by David Alkek
"What others?" Cebalinos told him the others that his brother had named.
"How long did your brother know this before he told you?"
"As soon as he could find me, and told me to tell you."
"Are you saying this happened today as we were making camp?"
"No, Sire, it was two days ago. That's why I came now, to report directly to you."
"Two days!" Alexander exploded. "You knew this for two days, because you are in on it, weren't you?" Alexander looked at him through slitted eyes.
"No, Sire," he insisted with a croak. "I went as soon as I heard to your tent and reported it. The officer said that you were busy, but that he would tell you as soon as you were free. Again the next day I reported to him, and he gave me the same answer. Then when my brother saw that Dymnos and the others were still free, he said that I must report to you in person myself."
"Your brother was right. What officer was it that you gave the report to?" Alexander looked at him with expectation.
"General Philotas, my King."
Alexander repeated his name, at first in disbelief, but then with a look of understanding washing across his face.
Philotas was the son of Parmenion, Alexander's second-in-command. He was the Commander of the Companions, the most prestigious cavalry unit, that Alexander himself had commanded under his father. Even though he had been friends with Alexander since childhood, he had made no secret of resenting Alexander's claim of being a son of Zeus, and of his taking credit for all the army's victories.
Alexander told Cebalinos that he and his brother would not be harmed, and for him to bring Nicomachus to his headquarters for questioning. Back in his room, Alexander ate a light supper and called for his senior officers.
Hephaestion, Ptolemy, Perdiccas, and Craterus appeared and he ordered that all roads out of the area be closed and guarded. Then he told them of the plot. They heard Nicomachus tell his story, then Alexander sent for Dymnos.
Dymnos was brought in on a stretcher by guards, blood pouring from his chest and trickling from his mouth. "Who did this?" Alexander yelled.
The head guard was white-faced, but finding his voice said, "He did it himself, Sire, apparently as he saw we were coming to arrest him."
Alexander bent over the soldier he knew, and saw him choking at the blood filling his throat. "What have I done to wrong you, Dymnos? Tell me."
The dying man's eyes focused with apparent anger and coughed out, "Barbarian," then they became fixed and he breathed no more.
After that, around midnight all the conspirators were arrested and Philotas last. He was brought before Alexander and the generals, still not completely sober from a drunken sleep.
Alexander confronted him with what Cebalinos had told him. "Why didn't you tell me when you first heard of this?"
Philotas tossed it off with a little chuckle. "I thought nothing of it. Alexander, do you want to hear of every grumble and drunken threat from anyone who feels a slight?" Alexander could hear the scorn in his voice, as if talking down to a boy.
Alexander calmly looked him directly in the eyes and said. "Dymnos has killed himself. He will not stand trial, but you and his other conspirators will. Guards, take him away."
News quickly spread around the camp the next day. Trial by the army was to be in the afternoon. It was amazing to the Persians, that the King could put no Macedonian to death without their vote. Their Great King would have immediately had the conspirators roasted to death.
The conspirators all confessed and implicated each other. Brought before the assembled troops one by one, they were shouted as guilty and taken away.
Finally, Philotas was brought before the company. The brothers gave their testimony, and many of the soldiers recalled Philotas’ pride and insolence against the King on many occasions. Whether they believed that he was a member of the conspiracy or merely failed to report it with hopes it might succeed, it was never proved. They voted him guilty of treason and sentenced him to death.
The executions would be the next day. Stakes were placed into the hard ground, and the prisoners were tied to them. The lesser soldiers were stoned, while the general faced a squad with javelins.
After the execution, Alexander ordered the death of Parmenion. He was campaigning in Ecbatana. As second only under Alexander, he had his own army that he could pay out of treasure that he had captured. Philotas had been his only living son, two others having died during their campaigns in Persia.
"Did Philotas implicate his father?" asked one of Alexander's generals after hearing of the order to kill him. "If he did, it was under the most vigorous torture."
