Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  The song finished and a thunder of applause rolled through the pavilion. Dienekes grinned and made exaggerated bows to the king and the cheering audience.

  Alexander himself, tears still glistening in his eyes, leapt lightly over the low tables and embraced the young man then kissed him. "Nobly sung, Dienekes," exclaimed Alexander. "Your passion brought the tale alive." He clapped the singer on the shoulder and sent him back to his couch before turning slowly on his heel to regard his assembled guests. "Today is a day of great significance, my friends. Assembled before us were envoys and ambassadors from the entire world. Not only did we welcome princes of Hind and of the Asian lands to our east, but also peoples from the cold steppes of the north and the hot lands of the south, from Afrik, Libya and Carthage, Etruscans, Romans, Iberians, Kelts and others from lands of wonder and fable. They came to see for themselves the glory of our great Macedonian-Persian Empire."

  "They came to see you, Alexander!" called out Ptolemy.

  The pavilion erupted into a cacophony of cheers, the men drumming on the tables and couches with their fists. The noise threatened to become deafening.

  Alexander stood in the middle, his arms outstretched, turning slowly as if to embrace them all. A radiant smile transformed his tanned and worn face, stripping away the years and cares. "I have a new venture," Alexander announced as the applause died away. "As you know, we're planning an expedition to Arabia. We need a safe sea route between Persia and my new capital at Alexandria in Egypt. Admiral Niarchos will lead the fleet south while I take the army overland, following him and establishing cities and ports as he searches out the route around Arabia to the Red Sea."

  The room became silent.

  He paused and lowered his arms, an intensity of longing replacing the smile on his face. "That expedition is but the start of greater things. The west beckons and I shall march into Libya and along the north coast of Afrik. With Carthage as our ally, Perdikkas will lead the armies to the Pillars of Hercules while I cross into Sicily and Italy and beyond. The Great Sea will become a lake within the Empire of a Macedonian world."

  Alexander grinned and spoke into the hush. "You know me, fellow Macedonians. You followed Philip and I led you to victories beyond your dreams. I have never lost a battle and my armies are unconquered. I gave you gold and lands and power. Come with me, my friends, and we shall rule as gods over the entire world."

  Silence followed for several seconds then Ptolemy stood, pushing back his couch. "I will follow wherever you lead, Alexander," he said simply.

  As if releasing a pent up storm of emotion, the men rose in a wave of cheering, stamping enthusiasm, crowding around their king, each eager to touch him and to share in his vision of the future.

  Nikometros rose too, caught up by the soaring energy. He applauded and called out. Several minutes passed before he noticed the troubled face of Caius.

  "This is not good, Nicomatrus," said the Roman quietly. "Your king means to subjugate my people."

  Nikometros smiled uncertainly. "I don't think that's the case, Caius. He means to march through your country, but it has never been his way to attack a friendly people. He would rather have Rome as an ally than an enemy."

  "And if Rome chooses not to ally herself?"

  "Why wouldn't you?"

  "Rome regards Italy as its area of influence. We have no need of Macedonia."

  "Then why did you come? Why did Rome send your uncle as an envoy?"

  "To find out your king's intent." Caius stood and straightened his formal robes. "I must convey this information to the tribune Gracchus immediately." He nodded his head and walked from the pavilion, threading through the excited crowd of partygoers.

  Nikometros watched him go, a worried look on his face. After a moment he shrugged and turned back to the chattering crowd, seeking to fill his cup with some more of the rich, dark wine.

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The land between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers stretched out flat and rich, the dark winter earth on either side of the Royal Road sprinkled liberally with budding shoots of the new wheat crop. The sky above blazed with the crisp blue of spring, the air still with winter's chill but bracing, invigorating the lungs and filling everyone with a lust for life. Birds sang in the blue vault of the sky and in the groves of trees and the strengthening sun promised hot days ahead.

  Nikometros rode in the vanguard of the army, moving close to the king as he controlled his spirited stallion. His mood matched the day--crisp but lively--listening to the laughter and banter while Alexander talked with friends and generals about the coming expedition.

