Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  Nikometros shook his head then embraced Mardes, gripping him tightly. "It's good to see you, my friend. It really is. I didn't know what happened to you."

  "A lot, as you can see." Mardes turned to General Ptolemy and gave a small nod of his head. "I delivered your report to the first Macedonian officer I could find, but what with one thing and another; it seems the message was delayed."

  "That is so," agreed Ptolemy. "There was a small rebellion against a local garrison. It was quashed but your report was mislaid for several months. On top of that, circumstances changed for this young man so he was unable to follow up."

  "Indeed," went on Mardes. "My father died while I was in Scythia." He bowed his head for a moment. "My older brother Astyges inherited the family estates and title but he chose to follow the rebellion. He died childless and the title and lands reverted to me." Mardes grinned. "I am now Prince Mardesopryaxes of Pasargadae, ruler of lands you must ride over for four days to reach the other side." He made an elaborate bow to a bemused Nikometros.

  "Well," said Ptolemy. "I will leave you two to get reacquainted. Report to me at noon, Nikometros. We must get the funeral games underway." He saluted Prince Mardesopryaxes before striding off through the thinning crowd.

  Nikometros shook his head, his smile breaking into a grin of delight. "By all the gods, it is good to see you Mardes...er, what should I call you? Mardesopr...I'm sorry."

  Mardes maintained a neutral expression. "Mardesopryaxes. I'm usually addressed as Prince Mardesopryaxes, though 'Your Highness' will do." He struggled to maintain a straight face then burst out laughing. "If you could see your face, my dear Nikometros. Of course I'm joking. Just call me Mardes as usual."

  Nikometros flushed then joined in the laughter. He clapped Mardes on the shoulder and drew him along toward the city. "Come and have some breakfast. I know Tomyra will be happy to see you."

  "Tomyra is here? The priestess?"

  "My wife now and mother to my daughter. A lot has happened since last we met. Come to breakfast and we can catch up on old times."

  The two men moved off through thinning crowds toward the Lesser Palace.

  Ahead of them, Alexander walked with a group of his friends, talking animatedly. As they passed one of the temples of Bel-Marduk, a group of priests hurried out and intercepted the royal party. Alexander shook his head, said something and walked on toward the Palace. The priests stood stunned, distress evident on their faces.

  Nikometros accosted one of them as they approached but the priest just shook his head, muttering a few words in Persian.

  Mardes asked a question then another while the priest started waving his hands about in agitation. After a few moments he turned back to Nikometros with an ashen face.

  "What is it, Mardes? What's the matter?"

  "The priests asked Alexander if they could re-kindle the sacred fires. He told them, no. Not until sundown."

  Nikometros shrugged. "So what? The priests won't get their portion of the sacrifice until supper then. No great matter surely?" He stared at Mardes' expression. "Does this mean something in Babylon?"

  "The temple fires are extinguished when the king dies."

  Nikometros felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Alexander must know this. Surely they told him when he ordered them put out?"

  "I would presume so, yet he chose to proceed." Mardes looked troubled. "My friend, in such ways the Fates guide our destiny and they aren't always kind or merciful."

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  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The funeral games lasted half a month. Alexander, oblivious to the superstitious mood of the populace and the more reasoning concern of his officers and friends, threw himself into the management of events. Always able to inspire loyalty and the desire to excel among his men, Alexander turned necessary military and naval exercises into competitive occasions. Ships raced on the broad Euphrates, the winners feted and garlanded. Swimmers crossed the river, others dove for prizes in the muddy waters near the harbour; while on land the army manoeuvred and exercised. Prizes were awarded for foot races, archery, javelin, wrestling and boxing.

  The arts were not forgotten. Educated as a youth in arts and philosophy, Alexander added to his appreciation of history through the lands he conquered and the peoples he enfolded in his vision of a unified race. He lost himself for a while in the music of the kithara, his mind far away. He heaped praise on the winners and entertained them royally. But the plays affected him most. Thettalos, a renowned actor, often played for Alexander. This day he put on The Myrmidons.

