‘I had a strange dream last night,’ he said. ‘And I wanted to tell you about it. But I’m not sure how to start.’
‘At the beginning,’ I said gently.
He smiled faintly but his voice was strained. ‘I saw a swallow flying in a clear sky. It was so happy, so free, just soaring through the air. I watched it for the longest time. It seemed as if my heart were flying also, and I was filled with a wild joy. Then someone called my name. I looked down and I saw I was in the middle of a raging battle. Men were fighting and falling all around me, while I had been staring at the bird in the sky! My friends were all dead. While I had been watching the sky, they had been killed! Everyone was waiting for me to give orders, to tell them what to do, and I had been looking at a bird. The swallow swooped down from the sky and landed right on my helmet. And then I woke up.’
He was staring at me with a frightened expression so I hastened to reassure him. ‘It was only a dream,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I wrote to Aristotle about it. I wonder what he will say.’
‘He’ll say, “Don't worry, it was only a dream.” I think it means you feel that you have too much responsibility, and you believe your men cannot function without you. Why don’t you give more duties to your generals and try and relax a bit. The world will still turn when you’re gone, you know.’ I had meant it as a joke but Alexander took it seriously.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘The world will turn whether I exist or not. I must stop trying to do everything myself.’ He heaved a sigh and leaned back on his elbows, his handsome face in shadow. I had to lean to get a good look at him.
‘What else is there?’
‘Oh, nothing. Rumours, things I hear. Don’t worry. You’re right. I have to start to let the world turn without my trying to push it along.’ He pulled me down on top of him. ‘I couldn’t do this with Barsine.’
I giggled. ‘You’re not supposed to talk about another woman when you’re with me.’
‘No? And just what am I supposed to talk about?’
‘About how much you love me, and how you can’t do without me, and how we’ll always be together.’
‘Mmmm, that’s a nice thing to say,’ he murmured into my ear. ‘And do you feel the same about me?’
‘You know I do,’ I whispered.
‘Then tell me, please?’ His eyes were huge, the little boy staring out of them. A king on the surface, a child beneath, trying to hide a keen need for love and approval.
‘I love you, I love you, I love you, Alexander, and I’ll never leave you, and I can’t live without you.’ My lips found his and we kissed. His kisses were long, languorous, and sweet, and I felt my body dissolving into his. I was in love with the sun god, with a shooting star, with a legend, with Alexander.
* * *
Later, much, much later, we lay on our backs and Alexander pointed to the constellations and told me stories about them. I was fascinated, but my thoughts slowed and swirled around as sleep claimed me. I fell into a deep slumber that lasted until the trumpets blew just before dawn.
Alexander had gone, but Brazza was there. He busied himself rolling up my rugs and putting my bedding in a large bundle. There was a donkey tethered outside my tent; its large, furry ears pricked forward, its soft eyes questioning. It was a pale grey donkey, not as white as White Beauty had been, but nearly. She had a red tassel hanging from her bridle, and Brazza motioned with his hands, telling me she was a gift from Alexander. And I was not to bring her to visit any oracles. I smiled, a lump in my throat. We loaded my baggage onto the donkey. It consisted of one small sandalwood box, a rug to sit on, and an extra cloak in case it rained.
The sun was just starting to colour the sky pink. While Brazza took my tent down and put it on a packhorse, I went towards a large campfire. I smelled breakfast cooking, and because I’d missed dinner, my stomach was growling. An endless line of soldiers was waiting to get bread. Cooks were busily knocking the loaves out of the clay pots in which they were cooked, Egyptian-style, and handing them out. The cooks usually worked all night, making enough loaves to feed the army. There were also large baskets full of onions and garlic for the soldiers. Another kettle held cold lentil stew. The soldiers folded this into flat bread and placed it carefully into their pouches. The men were ready. They had their breakfast, lunch, and dinner and they would line up again tomorrow morning. Their diet was basically the same, with fresh fruit when the season permitted, honey sometimes, and meat when there was a ceremony or sacrifice. I hadn’t seen any dried or salted meat, although salt fish was sometimes to be found.
