The Road to Alexander

by Jennifer Macaire

  ‘So you’re hungry?’

  I rubbed my aching head and groaned. ‘How long have I been sleeping?’

  ‘An hour, perhaps less. I didn’t want to wake you because you snore so peacefully.’

  ‘Do I really?’

  ‘You do. But I don't mind. I have heard I snore too.’ He tapped his large, aquiline nose. ‘It’s a sign of good health.’

  ‘Listen, Iskander, I’m sorry, but I’d like to take just a few minutes of your time and ask some questions. I hope you don’t mind this new tactic; it’s called “not having much time left and being in a hurry”.’

  He looked amused. ‘How interesting. A “tactic”. Perhaps I shall learn something. Ask away, by all means.’

  ‘What are your ambitions? I mean, besides seeing the ends of the earth?’

  He stared at me. ‘How did you know about wanting to see the ends of the earth? Who told you that?’

  ‘Uh ...’ I didn’t like the look in his narrowed eyes. In a minute he’d call for his guards and have me executed for spying or something. I tried to think of something to say.

  Then Alexander snapped his fingers. ‘That’s right, you’re an onirocrite. You must have dreamed about that. My immediate ambition is to finish conquering the Persians. We’ve passed Gaugamela, and we’re heading towards Babylon. Then I will go to Alexandria and make her the most beautiful city in the world. I will rule Egypt, Greece, and Macedonia. I will give Babylon to my mother – maybe that will keep her busy.’ His smile was like quicksilver dashing across his face.

  I was surprised. ‘And what about the rest of Persia, and India?’

  His expression was thoughtful. ‘I never thought of those places. Why do you ask?’

  I frowned. There were strict rules to time-travel journalism, and one was you couldn’t give anything about the subject’s future away. Alexander was supposed to go to the ends of Persia and into the heart of India. He just didn’t know why yet, I supposed. Disappointment was a bitter taste in my mouth. ‘I’m just curious. I got the impression from my dream that you were interested in India.’

  ‘No. I’m interested in Alexandria,’ he said bluntly, and went back to his writing.

  ‘Don’t you have parchment?’ I asked, pointing to the clay tablet.

  ‘Yes, but I like writing cuneiform on clay. It’s a very satisfying sensation.’

  ‘How many languages do you speak?’ I asked, desperate for information.

  ‘Well, now that’s a good question.’ He scratched his temple thoughtfully with the nib of the reed, leaving a faint, red mark of clay. ‘Greek of course, and Egyptian. Macedonian, Persian, and some of the mountain dialects the barbarians use. They say I pick up languages quickly.’

  ‘Ah. And where is Nearchus?’ I asked.

  He stopped writing and looked at me with a frown. ‘Why do you ask? Do you know Nearchus?’

  ‘No, but I know he’s very close to you. Has he gone ahead to scout?’

  ‘Nearchus doesn’t scout.’ Alexander stood up and walked towards me, stepping on my wig. ‘Sorry,’ he said, kicking it to one side. ‘No, Nearchus has gone to see about the boats. I have a naval army. Nearchus is fascinated with the sea. I’m going to tell you something nobody else knows; I get seasickness.’ He nodded. ‘It’s true. I admire Nearchus because he never vomits when he goes out on those infernal boats. I’ve put him in charge of the navy. It keeps him out of trouble, too. He’s quite possessive of me and I suspect him of trying to poison my wife.’ He shrugged. ‘It was either Nearchus or my mother, I’m not sure which, but at any rate, the girl’s still alive.’ He paused and stared at the clay tablet, then shook his head. ‘It’s quite amazing to have a city named after oneself, don’t you think? I never would have thought of it myself, but Nearchus insisted, so there it is. Alexandria. A lovely city.’ He spoke dreamily, and went back to his table and started writing again. He was the kind of person who couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes.