  Alexander listened, rapt. His eyes glazed, his lips moving soundlessly to the words as the ancient tale of heroism and tragedy played out. He embraced the actor with tears in his eyes afterward and awarded him a crown of gold.

  A few days later, more embassies from Greece arrived. Nikometros watched from the rear ranks of the staff officers as the envoys arrived in the Great Hall of Audience in the Royal Palace. By using his position, he managed to include an invitation to Caius Valerius Gracchus, his newfound Roman friend. This was a perfect opportunity to introduce him to the complex politics of the Greek city-states.

  The order in which the envoys were to speak caused a round of dissension before the audience got under way. The dominant politicians representing Athens and Thebes wanted to speak last. Many of the concerns being brought before Alexander consisted of complaints against other states. It was vital that one had the last word in order to refute ones opponent's lying accusations. In the end, Athens secured the final spot, the other envoys reluctantly allowing the supremacy of Athens in the covert struggle against Macedonian hegemony.

  Alexander sat enthroned on a raised dais, dressed in purple robes and wearing the tall mitred crown of Persia. The envoys entered through huge doors and found themselves having to walk down a vast colonnaded aisle lined with dignitaries and princes of the nations of the Empire. Hundreds of eyes followed them in their long walk to the throne and the plain low stools set out for them.

  After much bowing and formal phrases of greeting, the envoys seated themselves. There was a short pause before Alexander signalled his readiness and the first envoy, Dexileos of Thrace, rose to speak. He started off with a long obsequious speech of praise, followed by a request for justice against one of the leading families of Thrace.

  Nikometros and Caius, standing well back in the crowd, to one side of the throne, had a good view of the proceedings and, thanks to the acoustics of the audience hall, could hear every word spoken in the centre without being overheard themselves.

  "Thrace is a kingdom and this Dexileos will have sought redress from his king already," explained Nikometros. "Now he comes to Alexander for a ruling."

  "The matter seems trivial," commented Caius. "I'm surprised your king even agreed to hear it."

  "He agreed when he became Hegemon of Greece." Nikometros shrugged. "It's a kingly obligation."

  Dexileos finished his speech and sat down. Alexander leaned to one side and conferred briefly with a scribe who recorded the proceedings. The scribe made a few extra notations.

  The next envoy rose and introduced himself as Euboulides of Epirus. The speech resembled the last one except the subject of complaint struck closer to home. The speaker alluded to the high-handed actions of the Regent in Macedonia.

  "Interesting," murmured Nikometros. "I wonder how he'll handle this."

  "Is there a case?" asked Caius. "Surely he'll support his Regent."

  "Not as simple as that." Nikometros looked around cautiously and drew back from the press of onlookers, pulling Caius with him behind one of the pillars. "His mother, the Queen Olympias, comes from Epirus. She hates the Regent Antipatros and will do anything to cause him trouble. I think this is another complaint that can be laid at her door."

  The speaker's voice rose in pitch as he came to the climax of his speech. He struck a defiant pose and stood, awaiting a favourable decision. Alexander thanked him gravely and said a
decision would be forthcoming after he talked to the Regent's envoy. An official announced the next speaker, leaving Euboulides to find his seat in embarrassed silence.

  Another half dozen speakers followed in quick succession, the only common theme being the triviality of their petitions. Alexander listened patiently, interrupting from time to time to ask a pointed question or make some comment to his scribe. The audience became restive, fidgeting and shuffling despite the royal presence.

  Petitioners from Macedon addressed the king next, pleading causes against the regent. Charges of bias were laid against his rule, accusing him of unjust taxation, and acting as if he were king, not Alexander.

  "That last charge comes from Olympias, I'm sure," said Nikometros. "She is forever meddling in state affairs."

  Endelus of Thebes rose and, with the skill of a trained orator, waited for complete silence before speaking. He praised Alexander, though not fulsomely as the previous speakers did then he went on to remind him that the gods looked favourably on one who tempered justice with mercy.

  "What's he getting at?" muttered Nikometros.

