by Mary Renault
Spring was well on; he decided to spend summer at Ekbatana, like the kings before him. Most of the troops, led by Hephaistion, were to march up the Tigris valley to Opis, whence a good road leads through the passes; Alexander, to see something new which might prove useful, went to Opis by water. Down there the Tigris has lost its fierceness; it was a pleasant voyage up the ever-winding stream, past the palm groves and the margin of fruitful fields, with the oxen turning the water-wheels. The river was full of ancient useless weirs, which he caused to be cleared as he went; we dawdled along, sleeping ashore or aboard as his fancy took him. It was a rest from the court, from toil and anger. Green, peaceful days.
Near the end of the voyage, while they broke up one of these old weirs, we were moored in a shady creek; he reclined in the stern under a striped awning, with my head in his lap. Once he would have looked if there were Macedonians watching; now he did as he liked and they could make the best of it. In any case, there was no one about of much importance. He looked up at the waving palm-fronds, and played lazily with my hair. “At Opis, we’ll be on the Royal Road to the west, and I can send the old veterans home. They’ve had work enough, since they told me in India how tired they were. It’s true as Xenophon says, the commander may bear the same hardships, yet for him it’s not the same. It was their tears that moved me. Stubborn old fools … still, stubborn in danger, too. When they go home, it won’t be my fault if they ever want again.”
The army arrived before us. It’s a middle-sized city, with yellow mud-brick houses, and, like every town along the Royal Road, a stone lodging for the King. It was getting hot in the plain, but we were not staying. Nothing much had happened on the army’s land march, except that Hephaistion and Eumenes had been quarreling all the way.
It had been building up before Susa. In Karmania, needing to repair the fleet, Alexander had asked a loan from his friends till he reached the capital. Their money, at least, had come through the desert safe, and he repaid with interest later. But Eumenes was close-fisted; when his offering came, Alexander said with irony that he would not rob the poor, and sent it back. “I wonder,” he said to me that night, “what he’d fetch out if his tent burned down.” “Try it, Al’skander,” I said. He was rather drunk; we were laughing; I never thought he really would. The tent caught fire next day. The trouble was that it burned so fast, the Royal Journal and state letters went up along with it. The money came out as ingots; sure enough, about a thousand talents. Alexander asked for none; he’d had his joke, if it came expensive for him. Whether Eumenes thought it was Hephaistion who set him on to it, I don’t know. After Susa, if Eumenes had only stepped in dog-shit, he’d have suspected Hephaistion put it there.
On the march to Opis, being at open enmity, they had picked up factions. I doubt they’d aimed at this. Hephaistion had no need; Eumenes was a subtle Greek, who knew better than to put himself in the wrong. There had been no brawling; but those who hated the King’s Persian ways, and knew his friend supported them, were drawn to Hephaistion’s enemy without urging.
By the time we got there, it was making Eumenes anxious. He came to Alexander, said how much the estrangement grieved him, and declared himself eager to make it up. What he was chiefly eager for, was not to take the blame if it went on. Which it did; he had lost his temper over the flautist’s lodging, and what he’d said, Hephaistion would not forget. It was seldom indeed he disobliged Alexander. But he was a great man now, and knew his dues. Alexander could not order him to swallow an insult. If he asked as a favor, it was one he didn’t get. Hephaistion, who had not spoken to Eumenes for half a month, maintained his silence. Soon after, we had other things to think of.
Alexander had a platform put up on the parade ground, to address the troops. He was to discharge the veterans, tell them their retirement bounty, and give them their marching orders to the Middle Sea. A simple business. I only went up on the roof to watch because I was idle, and would always sooner look at him than not.
The troops filled the ground, right up to the rostrum with the Bodyguard around it. The generals rode up the lane that had been left, and took their places; last came the King, gave a squire his horse, went up and began to speak.
Before long, they started to wave their arms. The discharge bounty was wildly generous; I took it they were cheering.
