The Novels of Alexander the Great

by Mary Renault

  There was something in his voice, which told me he was not just instructing me. I knew him. I felt the current of his mind. Why not? I thought. Even the soldiers feel it, though they don’t know what they feel.

  “Al-ex-ander,” I said, letting him know I was weighing every word, “everyone knows that the oracle at Siwah cannot lie.”

  He looked at me with his deep grey eyes, saying nothing. Then he pulled his sash undone. I disrobed him. He gave me another look. I saw, as he meant, the catapult wound on his shoulder; the sword-slash across his thigh; the purple dent on his shin. Truly, those wounds had run blood, not ichor. He was remembering, too, the time he had drunk bad water.

  His eyes rested on mine, half smiling; yet with something in them that neither I, nor anyone would reach. Perhaps the oracle had, at Siwah.

  I touched his shoulder, and kissed the catapult wound. “The god is present,” I said. “The mortal flesh is his servant and his sacrifice. Remember us who love you, and do not let the god take it all away.”

  He smiled and held out his arms. That night the mortal flesh received its due. Though gentle, it was as if he mocked himself. And yet the other presence stood waiting, ready to claim him back again.

  Next day he was shut up with Hephaistion a long time alone, and the old sickness bit my heart. Then there was much coming and going among the King’s best friends; then messengers went out, summoning guests to a great supper of fifty couches.

  On the day, he said to me. “Bagoas, you know what I’ve had in mind? Tonight we shall try for it. Put on your best clothes and look after my Persian guests. They know what to expect, Hephaistion has been seeing them. Just make them feel valued; you with your court manners can do that best.”

  So, I thought, after all he needs me too. I put on my best suit, which by now was a very good one, crusted with gold embroidery on a dark-blue ground; and came to dress Alexander. He wore his grand Persian robe, but a low coronet, not the Mitra. He was dressed for Macedonians too.

  If only, I thought, they would keep the wine till dessert-time. This will be delicate business.

  The hall was splendidly garnished for the feast. I greeted the Persian lords, in the proper way, and led each to his supper couch, with compliments where they would be acceptable, on someone’s famous ancestor, breed of horses, and so on; then I went to attend on Alexander. The meal went smoothly, in spite of all the wine; the dishes were carried out. Everyone made ready to toast the King. Someone got up; as people thought, to propose it.

  This one was certainly sober. He was Anaxarchos, a tame philosopher who followed the court about; the kind Greeks call a sophist. As for wisdom, he and Kallisthenes had not half enough between them to make one good philosopher. When Anaxarchos rose, Kallisthenes looked as angry as an old wife with a young concubine, at not having been asked to speak first.

  Certainly, he’d not have done it so well. Anaxarchos had a well-trained voice, and must have conned his speech by heart with every grace-note. He led off about some Greek gods who’d started life as mortals, and been deified for their glorious deeds. Herakles was one, the other Dionysos. Not a bad choice; though I doubt he had what I had in mind, which was that Alexander had some of both in him: the urge to great labors beyond reach of all other men; and the beauty, the dreams, the ecstasy … did I think, then, the madness also? I expect not; I can’t remember.

  These divine beings, said Anaxarchos, while on earth, had shared the trials and sorrows of the human lot. If only men had seen their godhead earlier!

  Then he rehearsed the deeds of Alexander. The plain truth, though known already, struck home even to me. Anaxarchos said that when it pleased the gods—let them keep the day long from us!—to call the King to themselves, no one would doubt that divine honors would at once be paid him. Why not offer them now, to comfort him through his labors; why wait till he was dead? We should all take pride in being the first to give them, and to symbolize it with the ritual of prostration.

  All through the speech, I had been watching faces. Not the Persians’; they had been prepared, and were all grave attention. The King’s friends, in the secret too, were doubly busy, applauding and watching others; all but Hephaistion, who for most of the time was watching Alexander, as grave as the Persians, and more attentive still.

  I moved from behind his couch, to where I too could see him. I perceived that Anaxarchos’ words, planned for use, had become a pleasure. Though nowhere near drunk, he had of course been drinking; the shine had come into his eyes. He fixed them on the distance, as he did for the sculptors’ drawings. It would be beneath him, to look about and see how people took it.