"It doesn't matter," Alexander dismissed the question. "He must die because he may seek revenge for his son's death. Other officers and generals may join him in casting me aside. I can't trust anyone. Do as I say and send messengers with orders to kill Parmenion for treason."
The messengers went to Ecbatana, where Parmenion was campaigning. He had not heard of the plot or execution of his son.
One of the messengers went to Parmenion with a routine letter from Alexander, complimenting him on his campaign and requesting a report. The other messenger went directly to his senior officers and gave them Alexander's order. They read it, and without question, put on their armor and swords and marched to Parmenion's tent.
The old general was sitting at his desk looking at maps, when they entered unannounced. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He looked up and saw that they were armed.
"We have received a message from Alexander." They walked toward him.
Parmenion rose, "And what is it?"
His second in command displayed the letter. "He has ordered your death." They drew their swords.
"But why?" Those were the only words that Philip and Alexander's most loyal general could utter before he was cut down.
From that moment in which Alexander ordered the murder of his most able and oldest general to the end, the relationship between Alexander and the men in his army became increasingly more fractured. The officers and men became ever more discontent, Alexander becoming ever more suspicious and isolated.
Alexander, at first exalted at the uncovering of the plot to kill him and the deaths of the conspirators. He drank congratulations to himself and to his fate, which he believed was protected by the gods. The bouts of drinking became more frequent and longer as the realization seeped to the surface, that it was his most loyal and ablest officers that were conspiring against him. He realized that he could trust no one, isolated in his Royal Palace, surrounded by barbarians. Heavy droughts of wine could not bring back his sense of comradeship with his Macedonians.
Alexander replaced Philotas with Cleitus and Hephaestion with command of The Companions. They were his closest friends, yet he gave them joint command, expecting that neither would act against him without the other knowing and warning him. Cleitus had been Alexander's closest advisor ever since he saved his life at the Granicus.
Two years after the deaths of Philotas and Parmenion, Alexander was campaigning with his men in Sogdiana. After the successful campaign, he planned a victory banquet in Samarkand. The food was sumptuous as befitting the Great King and his officers. Wine ran freely, and all drank deeply, congratulating themselves on their recent victories.
One officer after another rose and toasted the leadership and bravery of Alexander and the fortitude of the men. Some of the officers were comparing Alexander's military genius with that of his father. Some defended Philip’s generals, whereas others thought that Alexander outfought them.
One of the officers, who had recently been promoted, rose to speak. "I was a young officer in King Philip's army and fought at Chaeronea with him and Alexander. Alexander's action during that engagement won the battle for us. I saw that his decision in the battle at Gaugamela, turned near defeat into overwhelming victory. I think that Alexander's military genius far outshines that of his father. I toast our King."
As the officers drank from their cups, and th
ey were being refilled, Cleitus rose to speak. Wine had loosened his tongue with candor, as it had weakened his self-constraint. "I take exception to your denigration of the memory of King Philip in praising Alexander. It is true that Alexander is brave, but he is not the military and political man that his father was. Remember, King Philip made Macedon and our army strong. He unified Greece and made possible our invasion of Persia. I think that King Philip’s achievements were much more meaningful than Alexander's."
Alexander choked on his wine and spit it out when he heard those words. Before Cleitus could propose a toast to Philip, Alexander, equally intoxicated, stood in anger at the affront. "Why you ungrateful....". He raised his hand to strike Cleitus.
Ptolemy was seated on the other side of Cleitus. He saw what Alexander was going to do and grabbed Cleitus and pulled him away. Alexander lost his balance and fell back into his seat. "You call yourself my friend," he yelled. "You're no friend."
Cleitus shot back, "More of a friend then your Persians who kiss your feet."
They both screamed insults and obscenities, while Ptolemy pushed Cleitus out of the hall. The assembled men went back to eating and drinking, having put the argument between the two men as merely drunken behavior. Alexander pulled deeply at another cup to quell the jealousy and anger that filled his gullet.