  Behind them, stretching beyond the flat horizon, lumbered the vast entourage of the army and royal court. The army marched at ease, relaxed in the peaceful and subjugated surroundings. A low contented swell of sound enveloped it, speech and laughter rising and falling above the muted thunder of tens of thousands of feet.

  A special detachment of the Companion Cavalry marched in full ceremonial panoply. Their expressions were severe and unsmiling, despite the glorious spring day. In their midst, steeped in costly incense and spices, resplendent in expensive garments and encased in rare woods and precious metals, lay the preserved body of Lord Hephaestion. He rode his catafalque in silence, on his last earthly journey before his spirit lifted in flames to the gods.

  Further back, the women's court, together with another army of eunuchs, scribes, merchants, artisans and hangers-on, rolled slowly onward. The vast supply train brought up the rear, a myriad of wagons laden to bursting, toiling through the dust cloud kicked up by herds of cattle and horses; a city and surrounding countryside on the move.

  In the distance, the long low black walls of Babylon had barely raised themselves over the horizon when the army made the last camp before entering the city. Alexander had his pavilion erected near the western borders of the camp, arranged on a low rise so he could sit at supper and look out toward the faint lights of Babylon twinkling in the still night.

  From the west, a man rode toward them. He rode fast and hard, pushing his horse to a foaming lather. He passed fast through the guard posts and spurred on to the king's camp. Sliding from his trembling mount, he strode to the entrance of the pavilion and came to a halt, staring at Alexander and his friends.

  Alexander looked up and grinned. "Niarchos! By the gods, I thought you with the fleet. Come in and have a cup of wine." The king rose to greet his admiral and friend, guiding him by one arm to a couch beside his.

  Nikometros graciously gave up his place and moved back to share a couch with Seleukos.

  "So, old friend," went on Alexander. "Tell me, are you in health?"

  Niarchos nodded and sipped from his wine. "Yes Alexander. I'm well and the fleet is ready to sail. I had to come..." He hesitated and looked down.

  Alexander frowned. "Niarchos, I know you too well. What's wrong?"

  Niarchos put down his wine cup and rigidly sat up, gazing directly into his friend's face. "Alexander, the priests, the Chaldean astrologers..."

  "What of them? Have they finished rebuilding the temple of Zeus-Bel? I gave them a fortune to do it."

  "No Alexander, nowhere near it. But that isn't why I...Alexander, I've known you all my life, haven't I? We were boys together in Macedonia."

  "Of course, but what has this to do with the priests?"

  Niarchos pushed back grizzled hair with one hand, his eyes distraught. "I know your birth day, the very hour and place, Alexander. I asked them to read the stars for you. My friend, Babylon is unlucky for you now."

  Alexander paused. "How unlucky?"

  "They ask you not to enter the city but to march to the east again."

  Alexander screwed up his brow in thought. "Not enter Babylon? I must, it's my capital city." He cocked his head on one side, his different coloured eyes searching his friend's face. "How far did you say they'd got with the temple?"

  "Hardly past the foundations but what has tha
t to do with their warning?"

  Alexander laughed. "Everything. I warrant not all the money went to the temple. Now they're worried that I'll find them out so they try to warn me off."

  Niarchos looked doubtful. "Possibly, yet they foretold my stars accurately enough before we went to India. They foretold honours, a good marriage and a trial by water. It all came true."

  "Really? They predicted this, despite knowing you were admiral of my fleet and my good friend?" Alexander laughed again and embraced him. "Forget these warnings. Eat and drink, my friend. Tomorrow we ride into Babylon together."

  The Chaldean priests themselves arrived early the next day, just as the army struck camp. Alexander, warned of their arrival, met them on the road in his full parade armour. Gone was all trace of Persian influences; unsmiling, he met them as a Macedonian king and general, conqueror of their lands.

  The priests came dressed in ceremonial robes, acolytes burning incense before them, and carrying the staffs of their authority. The head priest, his hair and full black beard curled and perfumed, bowed to the king and spoke quietly to him, the interpreter talking softly so only the king heard his words.