  Most of the Macedonians took it, at first, as a long-winded way of proposing the toast to the King. Cheerful with wine, even the veterans applauded. They were too slow to see where it was leading till the very end, when they looked as if hit suddenly on the head. Luckily I’d been trained against ill-timed laughter.

  Others had seen it coming. The time-servers, each eager to be first in the race to please, could hardly wait for the speech to finish. Most of the younger men looked startled at first; but, for them, King Philip’s day was when they were boys made to do as their fathers told them. Now was the time. Since Alexander led them, there had always been something new. He might be going rather far, but they would go along with him.

  The older men were dead set against it. Oh, yes! I thought. You are angry that he wants a god’s salutation. If you guessed he was trying to level you with us, how much angrier you’d be! Sulk, then; you’re too few to matter.

  Anaxarchos sat down. King’s friends and Persians applauded; no one else. A kind of stir began. The Persians with gestures of respect stood by their couches, preparing to come forward. The King’s friends got up too, saying, “Come, let’s begin.” The sycophants, twitching with eagerness, waited upon precedent. Slowly, the other Macedonians began to rise.

  Suddenly Kallisthenes stood up, and in his harsh voice said loudly, “Anaxarchos!” All movement ceased in the hall.

  I’d been watching him. I knew the King had been cooler to him, since what I’d said. Resenting Anaxarchos’ speech, he had hung on every word, and caught the drift quite early. I had guessed he would be up to something.

  If both these were philosophers, they were pretty different. Anaxarchos’ robe had embroidered borders; his silvery beard was combed like silk. Kallisthenes’, which was black, was thin and straggly; his plainness of dress, since Alexander paid him well, was boorish for a state dinner. He stood well forward, to give us all a view of him. Alexander, who when his friends hailed him had returned from his distance to give them a welcoming smile, now turned, and fixed his eyes on him.

  “Anaxarchos,” he led off, as if they were debating in some public street instead of in the Presence, “I think Alexander not unworthy of any honor proper to mortal man. But bounds have been set between honors human and divine.” Of these latter, he gave a catalogue which I thought would go on forever. But such honors, he said, when offered to a man, insult the gods, as royal honors offered a common man would insult the King. At this I heard, all about the hall, low murmurs of assent. Like the storyteller who has caught his audience, Kallisthenes started to bloom. He reminded Anaxarchos he was advising a leader of the Greeks, not some Kambyses or Xerxes. The contempt with which he named these Persian kings was much to the Macedonians’ taste. I saw the Persians exchanging looks. Hiding my shame and anger, I went among those of the highest rank, and made a business of handing sweets. Since I started going to theaters, I’ve seen how an actor can spoil another’s big scene. In my youth and ignorance, I had some such notion myself.

  Not put out at all by me—what does a barbarian eunuch matter, serving a barbarian lord?—Kallisthenes went on to say that Kyros, who had founded the prostration, had been humbled by the Scythians who were poor but free. I would only have said myself that he failed to catch them; but more to the purpose, it was aimed at Alexander. Everyone must have known how he honored Kyros; certainly Kall
isthenes did, who had once had his trust. He gave it a clever turn by adding that Darius, who had received prostration, had been routed by Alexander who had done without. This licensed the Macedonians to applaud.

  They did; and it was clear they were not applauding the hollow compliment. He had brought over all the doubtful ones, who would have complied if let alone. And what he’d caught them with was not respect for the gods, but contempt for Persians. When he named Darius, I didn’t miss the spiteful glance that he aimed at me.

  One must be just to the dead, who cannot answer. Maybe one should credit him with courage; maybe just with a blind complacency. The applause of the Macedonians was a brief delight; Alexander’s anger would last.

  Not that he made a show of it. After this slap in the face, he was concerned to keep his dignity. In his clear skin the flush showed like a flag; but his face was calm. He beckoned up Chares, spoke to him quietly, and sent him on a round of the Macedonian couches, to tell the guests that if the prostration was against their minds, they need think no more of it.