Ptolemy was escorting Cleitus down the hallway when his charge broke away. He had more to say, the wine still ruling his judgment. He stumbled back into the room to continue his tirade. He reeled drunkenly to the center of the men. Alexander watched him through a wine-soaked haze.
"You did not win our victories, your officers and men did,” Cleitus screamed. “You acted like a thoughtless youth running into danger. I saved your life at Granicus, as others saved it in other battles. You may be brave, but it is we who won your battles."
Alexander's mind clouded with rage as he turned and grasped the spear from one of the guards behind him. Before anyone could stop him, he hurled it with all of his strength at the figure in front him, yelling, “You’re a traitor!" The spear ran straight and true, penetrating Cleitus’ chest, extending out of his back. He grasped the shaft protruding from his mid-chest, a look of shock and pain on his face. He coughed as blood filled his mouth and spilled down his chin. Then his eyes glazed, turning up into his brows, as he stumbled and fell on his side.
Everyone in the room was struck dumb with shock at the horrible scene that ended with the murder of one of Alexander’s closest friends. Hephaestion, next to Alexander, said in a barely audible voice, "You killed Cleitus."
The rage in Alexander reinforced the alcoholic haze that shrouded his mind. He was not fully conscious of what he had actually done, as Hephaestion and Ptolemy put their arms under Alexander's and led him out of the hall. Staring between the men that held him up, he ranted incoherently about traitors and ungrateful officers, still unaware that he had just murdered his closest adviser and second best friend.
It was almost noon the next day when Alexander stirred and awoke in a red fog. His head pounded and his stomach rebelled at the abuse of too much wine. He sat on the side of his bed, his head in his hands. He saw that he was still in his clothes and did not remember coming to bed. Fits and flashes of the memory of drunken revelry of the night before began to seep through the hazy curtain. He vaguely remembered arguing, yelling, scuffling. He called to the guard.
"Yes, Great King," asked the youthful Persian guard, bowing deeply?
"What did I do last night?"
"What do you mean, Great King?"
"Was there an argument, a fight? Was I violent? What happened?"
"You killed Cleitus, Great King. You threw a spear through his chest."
"NO!" Alexander screamed, squeezing his temples and tearing at his hair. "NO! NO! NO!” He beat his chest, ripping at his clothes. "NO! NO! NO!” He staggered from his bed, grabbing anything he could reach and flung it at the walls.
The wide-eyed and frightened young guard slowly backed to the door and quickly shut it behind him.
Alexander was completely devastated. He groaned and cried with remorse. "What have I done? He was my loyal friend. He saved my life." He tore his clothes off and cut his hair. "I don't deserve friends; I only murder them," he ranted. He refused visitors and even food for three days.
Hephaestion and other concerned officers listened at the door to his hysteria. When Alexander seemed that he would kill himself, they barged into the room. "Alexander," Hephaestion pleaded with him, "you must listen to reason. You are the King. We need your leadership. If you killed yourself, you would throw your new Empire into chaos."
Alexander at last listened to reason, cleaned and dressed himself, and asked for food. Calming down, he refused wine and returned to his guilt-ridden and crippled self, reluctantly assuming his duties. He plodded through official acts and meetings with ministers, but was obviously depressed.
His Persian officials sought to reassure him. "Great King, since you are a living god, your actions cannot be wrong. Cleitus must have deserved the righteous punishment that you gave him. After all, he insulted your divine being." Alexander listened and nodded his head, not convinced by the Persians' arguments.
Anaxarchus, a Greek philosopher from Abdera, tried philosophic reasoning. "Alexander," he said with calm logic, "it would not be just for you to take your life, for you as Great King are justice personified. Thus logically, your action against Cleitus could not have been unjust."
Phidias also tried to talk reason to the tormented king. “Remember the promises you made to yourself to bring peace and brotherhood to your empire. You also promised me to be moderate in your drinking. Do you see where intemperance leads? You lose your judgment. Emotions take control and anger is at the surface. Thoughtless acts are the result, for which you are sorry afterward. But they cannot be undone. The only thing is to learn from your errors and misdeeds and go forward with new resolve. Now shake off your inertia and fulfill your duties as King and Commander. It is your destiny.”