  Presently, Alexander moved apart and spoke with the head priest alone. Only the interpreter heard his replies. He returned to his generals looking troubled. "They want us to march back to Susa until the end of summer."

  Perdikkas made a rude noise. "What? Turn about just because they say so? Who do they think they are to dictate to you?"

  Ptolemy shook his head. "If the gods say turn back...it would be foolhardy to go against them."

  Niarchos nodded. "Aye, listen to them, Alexander. What have you got to lose? A few days trouble to turn this army around, but better that than risk ill luck."

  "Their gods aren't our gods," snorted Perdikkas. "Take the omens yourself. Ask our own good Macedonian gods before meekly doing the will of foreign gods and their self-serving priests."

  "You know as well as I do, Perdikkas, that the gods are the same," chided Alexander. "Bel, the god of these priests, is the same as our Zeus. I'm inclined to heed their warning, yet I desire to go to Babylon. Too much needs be done to waste half a year in Susa. I would take the omens but you know my priest, Aristander, is dead this past year. I trust no other."

  Perdikkas sighed in exasperation and turned to Nikometros, who sat his horse beside him. "We have other priests...and priestesses. This young man is married to a priestess of the Land itself. Let her invoke her goddess and set your mind at rest. Then you can march into Babylon."

  "I cannot wait out here much longer," Alexander snapped. "The eyes of the embassies are upon me. I cannot appear indecisive. Can you get your wife here quickly, Nikometros?"

  Nikometros nodded and whirled his horse, plunging back along the crowded road toward the women's quarters.

  The sun rose slowly, burning off morning dew. The army and court settled back into rest, though buzzing with rumour and question.

  Alexander stood impassively, staring into the west, toward distant Babylon, his shadow shortening in front of him.

  At last, a double beat of hooves signalled the arrival of the Scythian priestess. Tomyra slid from her mare and strode through the crowd around Alexander, while Nikometros held the reins of their horses. "You have need of my services, my lord?" she asked.

  Alexander turned and nodded. "These Chaldean priests foretell great misfortune if I enter Babylon. They say the west is unpropitious and I should turn my face to the east again. What does your goddess say?"

  "Not my goddess, my lord," murmured Tomyra. "The Great Goddess is Mother to us all." She raised her voice. "I will invoke the Goddess."

  Tomyra drew her sacred willow sticks from a small pouch at her waist and, hitching her robes about her, squatted and threw the sticks onto the dusty road. She scrutinised them briefly, moved one or two and examined them again. With a slight shudder, she gathered them up, stood and faced the king. "Do not enter Babylon, Alexander, king of the Macedonians. Yet, if you must, enter with your back to the west. In this way you may avoid disaster."

  Alexander frowned. "Enter with my back to the west? What do you mean?"

  "Perhaps she means you should enter through the western Adad gate rather than the eastern Marduk gate," interposed Ptolemy.

  "There's a problem with that," said Perdikkas. "If we try to go round the city there are huge swamps we would have to avoid. It'll take us days extra to traverse the distance."

  Ptolemy shrugged. "Then we can enter from the north, through the Ishtar gate."

  Alexander looked from Perdikkas to Ptolemy then back to Tomyra. "Well, priestess? Can we do that? Enter by the Ishtar gate?"

  Tomyra nodded then, hesitating, shook her head. "No sire. If you enter the Ishtar gate from here it will be as if you are entering from the east. You must march your army north around the city and the swamps, approaching Babylon from the west. Then perhaps you can safely enter by the Adad gate."

  Alexander thought for several moments and then scowled. "What sort of a fool would I look marching my whole army right around the city and swamp just to please these Chaldean priests?"

  He thanked Tomyra and dismissed her then talked again with the Chaldean priests. They looked unhappy but bowed and withdrew to the city. Alexander marched westward with his army but, mindful of Tomyra's advice, bore north to camp just beyond the city limits, beside the Euphrates River. He sent the court on to Babylon, wanting the women to reach the comforts of the palace as quickly as possible. The king stood and looked at the great city, debating whether to take his army around the city like the priests wanted, or to defy Heaven by entering from the east.