  I picked up my wig and looked at it. It was bent out of shape. If I put it on now I would look like one of those fancy chickens with feathers popping out all over their heads. I sighed and tried to straighten it out anyway. The interview was not going as I’d planned. I tried to think of a pertinent question but gave up. I looked at Alexander sitting at his table. His face was grave. Light from a small opening in the tent fell on the clay tablet so that he could work, and it showed his pensive expression. His face was all angles, and yet it was so well put together it was harmonious and noble. His nose was long and high-bridged. His profile looked like the one on a Greek coin. Was his fame such that he was already on coins? I asked him.

  ‘No, that’s my father. Surely you know that? Or are vestal virgins so protected they can’t even touch money?’

  ‘We’re fairly well guarded,’ I said sadly. I was sad. I knew that my time was running out and that I had to leave soon. I knew that he was on the most glorious part of his campaign, and soon he would conquer Persia, Bactria, Sogdia, part of India, and then return to Babylon. However, his reign would end when he was only thirty-three, and that, to me, was the greatest tragedy. That this young man would die so early was heartbreaking. He seemed so vital, so full of life and energy, even when sitting motionless behind his desk. He made me feel as insubstantial as mist. I wanted to touch him, to feel his arms around me. I needed him to make me real. A tremor ran through me. Was it because I was so far from my own time that I felt hollow? The words of one of my classmates came back to me. ‘Permafrost,’ she’d called me. I bit my lip. For the first time in my life, I wished I could show just one iota of the feelings inside me. I did feel things. When I looked at Alexander, there was a shiver inside me that I’d never experienced. It started at my toes and rose to my belly, where it seemed to blossom like a flame. Then it travelled to my chest, making it hard to breathe. I had no idea what was happening to me. Maybe it was only the flu.

  I looked at him, and he stared back at me with his uncommon eyes. Something stirred in my heart, and my feelings must have showed. He moved with his usual quick grace and was beside me in an instant. His arms were around me and I forgot everything else. I forgot my resolutions, my sore feet, my interview, and my vestal virgin act. I clung to him and I didn’t protest when he took my robe off and flung it to the far side of the tent.

  He made love with the same fierce concentration he gave to everything else. It was like a storm that mounted in the heavens and then let itself out in a rush. I don’t mean to say it was over in a flash, but the very intensity of it made it impossible to sustain for very long. At first he was gentle. He didn’t hurry. He was absorbed in his movements, attuned to my slightest reaction. I tried to concentrate, but each time his skin touched mine my thoughts scattered and waves of pleasure blinded me – I closed my eyes and pressed myself closer to him, every nerve in my body tingling. Then a frenzy overcame us. When he cried out, I felt my belly convulse. Afterward we both trembled in each other’s arms. My body quivered and his answered mine. Our hands were entwined.

  I tried to analyze my emotions, but they were too new. I’d never felt like this before and it dazed me. I tried to recover my detachment. To my relief, my heart slowed, my breathing evened out, and I was able to think again.

  Alexander rolled over and looked at me from beneath ridiculously long lashes. His eyes were shadowed and his regard was serious. ‘Was it the first time for you?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ I moved my hips, feeling a slight ache. My tongue probed my lip and found it swollen. ‘It’s been ... such a long time,’ I said. I wanted to laugh, or cry. But the emotions stayed bottled inside me. I wanted to tell him that he was the first person to ever make love to me; my husband had only taken me by force and I’d never wanted to try with anyone else. But the words stayed locked in my throat. All I could do was sigh and put my hand lightly on his cheek.

  He took it and kissed my palm. ‘I will be gentler next time.’

  The thought that there would be a next time brought a flush
to my cheeks. He chuckled softly and gathered me into his arms. I wanted to stay there for ever, wrapped in his strong arms, but it was so hot that we couldn’t lie together long.

  We slipped out the back of the tent and dashed to the river. I think perhaps the whole camp saw us, but no one made hooting noises or catcalls, as they would have if a modern-day army general suddenly took it in his head to go skinny-dipping with a lady in the middle of a war campaign. In fact, they were very polite and pointedly abandoned the area, leaving us in peace.

  We floated in the water. Sometimes we’d come together and touch, and then we’d separate and float. After about a half an hour we made love again, in the water this time. It was wonderful. I liked the way his eyes got darker when he was aroused. He also proved to be a dramatic kisser; I could have spent all day kissing him and never tire of it. I told myself it was ‘just research’, that the warmth I felt when he held me, and the tingling that grew in my belly whenever he looked at me, were just signs of clinical investigation. I’d never made love before, I told myself sternly, so it was normal that I was curious about it. My training reasserted itself.

