The Road to Alexander

by Jennifer Macaire

  Mazda, the king of the Persian gods, was the protector of the city named after him. Gulu, the name of the temple in which I’d been a prisoner, was the goddess of healing. But neither had resisted the earth’s shaking. Now Seleucos stood before me, waiting to see what I would do with him.

  I freed him. We went to the courthouse facing the marketplace and I asked for a magistrate who could validate a franchise. The courthouse was interesting; it had no waiting room or desk. Clerks stood in a row by the door and welcomed the clients one after another. A very long table divided the room in half, and one wall had little cubbyholes where thousands of rolled-up scrolls were stored.

  When I stated my business, the clerk called the proper magistrate. He asked Seleucos pertinent questions and examined the paper given to me by his last master. I ended up paying the court six didrachms – roughly a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Then I was instructed to shake hands with Seleucos and we had to exchange a ritual vow that separated us legally, but bound him to me for the rest of his days as a member of my family. In other words, I was his godmother, and responsible for his religious education.

  I hadn’t realized that by freeing a slave one adopted him, but that’s how it was, and now I had a godson.

  We celebrated. I bought drinks for Nabonida and Seleucos at a fruit stand. We sat in the shade of an awning, sipping our fresh orange juice while watching the crowd doing business in the market. We’d spent less than half an hour in the courthouse, and the morning was still fresh.

  ‘What will you do now?’ I asked Seleucos.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’d like to join Iskander’s army. There’s always a job for a soldier, and I enjoy travelling. His army is camped out on the plain. I thought I’d go there this morning, perhaps I’ll get recruited.’

  ‘Would you like that?’ I asked.

  ‘Very much.’ He smiled crookedly, and two dimples danced on his cheeks. His brown hair was unruly and curly; his eyes were dark grey. He had an open face, which was why I’d insisted on buying him. However, there was something more in his eyes. I sensed quiet determination that hinted at huge ambition.

  I drummed my fingers on my leg and said, ‘I know someone who will help you. Go to the palace and ask for Lysimachus. Tell him Ashley of the Sacred Sandals sent you, and that you want to serve Iskander. He will find you a job. If not, leave a message with Nabonida, and I’ll try something else.’

  He thanked me, and I said, ‘Don’t forget, you have two horses. I gave you their ownership papers.’

  His gratitude was embarrassing; I waved it away. I didn’t need a slave, or horses, or anything but my son. When I thought of him, I ached. I would find him, if I had to go to the ends of the earth.

  The ringing of bells startled me.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked Nabonida.

  ‘They are the bells for Iskander’s wedding, they will ring until the sun sets.’ Her eyes were huge and dark in her face. Will you come to the ceremony?’

  The news about the wedding sent a fresh spasm of grief through me, but I quelled it and nodded at her. ‘I will come to the ceremony of Marduk,’ I said, ‘because I must do something for the gods before I leave the city.’ There was a note in my voice that made Nabonida look at me warily.

  ‘Do you mean to save the child? It’s not yours, you know.’

  ‘It’s still a child,’ I said. ‘And to kill it is an abomination.’

  My two companions glanced at each other and then towards the market square where the bells were making conversation difficult. A scarlet flag unfurled over a market stand. A white camel walked by with a haughty swing of its long neck. Youths did handstands on the fountain wall and people pitched copper coins at them. Sunlight flashed on silver and bronze coins, glazed earthenware jars, and sparkled on the water of the fountain. Green and gold tiles gleamed.

  The scents of garlic and jasmine, incense and fish, oranges, and sweat wafted in the air. A donkey lifted its tail and added to the odours, and one of the slaves who worked for the city drifted over and swept the manure into a wicker basket.

  I finished my juice and handed the earthenware cup back to the vendor.

  ‘How will you do it?’ Nabonida asked me after a while.

  ‘I dreamt I was in the temple,’ I said, ‘and in my dream everything was very dark, as if night had fallen. In the darkness there moved a shadow, and the shadow took the baby from the jaws of Marduk and spirited him away. Marduk closed his mouth on emptiness and broke his jaws in rage. Then nothing else remained.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Nabonida.

