The Road to Alexander

by Jennifer Macaire

  ‘Yes, sir!’ He saluted.

  Alexander had two soldiers make a hand-chair for me, and they carried me back to the tent.

  ‘I can’t believe you wore these!’ he kept exclaiming.

  ‘They were given to me,’ I explained.

  Alexander couldn’t get over it. My itchy linen robe had been the very finest quality, thanks to the machine that wove it, but my shoes had been a dismal failure and he was disappointed in the gods’ choice of footwear.

  I tried to explain that the gods had nothing to do with my sandals but fell asleep in the middle of my sentence. It wasn’t that important anyway, I thought.

  There was a new pair of sandals on the rug the next morning. They fitted perfectly. My old ones had disappeared, and I didn’t find out where they’d gone until I went into the village and passed by the temple. There, on the altar, were my sandals.

  Fresh flowers, a bowl of warm milk, and a small snail made of clay surrounded them. A young girl in temple robes sat next to them murmuring a prayer. I tried to speak to her in Greek, but she didn’t understand me. I pursed my lips and went to find Nassar. Maybe he could explain.

  Nassar was writing a letter for a tough-looking soldier. They were both sitting on a mat made of reeds, and every once in a while Nassar would throw his pen away and break off a reed. He would sharpen it quickly with his teeth and I realized with a small start that his front teeth had been carefully cut at a bias to trim reeds into pens. It was interesting and I resolved to have him explain how it was done. He dipped the reed into a little clay pot of ink and wrote on a rather cheap piece of papyrus. A dozen rolled-up letters were lying beside him, each one flattened and sealed with a blob of wax. He’d been busy all morning. When he finished the letter he rolled it up, tied it with a piece of grass and sealed it with hard wax. Then he flattened the whole thing with his fist, wrote the address on the outside, and placed it on top of the pile.

  ‘Next?’ he called out in his nasal voice.

  ‘Good morning, Nassar,’ I said as I approached.

  He held his arms up in a stiff salute and then bowed, touching his forehead to the mat. ‘Hail, Demeter’s daughter,’ he intoned.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ I was upset. ‘Who told you that, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, everyone knows,’ he said smugly.

  ‘Well, I’d like you to come to the temple with me to see about a pair of shoes,’ I said.

  ‘Oh! The Sacred Sandals! I should be honoured! May I touch them, O daughter of Demeter?’

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. ‘They aren’t sacred sandals,’ I said. ‘And of course you can touch them. There’s been a mistake.’

  ‘They weren’t your sandals? The captain of the guards took them to the shoemaker early this morning to have a copy made in leather and gave the originals to the temple. It is not a coincidence that the goddess of the harvest, Demeter, guards this town. It was why you were sent here. Now that Iskander has rescued you, the harvest is sure to be fantastic this year.’

  ‘But isn’t the village protected by Ishtar?’

  ‘It was, but it’s becoming Hellenicised. Now it has adopted Demeter, goddess of the harvest, because of what Iskander said last night in his speech.’

  ‘His speech? What did he say?’

  ‘You should have asked me to translate,’ he said, reproach in his voice. ‘He said he was glad to be there and that he hoped the play would be entertaining, that he and his soldiers were very happy in the village, and he was honoured everyone had made them feel so welcome, and how the two cultures would complement each other.’ Nassar took a deep breath, like a swimmer, and plunged in again. ‘He said that the gods of Greece were stronger than our gods so we’d do well to adopt theirs. He said you had been sent as a sign and that he’d saved you from Hades himself, so Demeter would for ever be grateful. He said that as a goddess you would personally see to the welfare of the village.’ He finished in a rush and smiled at me. ‘I’m no longer an atheist,’ he said proudly. ‘I believe in you. Why, if I want, I can actually touch your sandals.’

  I closed my eyes again and waited for the wave of pain that was sure to come. Pretending to be a goddess must rate among the three top reasons for erasing a time-travelling journalist. After a few seconds I opened one eye, then the other. Nothing had happened. I was still sitting in front of Nassar, and he was watching me with a rapt expression on his narrow, rat-like face.

  ‘Did your mother speak to you?’ he whispered, his eyes wide.