  ‘Tell me about your teacher, Aristotle,’ I said, trying for more information for my article.

  ‘He was a bit mad, but in a nice way. He loved to take walks down by the ocean, and he’d give me all his lessons with a long stick in his hand. He used the stick to draw diagrams in the sand, or to hit me over the head if I didn’t pay attention.’ He grinned. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t very attentive.’

  ‘What was the most important thing he taught you?’ I asked.

  ‘He told me to watch out for poison. I think that’s one of the most practical things he taught me. He also taught me to withstand my mother. It wasn’t easy. She’s part-goddess, you know, and she’s got a terrible temper.’

  That wasn’t what I’d expected. ‘Does that make you part-god?’ I asked, drawing my finger lightly down his forehead, his nose and over his full lips. He seized my finger between his teeth and bit down gently. Then he teased it with the tip of his tongue.

  He took my finger out of his mouth. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Aristotle said it was twaddle, and that Olympias just liked to put on airs. She admired him. Do you know why? Because he was the only one who never took her seriously.’ He stopped talking and grabbed my shoulders. ‘Enough about me. Who are you? Where are you from? What do you want from me?’ He gripped me hard enough to make me wince, but he didn’t let go.

  I thought about the day I broke my ex-husband’s nose. The day I finally knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to go back in time and meet Alexander the Great. And here I was. ‘Where I’m from is not important,’ I said. ‘I’ve been in love with you since I the day I first heard about you. And I wanted to meet you, to actually meet you in person.’

  ‘You’ve been in love with me?’ He let go.

  Love? I’d just said ‘love’? I felt a rush of heat wash over me as my predicament hit me. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ My cheeks burned. I’d never told anyone I loved them, and Alexander simply looked surprised. I was expecting something else, as usual.

  ‘Love, what a strange emotion. Aristotle used to say that love was a secondary emotion, that it was linked to the humours and should be quenched as much as possible. But then again, he was a dried-up old man with a sour wife, so what did he know? Love. I never thought much about it. I think I love my horse. Have you seen him? I must show him to you, he’s amazing. I admired my father, and I hate my mother, so, according to Aristotle, I love her too, because he told me the two humours go hand in hand. But how can you love me without knowing me? Without seeing me? By just hearing about me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘But ever since I can remember I’ve loved you. I turned down so many suitors because of you I became known as the “Ice Queen”.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, that suits you. You had that coldness about you when I first saw you. Not now, of course – now you are more of a volcano princess.’

  I dunked him under the water and he came up sputtering and laughing.

  ‘I have a proposition for you, my little volcano. Come with me. Be my consort. I will even marry you if you want. You’ll be my second wife; I have one already. She’s a barbarian princess who stayed with her family. I married her for political reasons; I shall marry you for love. What do you say? Shall we? It will be unique, and I will write a letter to Mother tonight. It will make her so angry she’ll probably call down a plague upon us, or something. What’s the matter? Why did you shiver?’

  ‘I'm chilly. The sun is setting.’ I pointed to the darkening sky.

  ‘We’d better go inside. The mosquitoes are dreadful, they come out in swarms.’

  I shivered again. He would most likely die of malaria, given to him by a mosquito. One buzzed around my head and I slapped it away. We climbed out of the water and he held up a white linen robe and wrapped it around me. He had one too.

  ‘My soldiers left them for me,’ he explained. ‘I usually bathe in the evening.’

  ‘With a woman?’ I asked, stunned by a sharp pang of jealousy. I had definitely lost my mind and fallen apart.