  ‘It means I must be a shadow,’ I said.

  It was getting hot. People were leaving the marketplace to seek shade. Soon, in the temple of Hera, my lover would take his second wife. Then the procession would move to the ziggurat where Marduk awaited his worshippers. And I would become a shadow.

  Before I left, I whispered into Seleucos’s ear and told him what I needed him to do. He looked troubled but said he could be counted on.

  Nabonida and I went back to her room, and I prepared myself. I washed the dust off my body with a sponge soaked in rose water, then I put on my black robe. The silk covered me entirely, and I could pull the cloth over my face as well. I was ready. The strange energy was back, but now it was a glacial calm. My hands didn’t tremble when we took tapers and lit them from the brazier.

  Nabonida led me through the ziggurat to the back rooms, the rooms where the priests would be, and I kissed her, told her to leave, and to forget she’d ever seen me. She prostrated herself at my feet. This time I let her. I needed her respect and fear now. I was still afraid she would betray me.

  The morning dragged on. I wandered around the temple, keeping out of the way of the remaining priests. There weren’t many; most had gone to Hera’s temple for Alexander’s wedding. Marduk’s temple was vast, with narrow, winding corridors. The main room, where the sacrifices took place, looked like a theatre with a raised stage. A great, stone dragon crouched in the centre of it, staring out at the crowd of worshippers.

  Marduk was a dragon god, with an appetite for human blood. Condemned criminals were his usual fare. They were led down a central aisle, past the rows of worshippers, and placed onto the altar. Marduk’s head, a giant stone sculpture, opened huge, toothy jaws. Behind them was a table made of a slab of granite. The prisoner was forced to lie on the altar in front of the statue, and his head was pushed into its jaws. Then the altar was tilted upwards, so he slid into the gaping mouth of stone. A lever mechanism closed the jaws, triggered a guillotine, and the unfortunate victim was beheaded. To the watching public, it looked as if the monster had neatly nipped the sacrifice’s head off.

  A baby was too small for that method. Babies were not usually on Marduk’s menu, so today something different was going to happen. The baby was to be laid on a large platter, exactly like a Thanksgiving turkey, and presented to the god. After the baby slid down the sloping altar, the priests waiting on the other side of the statue would whisk him away, as if the god had swallowed him. They would perform the sacrifice, then carry the body out front again and pour the blood into the ritual jar.

  During the sacrifices, blood ran off grooves in the table into special bowls. It was collected and poured into a particular jar. I examined it. It was lined with hundreds of sponges to soak up the blood. Part of the ritual then, was to make the people believe that Marduk drank the blood from the jar. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and then started to wonder how I could change the ceremony a bit. I listened for the sound of footsteps, but the novice priest in charge of sweeping the temple had finished and was now snoring loudly in his cell.

  I took the sponges out of the jar and put them in the brazier. They burned badly and gave off a noxious smell, but with all the incense it was hardly noticeable. Then I looked around for something to replace the sponges. I found what I was looking for and grinned. Then I examined the levers and the gears that moved the great jaws, and I pushed on the stone hea
d. It was absurdly heavy. The priests who worked the levers had to be powerful.

  When the priests threw open the great, bronze doors to let the crowd in, I was hidden behind one of the long, heavy tapestries behind the statue. I peered out and watched as the crowd filed in silently. I saw Nearchus and the captain Lysimachus. However, I didn’t see Plexis, and this worried me for some reason. I was also anxious to get a look at Alexander, his new wife, and Olympias.

  They arrived last, accompanied by a blast of trumpets and a clash of cymbals. The people all bowed, pressing their foreheads to the floor. The priests did likewise. As Alexander and the two women walked down the central aisle, twelve priestesses strewed red rose petals over their heads. They were walking through a shower of blood. I shuddered.