Usse was standing next to the fire, watching the soldiers as they filed by. If he spotted someone who looked ill he would pull him out of line and examine him. There were a few infected sores, some fevers, broken teeth, and one broken nose. Usse treated most of them on the spot. Broken teeth were the most common. The grain from which the bread was made was stone-ground, and bits of stone were often left in the dough. The result was a cracked molar. Usse knocked the broken teeth out with a wooden hammer and chisel. Often they were replaced with false teeth carved from ivory, and the soldiers often had one or two in reserve. I chewed everything very carefully.
After breakfast, everyone found his place in the long line and the march began. Alexander was always at the head of his troops, and he set a rapid pace. All morning long, the camp emptied itself out. I stayed until last. I wasn’t in any particular hurry. I knew I’d catch up as soon as the army stopped for the night.
When the sun was fully risen, the last soldiers had left. The priests, women, children, and families were loaded into their wagons and left soon after the soldiers. The pack animals with all the tents and food were led off. The bathhouse was dismantled and packed up. Everything was gone. I went back to the empty place where my tent had stood, and picked up a piece of white quartz. It made me think of Plexis, and I slipped it into my pouch.
I saw the first of the villagers appear on the road, eager to see what had been left behind. They would glean whatever they could.
I untied my donkey and started down the road. The dust had settled somewhat, and I slowed my pace. I had no wish to catch up with the army yet. By early afternoon it was getting hot, and I had developed three new blisters on my feet. I picked some reeds and long grass from the banks of a stream to plait a makeshift hat. It kept the sun off my head, and I made one for my new donkey as well.
She plodded along at my side, content to walk when I walked and stop when I stopped. We ate lunch in the shade of a large locust tree. A shallow brook bubbled merrily. I took off my sandals and dabbled my sore feet in the cool water. My donkey was grazing nearby. I rested my head against the tree and closed my eyes. It was so peaceful. The only sounds I could hear were the bees buzzing in the tree, and the water gurgling over smooth stones – and the sound of hoofbeats.
Hoofbeats? I sat up and peered down the road. In the shimmering heat, it was hard to make out details. A horseman was hurrying toward me. I stood, unsure of what I should do. Hide? Run? Wave?
The horse drew to a walk, and then pulled up. Plexis got off and shook the dust out of his cloak and hair. He didn’t speak, but came and sat by my side, splashing water from the brook over his face and arms, drinking deeply. He smelled like hot grass, sun and dry dust. His face was sunburned, making his eyes brighter. I cleared my throat, suddenly shy with him.
‘Why did you come back?’ I asked, when it seemed clear he wouldn’t speak first.
He frowned and looked at his hands, and I realized that he was feeling just as awkward as I was. ‘I was sent here to make sure you were all right. Iskander was worried.’
I smiled then. I had to smile. I couldn’t help it. Plexis was next to me. He’d come back, and I knew that as much as I loved Alexander, I loved Plexis. ‘Ah, then, that’s OK.’ I looked sideways at him. I couldn’t stop grinning. ‘I’m glad you came.’
He was still staring down at his feet, two spots of red on his cheeks. ‘Oh? Why?’
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br /> ‘Because I’m in love with you, Plexis, that’s why.’
‘You can’t be. You love Iskander.’
‘I know. It seems impossible, doesn’t it? Iskander is so, so ... I don’t know. He’s the king. I love him because of who he is, but I love you for what you are. Oh, I give up. I can’t explain. But I’m glad to see you.’ I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
‘I’m glad, too. But I don’t know why.’ He groaned and flopped backwards, lying on the grass, his arms over his head, his eyes closed. ‘I think maybe we’re both mad.’
‘I don’t think so. I’m not, anyway. I just think you’re nice and I like being with you. If I weren’t married to Iskander, I’d marry you.’
‘But you are married, and that’s the problem.’
‘No it isn’t.’ My voice was gentle. ‘You love Iskander more than you love me, and I think you’re jealous of me. But I also think you love me a little, and I’ll always be happy with that.’