Such reasoning failed to mollify Alexander's conscience or restrain him from trying to drown it in wine. Nor did this vacuous logic prevent others from openly criticizing or secretly conspiring against Alexander.
With Alexander's increasing descent into isolation and drunken paranoia, Callisthenes became more openly critical. He refused to prostrate himself to Alexander. He sent letters to Aristotle detailing Alexander's excesses and the murders of Philotas, Parmenion, and Cleitus. He was not overly critical of Alexander personally, however, because he knew that Aristotle was having to defend his actions in Athens.
Not long after the episode with Cleitus, Alexander’s spies uncovered another conspiracy against him. This time it included one of Alexander's pages, Hermolaus, whom he had unjustly punished for a minor offense. Under torture the youth implicated Callisthenes among others. Alexander summoned Callisthenes and questioned him.
"It is difficult for me to comprehend the possibility that you, my official historian, the chronicler of my campaigns and victories, would conspire to kill me."
"I did not say that I would kill you, and deny that I am part of any conspiracy that would," replied Callisthenes.
"You cannot deny that you do not condone my actions. You do not prostrate yourself before me as I have ordered, and are openly critical of those who do. You even criticize my Persian robes of royalty."
"Yes, I have spoken openly of your Oriental ways, Alexander. You're not a god, and cannot make yourself one. You can suffer pain and death as well as I and any other mortal. Your fellow Macedonians and Greeks feel degraded when forced to grovel like barbarians before you."
"Callisthenes, you do not understand the implications of my actions. You cannot see the larger world-view because of your narrow Greek vision. I can imagine a world empire, a union of peoples as my father unified all of Greece. In order for that to come to fruition, I have to gain the loyalty of all of my subject peoples under me as their leader. I must be a living and visible symbol of po
litical and religious unity. You and the Greeks and Macedonians do not consider me a god, but you must give lip service to it. You all must give me the same obeisance as the rest of the peoples I have mastered.
"I am Alexander, the King of Kings, the conqueror of Asia, and ruler of the Greeks."
"You are a product of your time, Alexander. You had a father who was a military and political genius, and inherited talented generals and a well-trained army from him. You were fortunate to face a corrupt and cowardly Darius in battle. The gods favored you, and his well-administered and wealthy Empire fell into your lap. You will rule and die and pass into history. Alexander and his exploits will only be known to posterity because of Callisthenes. It is I who will make you immortal."
"Silence! I will not listen to any more of your boasting. Take him to prison."
The plotters were tortured and hung. "Let Callisthenes stay in prison," Alexander commanded. He couldn't bring himself to order the execution of his beloved Aristotle's nephew.
Callisthenes stagnated in prison, and Alexander put him out of his mind. Nevertheless, his jailers mistreated the philosopher and fed him spoiled food. He finally succumbed to a combination of poor treatment and disease, and died while imprisoned. Alexander didn't show remorse.
Phidias was at a loss to comprehend the death of Callisthenes at Alexander's hands. He saw that paranoia fed by alcoholic bouts ruled Alexander's judgment more and more. He had murdered his best general and his son, his closest adviser, many of his officers and retainers, and now his philosopher-historian. Who will be next? How will it end?
He wrote to Aristotle of Callisthenes death and of his own impressions of what was becoming of Alexander. Aristotle read the news with dismay. "He is lost," he said to a fellow teacher at the Lyceum. "I can no longer defend him or his actions."
Chapter 30
In the army, discontent verged on open mutiny. In order to mollify his troops, Alexander announced to his generals, "Tell the troops that I will send back to Macedon the oldest veterans. I will pay them each a bonus of one talent. This is in addition to their regular pay, which will continue until they reach home. They should be very grateful for this generosity, for it will allow them to purchase farms and to retire in comfort."