  Alexander wore his military regalia and a strange helmet made of silver-plated bronze. It had ram’s horns springing from the temples. Red and orange tassels hung from the back, and an elephant’s head, with its tusks sweeping forward, was carved on the front. Alexander’s drawn face was clean-shaven and pale. Around his eyes, deep shadows looked like bruises. His mouth, usually so full and sensual, was a thin, hard line. His eyes glittered with a feral light.

  Walking just behind him, with mincing steps, was his new bride, Stateira. She was a pudgy woman. Her expression was haughty, and her thick black eyebrows joined over the bridge of her nose. She tilted her head to gaze up at Alexander and her eyes, sharp and darting, softened. Her black hair was twined into braids intricately woven atop her head. She wore a gold necklace, set with the biggest blue star sapphire I’d ever seen. On either side of the sapphire were rubies as big as hen’s eggs. She wore a crown of gold, and her arms were covered with chiselled gold bracelets. However, my eyes slid past her, as did everyone else’s, to Olympias, mother of Alexander, daughter of a demigod, and concubine of Philip II who was supposedly the grandson of Zeus.

  Olympias was dressed in white, which brought out her delicate colouring. Her hair was Venetian blonde, the colour of ripe apricots, and her eyes were as blue as the sapphire around Stateira’s neck. Her pearly, translucent skin glowed in the penumbra. She wore a necklace of red coral beads and dangling pink coral earrings. Her hair was braided with golden beads. She had a long, straight nose, a full, sensual mouth, and her eyes were long and heavy-lidded like Alexander’s. Her eyebrows were sweeping lines across a high forehead. She looked like a queen, or a goddess. I hated her. She was waiting for the ceremony to begin, so she could see her own grandson sacrificed to a pagan god. She would kill her own grandson as she’d killed her husband. He’d made the mistake of marrying a young, beautiful concubine. Olympias had murdered Philip, or had had him assassinated, and she’d had his new wife immolated on his funeral pyre. I’d heard the unfortunate bride had been forced to hold her newborn son in her arms as she burned.

  She would try to kill her son-in-law, Cassander, but I knew from history books that he would have the last laugh. He would have her stoned to death. Knowing that, I was content to wait, while Alexander, Stateira, and Olympias moved to the front of the temple and were seated on a stone bench, practically at the feet of the statue.

  A gong was struck, and the first prisoner was led to Marduk.

  There were no windows in the temple and the flickering torches offered little light. In the dimness, the prisoners were all dressed in white to be better seen. They were drugged. Their pupils were dilated, and their mouths gaped in a parody of a grin. They were supposed to be happy, accepting the honour of being sacrificed to their god. They breathed in great, gulping gasps but didn’t struggle when they were laid on the enormous stone altar and tilted into Marduk’s mouth.

  Three prisoners were executed, while I bit my knuckles to keep from screaming. Their blood was ceremoniously poured into the great jar, and then the gong reverberated again. A baby was carried down the aisle.

  I saw Alexander blench and nearly rise off his seat. Olympia straightened and looked hard at the squalling infant. Her delicate brows drew together in a frown, and I wondered if she realized it wasn’t Alexander’s son.

  The baby was wrapped in white linen and his head was crowned with jasmine. White rose petals were scattered over him, and the priests bowed when he was brought to the statue. The infant was placed on the altar, and there was a deep silence as he slid towards the great jaws of Marduk.

  I pulled my hood over my head and stepped out of my hiding place. I snatched the baby away just as the jaws were about to close. I had rubbed black cinders on my face, hands and arms to hide them. To the onlookers, it must have seemed as though the baby had suddenly floated backwards off the altar and sailed into the air.

  The gigantic stone jaws clashed together on nothing, and the priest who worked the lever was so surprised he let go of it too soon, causing the heavy stone to fall with a resounding crash. I held the baby high in the air and backed away. With a sound like a canon shot, the statue buckled and cracked. The bottom half of the jaws slewed sideways, catching the high priest on his chest. He was hurled backwards by five tons of carved granite, and when he hit the ground, he was dead.