‘That’s what I was going to say to you,’ he said, but then he didn’t say any more and we sat holding hands under the locust tree while the bees droned in the fragrant blossoms.
He put his hand on my belly and felt the slight roundness. ‘It’s getting bigger,’ he said.
‘Mmm. It’s growing. Soon I’ll have a bump, and then I’ll start to look like a hippo with hormone problems.’
‘There you go again with hormones. What are they? Can you tell me? Do they always cause problems in your land? Are they like criminals?’
I chuckled. ‘Hormones are things that control your body. They convey messages from different parts of your body. When you’re growing they say “Make hair here! Make these breasts grow!” They also make milk when you have a baby. When you’re a teenager they go crazy, your whole body is changing, and they make you go a bit mad too. That’s why you were so eager to make love when you were a teenager. Your hormones were going full-tilt. Everything is emotion; the brain goes down the drain when you’re a teenager. You felt everything more strongly. Love, hate, sorrow, joy ... all because of hormones.’
Plexis made a wry face. ‘But what do these hormones look like? I’ve never seen any! Aristotle never taught us about them. Are they just in women, perhaps? Aristotle doesn’t know much about women, he’ll be the first to tell you that.’
‘No, they’re not just in women. Men too, and animals have them. Like a stallion prancing in front of a mare – it’s hormones. They take a little boy and make him into a man. When a woman menstruates, it’s hormones.’
‘Where did you learn all this? Was your teacher a great philosopher? Did he write a thesis on these hormones? Can I read it?’ His interest was real. He had a quick mind, eager to learn and open to new ideas.
I sighed. ‘No, no writings exist right now for this. It’s not philosophy, it’s science. Or biology, I suppose.’ I made a face. ‘I wish I could tell you more, but I didn’t like science class. The only subjects I appreciated were the dead languages like Latin and Greek. They seemed romantic to me ...’ I broke off, embarrassed. When my guard was down I talked too much.
‘Dead languages?’ Plexis looked confused.
‘Nothing. Forget it.’ I got to my feet and made a great show of brushing off my cloak and putting on my grass hat. ‘We’d better go, it’s getting late.’
Plexis obliged me by forgetting what I’d said about the dead languages.
We talked while we meandered toward the encampment. Plexis wanted to know all about hormones, although I wondered if he believed me. He looked sceptical, but asked pertinent questions. I tried to remember all my biology. I wished I’d read more science books. Plexis, like Usse, believed right away in the presence of germs. Aristotle had started teaching about an invisible world, a world he had just started to discover. He did all sorts of experiments with mould and fruit flies. Plexis was fascinated by all that.
However, he firmly believed the earth was flat.
He and I walked along, our feet stirring up little puffs of dust. I tried to convince him the world was round, but he wouldn’t listen. Then I told him I didn’t believe in fate.
He stared at me, shocked. ‘How can you not believe in fate?’ he asked, with worry in his eyes. ‘It’s like saying you don’t believe in the gods themselves! Or in the spirits that live in the trees and water!’
‘I suppose it is,’ I said wryly.
He gaped at me. ‘I’ve heard tell that the gods always dissemble themselves when they come to visit with us mortals, so are you a goddess in disguise?’
‘No, don’t be silly. You know I’m not.’ I sighed. ‘What I want to say is, I believe that you can make what you wish of your own life. I don’t believe that my life is already traced out and everything I do is already written.’
‘And yet it is,’ Plexis said gently. He took my hand. ‘It is already written, and nothing you can do will change it. The gods have decided our lives, and we can do nothing about it but bend to their wishes.’
‘Or caprices.’ I was ironic but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Or caprices. We are all part of the grand design. Everything that has been and will be is written in the stars or hidden in our very bodies. That’s why the oracles study the heavens and examine the entrails and blood of sacrifices. They do it so we may see what will be.’
‘Aren’t you afraid to know?’ I asked.
‘Of course, but the future is told to us in riddles, and it is up to us to seek the truth behind the answers.’