  "I was there at Chaeronea," said Endelus proudly. "And though your father won the day, yet did Thebes acquit itself with honour."

  Alexander raised his head and stared at the old orator with interest.

  "Chaeronea?" whispered Caius. "Where is that?"

  "A battle in Boeotia," replied Nikometros. "Alexander and his father Philip met a combined force of Athenians and Thebans. The Athenians cut and ran but the Thebans held their ground and died. It was the last battle for the control of Greece."

  "On that day," went on Endelus, "We Thebans faced your majesty in battle and, unlike some who fled the field, we stayed and fought."

  Alexander inclined his head in agreement and glanced at the other envoys. A trace of a smile flitted across his face when he saw the thunderous expression on the features of the Athenian ambassador.

  "The Sacred Band of Thebes made the ultimate sacrifice on that day," Endelus said solemnly. "Their bones lie buried still, where they fell, on the plains of Chaeronea." He fell silent.

  Alexander stirred. "What is it you wish of me?"

  "Grant that we may honour their memory in a lasting way," said Endelus. "We wish to raise a monument to the fallen on the site of the last stand."

  Alexander stared at the envoy, considering. "I will think on it. Submit your plans for the monument to my clerk." He waved his hand in dismissal. The Theban bowed and resumed his seat, ignoring the angry looks of the Athenian ambassador.

  Aischines of Athens, his nostrils flaring, clenched his hands and took several deep breaths before rising to his feet. He made a long speech praising Alexander and thanking the gods for his safe return from the distant parts of the Earth.

  "Liar," muttered Nikometros. "He is of Demosthenes' party and hates Alexander."

  "Who is this Demosthenes?"

  "A self-important politician of Athens who can only elevate himself by dragging others down."

  Caius nodded. "I know the type. Luckily they don't last long in Rome. We insist on honesty in our politics."

  Nikometros raised an eyebrow but did not comment. "As I said, Demosthenes devoted his whole life to destroying Philip and after him, Alexander." He snorted, drawing a few curious looks from others in the audience. "Much good it's done him," Nikometros continued more softly. "However, it's in his nature to envy what the gods have given other men. No doubt he will continue to make trouble."

  "Why does your king not have him quietly killed then?"

  "Assassination isn't Alexander's way. Oh, he'll kill where necessary but he always seeks a lawful means."

  Aischines continued his speech of praise, laying on the compliments so thickly that even the Persians in the audience, long used to flattery, turned an askance eye on the man. When at length the Athenian came to an end, Alexander thanked him for his words and announced he intended them to take back a gift from him to Athens.

  At a signal, the great doors at the end of the Audience Hall were thrown open and a huge wooden platform trundled in on greased wheels. Standing on the platform were two marble statues of young men, naked but painted in lifelike hues. Alexander waited until the statues arrived by the envoys then stood and gestured to them.

  "See the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, found in the palace at Susa. Knowing how much Athens values these statues, it is in my mind to restore them."

  Caius nudged his companion. "Who are they?" he whispered.

  "Harmodius and Aristogeiton," replied Nikometros with a moue of distaste. "They assassinated a tyrant nearly two hundred years ago and so of course are adulated by Athenians. The statues were looted by the Persian king Xerxes when he invaded Greece." Nikometros frowned. "I wonder why he's returning them now. Can't he see the significance?"

  Caius shot him a questioning look.

  "The Athenians believe Alexander is a tyrant. Why would he want to give them back statues of men who killed a tyrant? It might put ideas in their heads."

  The Athenian ambassador was on his feet again, heaping more praise on Alexander. The king listened for a while then cut him off politely. He rose and walked away from the throne and out of a side door, escorted by his squires. The audience broke up into a horde of gossiping and speculating groups, drifting out into the corridors and courtyards of the palace.

  Nikometros saw Perdikkas beckoning to him and walked over with Caius. Perdikkas nodded a greeting at the Roman.

  "Nikometros," the general said. "Come to the Vine Room. The embassy has arrived from Macedonia...from the Regent. Alexander will see them in private." He glanced at Caius. "Bring him if you like." He turned and marched away, followed a moment later by Nikometros and Caius.