  The jar holding the blood tipped over and steaming blood poured out, sluicing over the floor and splattering priests and worshippers with blood mixed with the lamp oil I’d poured into the jar earlier. It made an extremely slick mess. I stepped carefully to the back of the room and ducked through the curtains. Guards, dispatched by frantic priests, slipped and fell when they stepped on the oily blood. People screamed and cried out in terror, but before I disappeared I turned and stared directly at Olympias. She looked like an alabaster statue, with a crimson stain down her robe where the blood had sprayed. Her eyes were fixed on the child I carried, but instead of the rage that I was sure I’d see, there was a cool, calculating look. I shivered. I hoped Alexander would succeed in sending her back to Epirus.

  Alexander was no longer in his seat; he’d disappeared during the uproar.

  Stateira was wailing, covering her face in her hands. Then I remembered: Marduk was her god.

  Chapter Six

  I met Seleucos outside the gate of Ishtar. I was dressed in my travelling cloak, and I’d wrapped the infant in a plain woollen shawl. Seleucos greeted me discreetly, and we ducked into a doorway to talk.

  ‘I have done as you asked, and the child will be well cared for,’ he told me.

  ‘He won’t be a slave, will he?’ I was worried.

  He shook his head. ‘No. When I was with my master in the caravan I met many traders, and I know of one who will care for this child. I told him he was Marduk’s sacrifice.’

  ‘And that didn’t frighten him?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he is a Jew, and he has no love for Marduk. Or even for Babylon. He comes to trade and leaves as quickly as he can. He will take care of the baby, never fear. He told me to tell you this; the baby’s name will be Joseph, named after his foster-father. They live somewhere near Nazareth.’

  I kissed the child on his soft cheek and hugged him. ‘God bless you,’ I whispered. Reluctantly, I handed him to Seleucos and watched as he disappeared into the teeming crowd. All around me I could hear the murmur of voices. The news from the ziggurat was spreading. The story would soon be all over the city. I hoped that the caravan would leave before they started searching for the babe.

  The sun was setting. I felt light-headed and realized I hadn’t eaten all day, so I went back towards the marketplace to try to find some food. Several stands had large barbecues next to them, and the smell of grilled meat and fish filled the evening air. I bought a lamb shish kebab, a slice of watermelon, and some unleavened bread. Sitting cross-legged next to the fire, I ate. The vendor had spread grass mats on the ground for his customers, and he had earthenware cups to scoop water out of the fountain. The cups were rented for half an obol. I paid for everything with obols, which were the lowest denomination of silver money, worth about twenty-five cents.

  I returned the cup to the vendor and he sold me an orange for dessert. Then I wandered aroun
d the market, listening to the gossip. Of course, I could only understand Greek gossip, but most people spoke Greek. It was the language the merchants used, and almost everyone got by with it. Although there was some hushed gossip about the fiasco in the temple, there was nothing said about a missing baby, so I relaxed, knowing that little Joseph was free.

  I threw my orange peel into a public trash basket and listened as two men talked about a scandal that had befallen Alexander while I was in my temple prison. It seemed that one of his officers, a certain Harpalus, had stolen five thousand gold talents. He had been assigned to guard the money and he’d taken it. He fled to Athens, where he was caught. The Athenians had wanted to return him to Alexander, but he’d escaped to Crete.

  ‘Half the money was gone too,’ chuckled one man, ‘and the money certainly ended up “in the mouth” of the lawyer, Demosthenes, who had been in charge of the affair.’

  At this moment in Athens, Demosthenes was being tried in his own court. I wondered what would happen to him. Five thousand gold talents was more than ten times the tribute paid to the city of Athens per year by the entire confederation. It represented an enormous sum. I wondered if Plexis, who’d invested his fortune, had had part of his money stolen. If so, he would certainly be interested in the outcome of the trial. Perhaps he’d gone back to Athens, and that was why he hadn’t been at the ceremony.