  ‘No. No, she didn’t. Excuse me, Nassar, but I think I’ll just go lie down. I have to think about all this.’ I stood up, shivering with disquiet, and walked back to the tent where Alexander was having a game of dice with a tall man I recognized as the village priest. I wondered if I could sneak away, but they turned and saw me.

  ‘Oh! There you are!’ cried Alexander, standing up and holding out his arms. ‘I was worried. Did you find your new shoes? Yes, I see you did. The village priest has come to thank you for your sandals. In exchange, he has agreed to forsake all virgin sacrifices. Isn’t that wonderful? Your mother will be thrilled.’

  ‘I’m sure she will be,’ I said with the utmost truthfulness. Then I went into the tent and collapsed.

  Alexander came in to join me about an hour later. He stretched out on the bed next to me and tickled my back until I finally turned to face him.

  ‘Is it so very difficult?’ he asked me, his face a study in sorrow.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Living with mortals. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy. I wasn’t thinking when I snatched you from Hades’ grasp. I thought you wouldn’t want to go back. I admit to being selfish, I wanted to keep you by my side, but I didn’t think of the consequences. Will they be terrible? Will your mother put a curse on me? Is it too late for you to go back?’

  I thought about what to say. Alexander folded his arms beneath his chin and waited patiently. Today, his eyes had the candid stare of a lion.

  ‘I can never go back,’ I said, ‘at least not in your lifetime.’

  ‘You’re bound to me for my lifetime,’ said Alexander. He said it as if he were pronouncing vows and I shivered.

  ‘I did want to go back. But some of it was my fault because part of me wanted to stay here with you, and I was lost because I couldn’t make myself clear.’ I was silent again, watching him. His stare never wavered. ‘My mother will not put a curse on you,’ I said. ‘You will never have to worry about that.’

  ‘But what about Hades?’ he asked. ‘I’ve cheated him out of a bride.’

  ‘We won’t have to worry about him either.’

  ‘Am I so important?’ He was serious.

  ‘You are extremely important,’ I answered.

  ‘I must be careful then, not to draw the gods’ choler upon me. You will guide me.’

  I shook my head. ‘You must not change in the least,’ I said. ‘You have to go on as if I weren’t here, and do exactly what you always planned on doing. It’s not my presence that will change anything. And I can’t advise you, I ... I made a promise.’

  ‘And I will make one to you. You will never regret being captured by Iskander of Macedonia. I pledge my army to protect you and my heart to hold you.’

  He rolled over on the bed and reached into the green jade bowl full of fresh fruit. ‘Here, have a grape.’

  He fed me grapes and we kissed. I loved kissing him, he gave it all of his attention, and it was a particularly intense experience.

  He broke off every now and then to ask me questions.

  ‘Can you be injured?’ he asked.

  ‘I can die,’ I said.

  ‘You're trapped in a mortal body now?’ He was fascinated.

  ‘I am as mortal as you.’

  ‘How interesting. I suppose that when your body dies your spirit returns to the gods and you take your natural form.’

  I winced. ‘Something like that.’

  We kissed some more, then: ‘Will you die before I do?’ He sounded worried.


  ‘Perhaps. If I’m wounded or get sick.’

  ‘Won’t that be a new experience for you? No, I’m being foolish. The gods have walked among us often and I suppose you have come previously as well. If you die before I do, I shall give you a magnificent tomb.’

  ‘No!’ I spoke quickly. ‘No. If I die before you, promise not to do anything to attract attention. Simply burn my body and scatter the ashes.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ I kissed him some more then began to tremble. I was frightened. Strange as Alexander’s words were, they showed me the reality of my situation. I wasn’t going anywhere, and in two days Nearchus was coming back with half of Alexander’s army, and he would likely try and kill me.

  ‘Why are you shivering?’ He tipped my chin up and gently kissed my cheeks. ‘Do you miss your mother?’

  ‘No.’ At least I could always tell the truth to him, however he cared to interpret it.