Suddenly, he vaulted straight off the rostrum, and strode out through the Bodyguard among the soldiers. I saw him grab one with both hands, and shove him at the Guard, who took him in charge. The generals came scrambling after him. He moved about, pointing out some dozen men. They were marched away; he went round by the steps, came forward and spoke again.
There was no more arm-waving. He spoke for some time. Then he ran down the steps, jumped on his horse, and galloped towards his lodging. The generals followed as soon as they could get mounted.
I hurried down, to be in his room beforehand and hear what it was all about. The door opened; he said to the bodyguard outside, “No one. On any business whatever. Do you understand?”
He flung in, slamming the door before the guard could close it. He didn’t see me at first; I took one look and kept quiet. He was in a white-hot fury; his worn, brilliant face was blazing with outrage. His lips were moving, going over whatever he’d said out there. I just caught the end. “Yes, tell them at home how you forsook me, and left me to the care of the foreigners you conquered. No doubt it will bring you glory among men, and heaven’s blessings. Get out.”
He sent his helmet crashing into a corner, and started on his cuirass. I came forward to unbuckle it.
“I can do it.” He shoved away my fingers. “I said nobody here.”
“I was inside. Alexander, whatever is it?”
“Go and find out. You’d better go, I don’t trust myself with anyone. I’ll send for you later. Go.”
I left him tugging at the straps, and cursing under his breath.
After a moment’s thought, I went along to the squires’ room. The one who had held the King’s horse had just arrived. I joined the crowd around him.
“It was mutiny,” he said. “They’d have killed any other man. Oh, Bagoas! Have you seen the King?”
“He won’t talk. I only saw from the roof. What did he say to them?”
“Nothing! I mean, he gave the veterans their discharge, thanked them for their courage and their loyalty; all proper and nicely put. He was just getting on to their bounties, when some of the serving troops started shouting out, ‘Discharge us all!’ When he asked them what they meant by it, they all took it up. ‘You don’t want us now, it’s all mother-fucking barbarians’ … Oh, I’m sorry, Bagoas.”
“Just get on,” I said. “What then?”
“Somebody yelled, ‘Go marching with your father. The one with horns.’ He couldn’t make himself heard. So he jumped straight down, right into the middle of them, and started arresting the ones who’d started it.”
“What?” someone said. “Not on his own?”
“No one laid a finger on him. It was uncanny. As if he were really a god. He had on his sword, but he never touched it. The men just submitted like oxen; the first, he handled himself. You know why? I know. It’s his eyes.”
“But then he spoke again,” I said.
“You saw that? He saw the prisoners taken off, then he went up and told them their fortune. He started by saying Philip brought them up from nothing, wearing sheepskins he said—is that really true?”
The squire from the noblest house said, “My granddad told us only the lords wore cloaks. He said it showed who you were.”
“And the Illyrians came raiding right into Macedon?”
“He said all the peasants came up to the fort at night.”
“Well, the King said Philip had made them masters of all the people who used to kill them with fright, and when he died there were sixty talents in the treasury, a few gold and silver cups, and five hundred talents in debts. Alexander borrowed eight hundred more, and that’s what he crossed to Asia with. Did
you know that? Well, he reminded them of all the rest since then, and he said, I’ll always remember this, ‘While I have led you, not one of you has ever been killed in flight.’ He said if they wanted to go home they could go today, and boast of it when they get there, and good luck to them. That’s what he said.”
A young one called out, “Let’s go and see him, and tell him how we feel.” They often talked as if they owned him. I found it endearing.
“He won’t have anyone in,” I said. “He won’t have me.”
“Is he weeping?” said the one with the softest heart.
“Weeping! He’s as angry as a hit lion. Keep your heads out of his mouth.”
I kept mine out till evening. All his friends had been turned away, even Hephaistion. His quarrel with Eumenes was still on; I don’t think Alexander had quite forgiven that. Servants with food were shut out like the rest. The wounded lion had no wish to see a doctor.
At night I went to see if he’d take a bath. The squires would have let me in, but I feared it might earn them a mauling from the cave, and made them announce me. The growl from within said, “Thank him and tell him no.” I noted the thanks, which I’d not had earlier; presented myself next morning, and was admitted.