‘But why should the gods play games with us? If you believe in fate, how can you go on living, knowing that you have no choice in life? If I thought that my whole life was already decided for me, I would feel as helpless as a paper boat in a raging river. Can you understand?’
‘I do.’ He smiled. In the half-light of the evening his teeth gleamed. ‘I understand exactly what you mean. I feel as if I am a paper boat, and Iskander is the river who is carrying us in his raging torrent.’
‘As long as we both agree,’ I said a little shakily.
At the encampment we parted without a word or a gesture.
Nearchus stood in the shadow of Alexander’s tent and greeted me as I walked over. Brazza took my donkey and led her away. I lifted my sandalwood box off her back and ducked into Alexander’s tent. He was not there. The long march to Ecbatana had started, and he would be submerged by generals, priests, soldiers, scribes, and all the people following in his wake; a flotilla of tiny paper boats.
I ate dinner in the tent with Brazza, Axiom and Usse. We were all tired after our first day of marching. I was emotionally drained as well. The talk about fate had shaken my belief in myself. I almost felt as if I could believe that everything that had happened was pre-ordained. But that would mean that I had no choices, or rather, that my choices had already been made. It gave me vertigo.
I was also feeling confused about love. My feelings for Plexis were complex. I couldn’t understand how I could love him when I loved Alexander. I wondered if I were a product of my civilization, or if the people in Alexander’s time felt the same.
I nibbled on my bread, a frown on my face, trying to sort out my thoughts. Usse, always perceptive, spoke first. ‘What is bothering you, my lady?’
I looked up quickly. My first instinct was to lie, of course, and say, ‘Nothing,’ but Usse was a friend now, and I couldn’t do that. I took a deep breath. ‘Do you think it’s possible to love more than one person at a time?’
‘Like Iskander loving Barsine and you?’
‘Something like that.’ I smiled weakly.
Usse tilted his head to the side. ‘When I was in school, we had long debates about many things. Eros, or love, was a common subject. Some men said women were incapable of love, and that it was only real if it were pure, as between friends and equals. If that is true, then of course it is possible to love more than one person, because one usually has more than one friend.’
‘What about a mother’s love for her children?’ I asked.
&nbs
p; Usse smiled. ‘That was my argument during these discussions. I said that a mother’s love was the strongest, and the fact that a woman loved all her children seemed to suggest that love was not exclusive.’
‘I don’t know – some mothers have favourites and some mothers don’t seem to love their children at all. I doubt Olympias really loves Iskander.’
‘She is a witch.’ It was Axiom. He listened to our conversations, but rarely joined in. He had been with Alexander since he was a boy, so perhaps he knew more than we did about Olympias.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘She raised Iskander to be her consort, not her son. She always treated him as a lover, not as a child.’ He spat angrily out the tent door and Usse and I raised our eyebrows in surprise. ‘She’s no natural mother, she’s evil,’ he said darkly.
‘Oh!’ I was shocked. I hadn’t known about that. ‘But, if that’s true, does it mean Iskander is depraved?’
‘No,’ said Axiom, and he sounded sad. ‘But it means that all your talk is for naught. Iskander doesn’t know what love is. Here’s what I believe. Love is something you have to learn, like language. Some people speak well, and some don’t know all the words or grammar because they weren’t taught. Love is like that. Love is learned. Your mother is your first teacher. From her, you learn that you are worth loving. First, you must learn to love yourself. Your friends teach you about loving others, and sharing. Your lovers teach you about physical love. Then you marry, and you put all of that together. Finally, you have children, and you learn what it is to love selflessly. When you know all that, you are ready for the lesson of God’s love. God’s love is all, and all is one, and all is love.’
I was startled. ‘God? Then, you believe in just one god?’
Axiom nodded. ‘I do. I was brought up by a Jew before being sold to Philip of Macedonia. I still worship the one God.’
‘So, do you think it’s possible for me to love more than one man at a time?’ I asked, forgetting to dissemble.
The Road to Alexander Page 23