  The Persians had not followed Kallisthenes’ speech, since the interpreter had not thought fit to translate it. His voice when he named the kings must have told its tale. They saw Chares going round, and those who had risen settling back on their couches. There was a silence. The Persian lords looked at each other. Then, without a word exchanged among them, the lord of highest rank came forward, crossing the hall with the carriage such people have learned in childhood. He saluted the King, and went down in the prostration.

  In order of precedence, all the others followed.

  It was beautiful. No man of breeding could fail to see it was an act of pride. If these uncouth westerners thought themselves above the ancient courtesies, it was beneath a gentleman’s notice. Most of all, though, it was done for Alexander, who had tried to offer them honor. As the foremost faced him, before making his bow, I saw their eyes meet in perfect understanding.

  To each, as he made reverence, the King bent graciously; the Macedonians muttered on their couches; till near the end of the line came an oldish man, rather stout, and stiff in the knees, and got down as best he could. Everyone knows that one should not stick out one’s backside; all the others had sunk with grace; but any fool could see the poor man’s infirmities. I heard a snigger somewhere among the Macedonians; then one, a Companion called Leonnatos, gave a loud guffaw. The Persian, just then struggling to rise with a little dignity, was so shocked that he stumbled. I was behind him waiting my turn; I stepped forward, and helped him to his feet.

  Concerned with this, I did not see Alexander till he was halfway there. His robe swinging about him, he came down the room as if his feet did not touch the ground, light as the lion running up for its spring. I don’t think Leonnatos saw him coming at all. Without a word, eyes fixed in a wide pale stare, he grasped Leonnatos’ hair with one hand, his girdle with the other, and heaved him off his couch onto the floor.

  They say that in battle Alexander seldom fought in anger; that mostly he was light of heart, and often smiling. Yet now I thought, How many men’s last sight has that face been? Leonnatos, floundering upon the floor as angry as a bear, took one look and paled. Even I felt a little cold breath chill my neck. I looked at his sash, to see if he had a weapon.

  But he just stood quietly, hands on hips, no more than a little short of breath, and said, “Well, Leonnatos, now you’re down there too. And if you think you look graceful, I wish you could see yourself.” Then he walked back to his supper couch, and spoke coolly to those about him.

  A boor has been punished, I thought. No one was hurt. It was foolish to be afraid.

  The party broke up early. Alexander came to bed sober. The rage of the lion had gone; he was restless, pacing the room, spoke of the insult to my people, and then burst out, “Why has Kallisthenes turned against me? How did I ever harm him? He’s had gifts, consequence, anything he asked for. If he is a friend, give me an honest enemy. Some of those have done me good; he came to do me harm. He hates me, I saw it. Why?”

  I thought, Perhaps he really believes divine honors should be kept for gods. But I remembered the Greeks had given them to men before. Besides, there had been something else. When you are used to courts, you get the feel of it. He was a Greek; I could not tell who might be behind him. I just said, therefore, that it seemed he wanted to form himself a faction.

  “Yes; but why, that’s the thing.” With some trouble, I got him to disrobe and take his bath. I had no comfort to offer which suited his mood just then, and I feared he would not sleep.

  It was not only his being robbed of his rights, which he’d known for his due while they were being proclaimed. They had failed in love to him. He felt it too deeply to speak of it. Wounded in the moment of exaltation, he was bleeding still. Yet he had contained his anger; it was the insult to the Persian, had loosed it off. He had ended in thought for us, as he had begun.

  I had put him to bed, and was seeking some word of comfort, when a voice at the door said, “Alexander?” His face lightened as he said “Come in.” It was Hephaistion. I knew he’d have come in without knocking, but for knowing I would be there.

  I left them together. On the day of the oracle, I thought, he was there waiting, he was told it all. Now he is here to do what I cannot. And once more I wished him dead.

  As I tossed on my pillow, I said to myself at last, Do I grudge my lord the herb that will heal him, because another gathers it? No, let him be healed. Then I cried my eyes out, and fell asleep.

  At the winter’s end, Alexander moved his court to Marakanda. We were free of the poisonous Oxos and the hot plains. Now, I thought, all will be well.

