, Nabarzanes would be dragged from his home, and crucified beside me. I would be long remembered; the Persian boy, Darius’ whore who fooled the great Alexander. So he too would remember me. Rather than that, I myself would take the poison, though it turned my entrails to shriveling fire.
The Macedonians had had their audience. It was Persians now. Their presence reminded me whose son I was. What had been in my mind? To murder a faithful man, because he was in my way. So had King Arses’ brothers been faithful, and in the way. So had my father.
Next time I saw Hephaistion near the King, I said in myself, Well, I could kill you if I chose; you are lucky I will not stoop to it. I was young enough for this to make me feel better; too young, and too full of my own troubles, to think of his.
What he had had, would never again be anyone’s. His claim was honored; how could he ask for more? Well, he might have asked that his beloved should not become a lover, or have from a dark-eyed Persian boy what he’d never been thought to need. Maybe, since their youth, desire had faded (if so, I could guess whose had faded first); but the love was there, public as marriage. Lying alone in those nights at Zadrakarta, Hephaistion could not have slept at ease. I should have seen in his arrogance with the letter a plea for a proof of love. Alexander had seen; and given it in the face of everyone.
That night, between grief and guilt, I lost my sense of harmony, was strained and silly, and tried a trick I had learned at Susa, the kind of thing he had never guessed I knew. I felt my blunder. I feared disgust, not reckoning on his innocence. He exclaimed, “Don’t tell me you did that with Darius!” and laughed so much he nearly fell out of bed. I was so put out, I hid my face and would not look at him. “What is it?” he asked. I said, “I have displeased you. I will go.” He pulled me back. “Don’t sulk at me. What is it?” Then his voice altered, and he said, “Do you miss Darius still?”
He was jealous; yes, even he! I flung myself on him, embracing him with a fury more like war than love. He was some time calming me down, before we could begin. Even then I was still strung up, and at the end felt pain, almost like early days. Though I kept quiet, I suppose he felt some difference. I lay silent, doing nothing to divert his sadness. It was he who said, “Come, tell.”
I answered, “I love you too much, that’s all.”
He drew me over, and ran my
hair softly between his fingers. “Never too much,” he said. “Too much is not enough.” In sleep he did not toss himself free of me as he sometimes did; he let me stay in his side all night.
Next morning, as I got up, he said, “How is your dancing?” I told him I was practicing every day. “Good. Today we are giving out the list of contests for the victory games. There will be one for dancers.”
I turned a cartwheel across the room, and a back-somersault after.
He laughed, then said seriously, “One thing you must know; I never direct the judges. It’s bound to make bad feeling. At the games at Tyre, I’d have given anything to see Thettalos crowned. For me, no tragedian touches him; he has been my envoy too, and done me very good service. But they chose Athenodoros, and I had to put up with it. So I can only say, win for me.”
“If it kills me,” I said, doing a handstand.
“Oh, hush.” He made the Greeks’ sign against bad luck.
Later he gave me a fistful of gold for my costumes, and sent me the best flautist in Zadrakarta. If he had divined my trouble, and could not cure it, he knew how to make me forget.
I was tired of my old dances; for him I composed a new one. It began fast, Kaukasian style; then turned slow, with the bends that show one’s balance and strength. The last part would have the sparks in it; not too many since I was a dancer and not an acrobat; but enough. For my costume, I ordered a Greek-style tunic, made all of scarlet ribbons, caught together just at the neck and waist. My sides were bare. I had anklets sewn with round tinkling rattles of beaten gold. For the first part, I would use the hand-clappers.
I practiced for my life. The first day, when I’d done and sent off the flautist, Alexander came in and found me toweling down, still out of breath. He took my shoulders between his hands. “From now on till the games, you sleep in here. One thing at a time.”
He had a bed sent in for me. I knew he was right, but grieved he could do without me; still knowing less than the least of his soldiers what he could do without. I thought I could not bear a night away from him, but had worked so hard I slept as I lay down, and did not stir till morning.
On the day of the games, I went early to his room, where a squire was dressing him. As soon as he saw me he said, “Oh, Bagoas will see to it; you can go.” Some of the squires had improved and the King had warmed to them, but this one was awkward. He went out sulkily; the King said, “In all this time he can’t hang a cloak.” I put in the brooches properly, saying, “Next time, ask me.” He drew me by the hands and kissed me. “We shall see each other when you dance.”
In the morning were the athletic events, running, jumping, throwing the disk and javelin, boxing, jumping, wrestling. This being the first time I had seen Greek games, I daresay I felt some interest, though they have bored me ever since. After the noon break came the dancing.
For this and for the music, the army carpenters had run up a theater, with a stage and backdrop facing a gentle slope, benches for the important people, and a dais for the King’s chair. The backdrops were painted with real-looking columns and curtains. We have no such art in Persia. I had never seen such a place before, but had been over it, and found that the floor was good.
The slopes were filling, the generals were taking their seats upon the benches. I went where I was shown, and joined the other dancers, on the grass near to the stage. We glanced sideways at each other; three Greeks, two Macedonians, and one other Persian. The King came in to the sound of trumpets. The other dancers all looked at me with hatred, knowing who I was.
But I don’t think that, by the end, even they would have disputed my win. I knew it must be a good one, for his sake as well as mine. True enough, he never interfered with the judges; but judges are only human. Those at Tyre might have known he thought well of Thettalos; but this was not quite the same as being his lover. A near thing would not do.