  * * *

  Nearchus arrived with the clarion cry of trumpets and the crash of cymbals. He was a tall man, well made and haughty, with shining golden hair he didn’t need to dye. He walked across the uneven ground and knelt at Alexander’s feet. Behind him stood the army, the sun glinting off their spears and shields. The men were silent. I’d expected something noisier, less disciplined, but then I realized Alexander had shifted back into the soldier-mode. He was no longer resting, and the army had become a fighting force.

  The two halves of the army melded together like molten bronze. Tents were set up and the camp expanded, but it was done effortlessly and in a silence that let the sound of children’s clear voices shine through. The children had gathered to watch the soldiers.

  Another man stood out from the crowd. Unlike Alexander and Nearchus, his hair was cut very short and it was dark. His complexion was olive, his features neat and smooth. I noticed him because he was trying so hard to go unnoticed. He blended into the air around him, into the soft murmur of voices and the quick movements of the soldiers. Nothing he did was designed to call attention to himself. Perhaps it was for that reason I saw him before Alexander did.

  Alexander had moved to my side. His actions were unconscious, but his mind worked superbly on both levels. The soldiers knew who I was purported to be, and they looked sideways at me, showing the whites of their eyes like spooked horses.

  Nearchus stood next to Alexander, and his face, when he turned it towards me, was grave and respectful. His eyes were dark blue and flat, like wet slate. They gave little away.

  However, the other man looked at me with eyes as bright as amber glass. ‘Who is that?’ I asked Alexander.

  He followed my gaze and blenched. ‘Plexis,’ he breathed. To Nearchus he said, ‘Plexis followed you.’ It was a statement. His voice was blank.

  Nearchus seemed to shrink. ‘I have letters.’

  ‘I’ll read them later. What does he want?’

  ‘To find out what you’re planning to do, I suppose.’

  Alexander considered this then asked, ‘Why now?’

  ‘Because he’ll have to know sometime. He has a lot at stake in your army.’

  Alexander nodded. ‘A lot indeed.’ He stepped forward to greet the dark-haired man. ‘Plexis,’ he said.

  The man bowed low to him, then to me. He faced Alexander and spoke to him in a language I did not understand. Alexander replied in Greek, which seemed to annoy Plexis.

  ‘We are not alone,’ Alexander told him. ‘The gods themselves are with us.’

  ‘Beware the gods’ favour,’ said Plexis, in Greek now.

  ‘Perhaps I have been punished enough,’ said Alexander in a voice I didn’t recognize.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Plexis, earning an in-drawn breath like a whistle from Nearchus.

  Alexander simply shrugged. ‘We shall see,’ he said. Then, in a low voice, ‘Will you ever forgive me, Plexis?’

  The dark-haired man didn’t speak, but the pain in his eyes seemed to answer for him, and Alexander turned with a curse and disappeared into his tent.

  Plexis stared after him. ‘Iskander,’ he said softly. The look he gave me was assessing. He smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. I had long ago learned to tell smiles apart. His said, as clearly as words, ‘Whoever you are, if you get in my way I will destroy you.’

  I gave him my frostiest stare, the one that cowed even my mother, but his smile didn’t waver.

  He bowed and left us, walking towards the village with a light step. I caught my breath and looked towards Alexander’s tent. Something was going to happen, and I wasn’t sure what it was. I hoped it wasn’t what I thought. The name Plexis meant nothing to me, which was, I reflected, either a very good sign or a very bad one. I resolved to watch him carefully.

  That evening there was a banquet. Alexander managed to drag it out until the early hours, calling for more songs, more stories, and more games, until everyone was hoarse and falling from exhaustion.

  Nearchus had excused himself rather early, but Plexis stayed with us. He didn’t sing or tell jokes. He seemed to drink a prodigious amount of wine and never get drunk. My own head was swimming, but I kept part of it clear to watch him. Alexander seemed to have no compulsion to do so. He drank steadily, until, when the sky started to pale, he pitched forward onto the ground and three soldiers carried him back to his tent. Plexis helped, and then without asking me, lay down next to Alexander, holding his head next to his breast. Alexander swam out of his sleep and tried to extricate himself, but Plexis held on tightly, crooning to him in a low voice. He was not speaking Greek. Before he passed out again, Alexander moaned and cried out, as if in great pain, ‘No! Cxious! I’ve atoned for my sins!’ I couldn’t see what had happened, but Plexis started cursing.