  ‘A woman or a man. Sometimes both.’ He put his arms around me and hugged me. ‘But you’re the first to tell me you loved me.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  He grimaced. ‘I think I heard my mother say “I love you” once, but she was gazing into a mirror at the time, and I believe she was talking to herself, not to me. To me she’d say, “Iskander! Take that thumb out of your mouth and stop whining.”!’ He shook his head. ‘I never whined, ever.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t!’ I put my hand on his shoulder and we walked back to the tent. My heart was breaking. I had to leave soon and I didn’t want to. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Alexander; he made me think of the sun. He was so brilliant. He was so perfect physically, so sharp mentally, so forceful and proud, and yet he had something vulnerable that shone in his smile and in his parti-coloured eyes. I took a deep breath and berated myself. My trip, so far, had been an abysmal failure. I dug my fingernails into my palms.

  When we got to the tent he took a linen towel and rubbed me dry, and then he smoothed perfumed oil over my body so that I was soft and scented. A soldier came in, placed a tray of food on the table, and left without a word. But Alexander called out, ‘Thank you!’ I swear the man blushed.

  ‘Everyone is in awe of me, now that I’ve beaten Darius,’ he said, taking a piece of grilled squab and wrapping it tenderly in marinated grape leaves. He popped it into my mouth. ‘You can be my poison taster tonight,’ he said cheerfully. Then, seeing my eyes widen, ‘No, I’m just teasing. My servants prepare my food, and it’s been tested already.’

  I swallowed and smiled bravely. ‘I'd be honoured to die in your place.’ Well, I already knew it wasn’t poisoned.

  ‘Oh, what a sweet little dream weaver you are!’ he cried. ‘Well, not so little. You’re almost as tall as I am. The barbarian girl, if you can believe it, towers over me. She looks like a bear. She has more hair on her body than an Egyptian ape. Fascinating. She even has a little beard, which I asked her to shave, seeing as I shave mine. She looked much better with the beard, actually.’ He chuckled. ‘But she’s a nice girl. She can throw a spear farther than Nearchus, and she told him that if she caught him sneaking around her tent again she’d cut off his balls and stuff them down his throat.’

  ‘Nice girl,’ I agreed.

  ‘Nearchus is jealous, you see.’

  ‘I hope I’m gone before he comes back, then,’ I said. ‘I’m not good at defending myself.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother about him. I’ll send him off on another trip. Maybe to India, how does that sound? You gave me the idea. I’ll tell him not to come back until he can speak in their language. Fluently. He’ll be gone fifty years. He has no ear at all for languages. He picks up the swear words fast enough, though. I suppose it’s a sailor’s thing.’

  We stoppe
d talking for a while and ate dinner. The food was delicately prepared and very good. I especially liked the persimmons. They were cooked with a spicy honey sauce. We lay on the rug and fed each other, licking each other’s lips and fingers, and ended up making love again.

  Afterwards, we just stared at each other. I wanted to remember each plane of his face, each curve of his body, each muscle, each bone, each expression. I touched his mouth, his nose, his hair, and he lay there purring like a cat. His magnificent eyes, with their sweeping dark eyelashes, were half closed. He was relaxed to the point of bonelessness, but I could sense the energy running like an electrical current through his veins. That energy would drive him all the way to India, and he would conquer the biggest empire the world had ever known. The warmth emanating from him surrounded everyone who came into his sphere. I saw his soldiers react to it. He was a warrior, with a warrior’s reflexes, yet he had a philosopher’s mind, curious and far-reaching. He was also physically imposing and inordinately handsome. The combination was seductive. He was the sort of person people would die for, and I had fallen under his spell.

  I’d never been in love before. I never even considered the possibility. I’d always assumed my heart was as frozen as my icy-blue gaze. Now I was lying next to someone whose presence made my heart pound. It was disconcerting. I wasn’t sure if I was in a hurry to leave, or if I wanted this evening to last for ever. I was confused, and for the first time in my life, felt vulnerable. A strange longing came over me, but for what, I could not tell.

  We lay on the rug as night crept over the river valley. Purple shadows slid down the mountainside, then the stars came out. We looked through the opening in the top of the tent, and he pointed out the constellations.

  ‘There’s the swan, and the great hunter, Orion, with his dog. Underneath is the Lion, my sign. Over there is the virgin, Hestia, your sign.’ He paused and propped himself up on his elbow. ‘You weren’t really a vestal virgin,’ he said, reproach in his eyes.