  Here, in the shade of willows, beside the wide expanse of the slowly moving Euphrates, more embassies came to him, including a few from Greece. He received them and listened politely though his attention strayed ever to the looming presence of Babylon. With the embassies came a small party of philosophers, including the sophist Anaxarchos, who had journeyed ahead of Alexander's army from Ekbatana to meet them.

  Alexander welcomed them and spent the night in animated conversation. Anaxarchos reminded Alexander that modern Greek thinkers relied on reason for their decisions rather than relying on omens. Alexander listened and said nothing but, in the morning, made the decision to enter Babylon by the eastern Marduk gate in defiance of the omens.

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  Alexander rode through the eastern Marduk gate of Babylon in the middle of the morning, his generals beside him and the Companion Cavalry drawn up in shining precision. The population of Babylon turned out to greet them, though their enthusiasm was tinged with curiosity. Most had caught wind of the Chaldean prophecies and came expecting wonders from the king who defied the gods. They were not disappointed.

  As Alexander rode through the arch of the gate, a flock of ravens battled above him, filling the air with raucous cries. One fell dead in front of his horse, causing it to shy.

  Then, as if to nullify the omens, good news arrived. Roxane, his young Sogdian queen, was with child. Alexander left the official welcoming ceremony, walked from the sacrificial altars to all the gods as soon as decency allowed and rode straight to the palace. He stayed within the harem an hour then left to make sacrifices for the health of the child--and to guarantee that it should be a boy child. Alexander announced the news to his friends simply and without fuss, asking them only to drink a toast to his child. He accepted their good wishes before retiring to his chambers for the night.

  "Well," announced Peukestas, after the door closed behind the king. "This is good news indeed. It's high time the issue of the succession was settled."

  "Don't be a fool," snapped Perdikkas. "This merely complicates matters. Do you want the Sogdian's brat as king?"

  "I'd be careful what you say," remarked Ptolemy in a quiet voice. "Like it or not, the child is Alexander's. It's likely he'll make it his heir if it's male."

  "And if it lives," mut
tered Perdikkas.

  The others glanced toward the doors to the king's chambers then down at the intricately tiled floor. A silence fell over the group as they contemplated the full implications of the pregnancy--and of Perdikkas' words.

  Nikometros coughed before speaking, in deference to his junior position. "Er...the king has other wives, doesn't he? Perhaps one of them..."

  Peukestas nodded. "Indeed he does, young Nikometros. Especially the royal princess Stateira, daughter of Darius."

  Perdikkas snorted. "A Persian princess. The king chose well there," he sneered. "Daughter of a coward. What a wonderful future king we have to look forward to if she ever begets a brat!"

  "A pity he didn't marry a good Macedonian woman before he left. He'd have a twelve year old by now," said Seleukos. "A purebred Macedonian of good family. A leader we'd be proud to follow as Alexander's true heir."

  "There are other purebred Macedonians..."

  "Such as?" asked Ptolemy. "Yourself, I suppose?"

  Perdikkas licked his lips, hesitated then he shrugged. "Alexander made me Chiliarch." He stared round at the ring of faces, varying degrees of uncertainty and hostility showing in their expressions. "Who doubts that Hephaestion was his heir in the absence of a child of his body? Well, he raised me to Hephaestion's position. He must mean me to be his heir."

  "I wouldn't let Alexander hear this presumption," said Ptolemy. "What he gave, he can take away--and permanently."

  Perdikkas smiled coldly. "The king's a realist. He knows he needs a stable government if his son is to inherit. I'd be honoured to serve as regent until he came of age."

  "If he came of age," whispered Seleukos to Nikometros. "I wouldn't rate his chances highly."

  Nikometros looked around the small group of army officers, aghast. "Gentlemen, it isn't seemly to discuss the king's heir in this manner. The king himself is...is still alive. I pray the gods give him many years yet. He's still young and in good health."