  It was like a paradise, after Zariaspa; a green river valley in mountain foothills; tall white peaks above; the water like liquid ice, and clean as crystal. Already in the many gardens almond trees were budding, and small delicate lilies sprang from the melting snows.

  Though in Sogdiana, it is not wild like the backlands; it is a crossroads for caravans; you meet people from everywhere. The bazaars sell horse-collars set with turquoise, and daggers with wrought-gold sheaths. One can buy Chin silk there. I got enough for a coat, sky-colored, embroidered with flowers and flying serpents. The dealer said it had been a year upon the road. Alexander said Chin must be in India, there was nothing further than that but the Encircling Ocean. His eyes glowed, as always when he spoke of distant marvels.

  The citadel perches westward above the city; a good-sized fort, with a real Palace in it. Here Alexander did a great deal of business, which had not reached him in the north. He entertained many Persians of high rank; and, as I saw, felt no better about the prostration.

  Leonnatos had been forgiven. He was a man, Alexander said to me, who was a good fellow in the main, and would have had more sense when sober. I answered that things would be better here, where we had mountain water.

  I spoke only in hope for him. He had drunk strong wine too long beside the Oxos; he had the taste for it. Here he tempered it more, maybe half and half; but that’s not enough for Baktrian wine.

  If the talk was good, he would talk more than he drank, and even if he sat up late, all would be well. But at other times, he just set out to drink. All Macedonians do it; by the Oxos, they’d come to do it more than before.

  Never in his life was he drunk upon campaign. His victories had been too brilliant; his enemies left him time for it. He never did it when he had to be up early, even if it was only to hunt. Sometimes he’d be two or three days at that, camping in the hills; it cleared his blood, and he’d come back fresh as a boy.

  He was getting into our ways. At first, I think, to show us we were not slighted; but then he took to them. Why not? He was far above the land he came from, as I’d seen from the very first. He was civilized in his soul; we showed him the outward forms of it. Often now, at audiences, he wore the Mitra. It suited him, being shaped so like a helmet. He had taken into his Household several Palace chamberlains, who hired Persian cooks; Persian
guests now got real Persian banquets, and though he always ate sparingly, he did not dislike the food. Feeling him move into harmony with our ways, many who had served him first from fear now did it willingly. His rule was both strong and just; it was a good while since Persia had had both together.

  The Macedonians, though, were feeling wronged. They were the victors, and they thought it their due to have it shown. Alexander knew it. He was not a man to give up easily. He tried once more to bring them round to the prostration. This time, he started at the top.

  No big feast this time, no Persian guests. Friends he could trust, and Macedonians of importance, who he hoped could be persuaded. He told me the plan, which I thought would persuade anyone. He had the gift of grace.

  I was not to be there. He did not tell me why; he knew well enough he need not. Still, resolved to witness it, I slipped into the service anteroom, and posted myself where I could see in through the door. Chares said nothing. Within reason, I could do pretty much what I chose.

  All the King’s close friends were there; Hephaistion, Ptolemy, Perdikkas, Peukestas; Leonnatos too, grateful for forgiveness and ready to make amends. As for the others, they knew what was to happen. When Alexander had told me one was Kallisthenes, I looked my doubts; but he said Hephaistion had talked to him and he’d agreed. “And if he breaks his word, I don’t intend to notice it. This won’t be like last time. It will do him no good with the others.”

  It was quite a small party, fewer than twenty couches. I saw Alexander kept down the drinking. As long as he lived, there was no pleasure he was a slave to, when he put his will to it. He talked, and drank, and talked.

  No one could talk like him, when he chose and had someone to talk to; with a Greek, plays and sculpture and poetry and painting, or the planning of cities; a Persian he would get to talk of his forebears, his horses, the customs of his province, or of our gods. Some of his Macedonian friends had gone to school with him, under Aristotle of whom he still thought so much. With most of the others, who had never read a book and could just about scrawl on wax, it had to be their concerns, their kills at the hunt, their love affairs, or war; which, if the wine had gone briskly round, would soon lead to Alexander’s victories. I suppose it’s true that he sometimes talked too much of them. But any artist likes to relive the best of his art.