  I wrapped myself in Alexander’s cloak and slept fitfully on the rug.

  When I awoke, Plexis was gone.

  Alexander woke up in a cheerful mood, seemingly unaffected by the party, but I was hung-over and shaky. I wanted to ask him who Plexis was, but it was not the time or the place.

  Befitting my rank as daughter of an authentic goddess, I was draped in purple wool and sweltered in the front row to welcome Nearchus officially and bless the army.

  I couldn’t wriggle out of that one, but I’d managed to convince Alexander that the village priest was supposed to do all the talking, since my Greek was atrocious just now.

  Nearchus stood next to me. He was very good about hiding his feelings but I was an expert, and no one living in that century could hide his feelings from me. His eyes shifted ever so subtly towards Alexander and his lips narrowed imperceptibly – except that I saw. My own face could have been carved from ice.

  Wool covered me from head to foot; Alexander had draped me according to Athenian custom. The large rectangle of cloth was crossed right over left with the points hanging down in front and back. I held it together from the inside with my left hand, freeing my right hand. I raised it in a solemn salute. Nearchus saluted me in return. His movement was brusque, almost to the point of rudeness. Almost. The fear in his eyes gave him away.

  Alexander gave a ceremonial speech for Nearchus, and a kiss, which was less ceremonial, but not enough so to appease Nearchus. Then he let the village priest speak.

  The priest made a very long speech, which glazed everyone’s eyes and brought on a plague of yawns. After what seemed like hours, a white goat was dragged to a flat rock, and I was handed a knife.

  I had been watching Plexis, who stood in a place of honour next to Alexander. He didn’t act bored, or interested, or anything. He was simply ‘there,’ and it was his lack of any emotion that was the most unsettling. I realized that I must seem like that to everyone around me.

  When the priest handed me the knife, I was startled out of my reverie. Horrified, I stared at it. I’d never killed an animal in my life. I could hardly step on an ant without feeling queasy. The sight of blood made me faint. Everyone was looking at me now, expectant. Plexis stared at me, the faintest hint of a sa
rdonic smile tugging his lips.

  I raised the dagger and swore at it in English, figuring that would sound mysterious. Then I closed my eyes and tipped my head, as if I were listening to some tiny voice from beyond. I nodded, opened my eyes, and handed the knife back to the priest. He looked confused and glanced at Alexander who in turn looked at me, frowning.

  ‘What is the matter?’ he whispered.

  ‘I can’t kill anything,’ I whispered back.

  His face cleared and he nodded imperiously to the priest. ‘Go ahead, the knife has been purified.’

  The priest killed the goat, the blood spurted out over my feet, and I fainted. Everyone was most impressed and quite happy with the ceremony, for fainting was taken as an excellent omen. The goat’s liver was intact – no lobes missing – which was another good omen. And a sudden shower blew over the mountains, which made everyone absolutely ecstatic, rain being the ultimate blessing from the gods.

  I was carried back to the tent.

  Nearchus and Alexander sat on the floor and talked in low tones, while I was laid out on the bed. Brazza took the horrid, itchy wool cape off me and cooled me with a large fan made of fragrant sandalwood. I felt much better.

  After a while Nearchus went away. Brazza left in response to a small nod from Alexander, who sat down by my side and ran his thumb down my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, and over my lips.

  ‘You can’t kill,’ he said quietly.

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. My head hurt; nothing new there. I wished for the thousandth time that aspirin had been invented. ‘Who is Plexis?’ I asked.

  He sighed and looked down at his feet. ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘No, I never heard of him.’

  His eyebrows lifted and his face seemed to loose its edges. ‘His name is Hephaestion, but we always called him Plexis. He was my best friend.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘I killed his brother.’ He looked past me to the doorway, and his eyes were bleak. ‘I killed his brother in a fit of rage. After that, I swore I’d never lose my temper again. Plexis has appointed himself as a moral guardian, if you like, to my promise. He’s also invested all of his fortune in my army. If my venture fails I will ruin his entire family.’