  The Vine Room was a much smaller audience chamber closer to the royal quarters. Tastefully decorated with delicately painted vines and olive groves, it provided a more relaxed and informal setting. When Nikometros arrived, Alexander already sat on the ornate throne at one end of the room. Around him in a semi-circle, great padded couches stood on silver feet. Reclining and sitting on them were his close friends, Macedonian and Persian alike. Members of the Household, squires, lesser officers, court officials, scribes and eunuchs stood behind the throne.

  Nikometros and Caius entered the room on the heels of Perdikkas and moved quickly to stand with the Household. Perdikkas moved with a quiet assurance to one of the couches and sat, exchanging a few quiet words with Alexander.

  "This is what he calls private?" queried Caius in a hoarse whisper.

  "Hush," motioned Nikometros. "Watch and learn."

  The herald at the door announced the Macedonian envoy, representative of Antipatros, Regent of Macedonia. Heads turned as Kassandros, son of Antipatros walked in. A tall, red-haired man with a bushy red-gold beard, he hesitated on the threshold, looking across the room to the throne and half circle of couches. He frowned at the presence of Persians in the audience chamber, and at the mitred and robed king sitting among them. With a slight sneer he strutted across the floor, holding his head up high. He came to a halt just outside the ring of couches and gave a cursory bow, hardly more than a bob of the head.

  "Damn fool thinks he's still in Macedon," growled Nikometros. "Has nobody told him the proper court etiquette?"

  "My father Antipatros, Regent of Macedon and Greece, sends his greetings and well wishes to Alexander," announced Kassandros in a high-pitched voice.

  "The fool's talking as if his father is king, not Alexander," muttered Nikometros.

  Alexander nodded, his face carefully neutral. "I thank you for your father's greetings. You have dispatches from him?"

  "Yes, Alexander." Kassandros clicked his fingers and one of his retinue hurried forward with a bundle of scrolls, sealed and bound. The man handed them to one of the king's scribes and scurried back to his place. "Further, Alexander," went on Kassandros, drawing hisses of disbelief from Ptolemy and Niarchos. "It has come to our ears that malicious lies are being sprea
d."

  "What?" whispered Caius. "Why do they hiss?"

  "He's addressing him by name as if a friend. Everyone knows they detest each other."

  "Lies?" queried the king. "Explain yourself."

  Kassandros shrugged. "Various petitioners accuse my father of acting unjustly. This is nonsense. If they hold evidence they have only to present it at the proper time. Instead they come here, far away from any evidence, and tell their tales. It's all a pack of lies and, of course, you will dismiss it."

  Alexander stared at Kassandros then waved a hand dismissively. "Please wait, Kassandros. I'll attend to this matter in a moment but first there are some other petitioners I must see."

  Kassandros flushed scarlet but stepped back, biting his lip in fury when three Persians in long flowing robes stepped forward. They advanced to the foot of the dais and gracefully prostrated themselves before Alexander. Kassandros sneered, pointing at the Persians prostrate on the floor and addressing a remark to a companion.

  Alexander frowned but kept his attention focused on the petitioners. He bid them rise then heard their plea, thanked them and dismissed them. Stepping down from the throne, Alexander darted swiftly through the couches and, before any could react, seized Kassandros by the hair and pulled the tall man down to his eye level.

  Alexander stared into the other man's eyes, pale with fury. Kassandros read his death in them and blanched, his feet collapsing under him. Terror plastered over his features, the son of the regent gazed up at his king like a bird at a serpent.

  "You have leave to go," said Alexander, releasing the man.

  Kassandros staggered to his feet, clutching his robes about him. He turned and walked stiffly to the doors, every step seeming an eternity. He left behind him damp footprints, a reek of fear and urine and a rising tide of contempt.

  "A fool," commented Nikometros to Caius as they walked from the emptying audience chamber a few minutes later. "A fool but a dangerous one."

  "What will the king do, do you think? Send him home? Kill him?"