At Susa, I had danced for favor, from the fear of being turned off, from conceit of myself. I danced now for the honor of our love.
Turns were settled by drawing lots; I came on fourth. And I was not halfway through my first quick dance with the hand-clappers, before the applause began. It was new to me. My biggest audience had been a handful of Darius’ guests, who offered praise as courtesy. This roar was different; it carried me on wings. When I came to my somersaults at the end, I could hardly hear the music.
The judges made their choice in no time at all. I was sent to get my crown.
With the din following me all the way, I went up to the dais, and set my knee on its edge. Someone passed him the glittering wreath. I looked up, and met his smile.
He put the crown on my head, his touch caressing me. If happiness could overfill one like food or drink, I should have burst asunder. Hephaistion never did that for him, I thought.
The next contest was for kitharists. If the Wise God had sent his angels down to play, I would never have known the difference.
I remember nothing, between this paradise and standing by his chair at the evening feast. It was a grand banquet, quite well done for Macedonians, in the great hall of the palace, blazing with lamps; too many guests to use Greek couches. He had asked more Persian lords than ever before. All through the meal I was busy with gifts and messages. They all had something to say about my dance. I said to myself, He is honoring my people for what he finds in them; but a little, too, for me. And I thought with ecstasy of the coming night.
I went up before him. Instead of the bath-robe and towels, there were fresh clothes laid out. If I had not been living in a dream, I would have expected it; this I saw, in time not to make a fool of myself.
He came up, embraced me—the attendant squire had withdrawn when he saw me coming—and said, “Today I was envied by all Zadrakarta, and not for being King.” I undid his cloak for him and helped him change. “Don’t wait up for me, my dear. It’s all old friends, we shall be drinking until daylight. Go to bed and keep warm, or you’ll be stiff tomorrow.”
A Macedonian night, I thought as I laid his purple cloak away. Well, he has given me warning. Never mind; however drunk he is, it shall be I who’ll put him to bed, not that loutish squire. It’s little enough to do for him.
I took a spare blanket from the chest, and rolled myself up in a corner. The hard floor did not keep me long awake.
I heard his voice. The birds were astir, but dawn had not yet broken.
“Every step on my feet. It took four of them to shift Philotas.”
“And they won’t get far,” said Hephaistion. “Now, can you get to bed?”
“Yes, but come in.” A pause. “Oh, come in. No one is here.”
I felt very stiff. He’d been right about keeping warm. I drew up my blanket, lest my face should catch the light.
Hephaistion had Alexander’s arm across his shoulders, not quite carrying him. He sat him down, took off his sandals and girdle, pulled his chiton over his head and eased him into bed. He placed the table, set there the water-pitcher and the cup, looked about for the chamber-pot and put it in easy reach. He wrung out a towel from the ewer, and wiped Alexander’s forehead. Though unsteady on his feet, he did all this quite neatly. Alexander sighed, and said, “That’s good.”
“You’d better sleep it well off. Look, here’s the water and there’s the pot.”
“I’ll sleep it off. Ah, that’s good. You always think of everything.”
“I ought, by now.” He bent and kissed Alexander’s forehead. “Sleep well, my love.” He went, closing the door softly.
Alexander turned on his side. I waited a good while, to be sure he was fast asleep, then put back the blanket stealthily. I stole off to my cold bed, as dawn came with the squalling of the gulls.
14
AT SIXTEEN, IN ZADRAKARTA, my youth began. Before, I had passed from childhood into some middle state, where youth was permitted only to my body. Now for seven years of my life it was given me back. All that long wandering has the taste of it.
There are places stamped on my memory;
and long months when the face of the earth swims past me, as the shipping does when one sits beside the Nile. Mountain passes, wastes of snow, springtime forests, black lakes in upland moors, flatlands of pebbles or parched grass; rocks eaten into shapes of dragons; heavenly valleys full of fruit-blossom; mountains without end, spearing the sky, white and deadly; foothills with banks of unknown flowers; and rain—rain streaming down as if the heavens were dissolving, turning earth to mud, rivers to torrents, weapons to rust, men into helpless children. And the red-hot sandhills, day after day, by the glaring sea.
So we marched east from Zadrakarta, when I was sixteen and mad with love. We skirted the mountains that stretched on from Hyrkania, and entered wide empty land. Yet we lived in a moving city.
The King’s train was now no less. He had crossed from Greece with a regent to rule his kingdom, free as a bird, just a general with the rank of King. Then the great cities fell, and Darius died. Now he was Great King in his own empire, and all its business traveled with him.
We were in a land without towns, like ancient Persis before Kyros’ day. Hundreds of miles apart were forts like my childhood home; bigger, because they had been seats of kings, but not really different; a strong house on a crag, a tribal village round it. They had passed from kings down to chiefs and satraps; but, ancient and rude as they were, were still called king-houses. For the rest, there were nomad herdsmen seeking pasture, or hamlets where there was water all year round. For league after league, our camp was the only town.
It held the army, and the second army that served it, of armorers, engineers, carpenters, tentmakers, sutlers, leather-workers, grooms; the womenfolk and children of all these; the slaves. There were a score of clerks by now. And these were only the army in Alexander’s pay. A third army followed us for trade; horse-copers, cloth-sellers, jewelers, actors, musicians, jugglers, panders and bawds, whores of each sex or none. For even troopers were rich; as for the great generals, they lived like minor kings.