He was still licking his wounds. Last night’s anger had set into deep resentment. It was all he could talk about. I got him shaved and bathed and fed. Everyone else was still being kept out. He gave me most of his address to the army; fine fiery stuff, too good to keep to himself. He was like a woman reliving her quarrel with her lover, word by word.
Just after, the guard scratched at the door. “King, there are some Macedonians from the camp, asking leave to speak with you.”
His face altered. You could not quite say his eye lit up. He just tilted his head to one side a little. “Ask them,” he said, “what they are still doing here, when they discharged themselves yesterday. Tell them I am seeing no one; I am busy with their replacements. They can draw their pay and go. Bagoas, will you fetch me my writing-things?”
He was at his table all day. At bedtime, he was deep in thought; there was a kind of sparkle in his eye, but he kept his counsel. Next morning he sent for the generals. From then on, the place teemed with officers, mostly Persian; and Opis seethed like an anthill with the top knocked off.
The Macedonian camp was still full of soldiers. Not wishing to be torn asunder, I sought in friendlier places the cause of all this stir. I soon found out. Alexander was forming an all-Persian army.
It was not just a new corps, like the young Successors. All the great Macedonian regiments, the Silver Shields, the Infantry Companions, were being made up from Persians. Only the chief Macedonian generals, and his most loyal friends, were left holding commands. The Companions themselves would be half Persian, at least.
The first day, orders went out. On the second, the commanders started work. On that day also, Alexander gave the rank of Royal Kin to the whole Persian nobility who’d had it under Darius; all could kiss his cheek instead of making the prostration. He added to these just eighty Macedonians, those who had shared his wedding.
The dust outside was enough to choke you. Inside, Alexander in his Persian robe was being kissed in greeting by Persians assuming their new appointments. I watched in the shadows, thinking, He is all ours, now.
It was quiet; we know how to behave in the Presence. So the noise from the terrace sounded clearly; a heavy clatter, like ironwork being unloaded; and Macedonian voices, unhushed as they always are, but very sorrowful.
The sounds increased. The Macedonian generals looked at each other, and at Alexander. He tilted his head a little, and went on with what he was saying. I slipped off to an upper window.
The terrace was full of them, overflowing into the square. They were all unarmed; they had stacked their weapons. They stood before the Palace doors, with a lost murmuring; for all the world like dogs who’ve run truant to the woods, and come back to find the house locked for the night. Soon, I thought, they will put back their heads and howl.
Sure enough, with a noise to split your ears, they began to cry out like souls in ordeal, “Alexander! Alexander! Alexander, let us come in!”
He came out. With one great cry, they fell upon their knees. The one nearest him clung weeping to the skirt of his Persian robe. He said nothing; just stood where he was and looked at them.
They implored his pardon. They would never do it again. They would condemn their ringleaders. They would stay on this spot night and day, just as they were, till he forgave and pitied them.
“So you say now.” He spoke sternly; but I thought his voice had a shake in it. “Then what got into you all at the Assembly?”
There was another chorus. The one who had grasped his robe—I saw he was an officer—said, “Alexander, you call Persians your kin. You let them kiss you; and which of us has done it?” Those were his words, I swear.
Alexander said, “Get up.” He raised the man and embraced him. The poor fellow, knowing no etiquette, made a clumsy botch of the kiss; but you should have heard the cheering. “You are all my kindred, every one of you from now on.” His voice, without disguise, had broken. He came forward with outstretched hands.
I stopped counting how many pressed up to kiss him. His cheeks were glistening. They must have tasted his tears.
All the rest of the day, he spent rearranging the new commands, under Persian names, alongside the Macedonian, without any Persian commander losing face. It did not seem to give him very much trouble. My belief is, he’d had it all in his head before.
He came to bed dead tired; but his smile was a smile of triumph. Well, he had earned it. “They changed their minds,” he said. “I thought they might. We have been a long time together.”
“Al’skander,” I said. He turned his smile on me. It was so close to the tip of my tongue, I almost said it: “I have seen the great courtesans of Babylon and Susa. I have seen the cream from Corinth. I used to think I was not so mean in the art myself. But the crown is yours.”
However, one could not be quite sure he would understand; so I said instead, “Kyros would have been proud to accomplish that.”
“Kyros …? You’ve given me a thought. What would he do now? He would hold a Feast of Reconcilement.”
He held it before the veterans left for home. It was as grand as the wedding, except that we’d left the awnings at Susa. In the midst of the Palace square was an enormous dais, where all the nine thousand guests could see the royal table, at which sat around him the chief Macedonians and Persians, with the leaders of the allies. Greek seers and Magi invoked the gods together. All those at the feast had equal honors; except that the Macedonians sat next him. He couldn’t deny that to the old, forgiven lover, after all those kisses and tears.
To me, of course, it made a certain difference. At a real Persian court, a royal favorite, even though he takes no bribes, is treated with much respect. No one offends him. Still, it would have been a shadow of the substance I had already. I did not grieve that Hephaistion sat beside him; it was the Chiliarch’s formal right. He had not used the great Reconcilement to make his peace with Eumenes. I thought to myself, Al’skander knows he’d not have asked me in vain.
So, when he lifted the great loving-cup to the sound of trumpets, and begged the gods to give us all kinds of blessings, but harmony between Macedonians and Persians above all, I drank with a whole heart, and drank again to the hope reborn in his face.
All is well, I thought. And soon we go to the hills. Once more, after so long, I shall see the sevenfold walls of beautiful Ekbatana.
27
THE VETERANS WERE SENT off with love and money. Krateros was leading them. In Macedon, he was to take the regency; Antipatros would come out in his place.
This was high politics. Alexander just said that Krateros needed sick-leave. Some said he wanted sick-leave himself from his mother’s and regent’s endless intrigues and bickerings, which might end in civil war; others, that he thought Antipatros had ruled
like a king so long, he might start to think he was one. He had been faithful; but all this while he’d expected Alexander to be coming back. He was getting rather too purple, was what Alexander said.
In his parting speech to the veterans, he said, “I honor you by trusting you to Krateros, my most loyal follower, whom I love as my own life.” Most loyal …? It passed well enough, in a speech of thanks and farewell.
To shake hands with Eumenes may well have been the first thing Hephaistion had refused to Alexander. Now every day made it harder. Eumenes had humbled himself to come forward first; no man of his standing, once rebuffed, was going to do it twice. Meeting they exchanged cold stares; apart, each said what he thought of the other to whoever would pass it on.
You may say that here was my chance. Anyone used to courts will say so. I would have said it once; I knew better now. Alexander, of whom men tell many legends, lived by his own. Achilles must have Patroklos. He might love his Briseis; but Patroklos was the friend till death. At their tombs in Troy, Alexander and Hephaistion had sacrificed together. Wound Patroklos, and Achilles will have your blood. Eumenes knew; he’d known them since they were boys.
So, instead of telling tales and making mischief, I gave no sign that I even knew of trouble. That legend was a limb of Alexander. His very blood flowed into it. If anyone bruised it, let it be Hephaistion himself, not I. Besides, there was that morning in the desert.
The court set out for Ekbatana. Stateira was left with her grandmother at Susa. Roxane was brought along.
We had a diversion on the way. Atropates satrap of Media, who’d heard of Alexander’s dealings with other satraps, planned a little treat for him. The first time he’d passed that way, he’d asked whether the race of Amazons, mentioned by Herodotos, was still alive. Atropates had had none to offer, and must have been brooding on it ever since.
One morning, a silvery bugle-call echoed back and forth along the pass we’d camped in. Up pranced a troop of cavalry, daintily armed with round shields and little axes. The leader leaped from her horse, saluted Alexander, and told him they had been sent by Atropates. She had the right breast bare, as in all the legends, and small enough. As the left was covered, there was no knowing if that one was any bigger.
