by Max Overton
Nikometros sat with Tomyra in the stern of the barge, leaning back against the padded deck rail and looking lazily out over the reeds. Timon and Bithyia sat on the other side, trying to relax. Timon's face was screwed up in pain, one hand clutching his side and wincing every time he moved. Bithyia fussed around her husband, adjusting cushions and mopping his sweaty brow, despite her swollen belly. She glanced across at Nikometros.
"Are you sure the king doesn't mind us here, Niko?"
Nikometros smiled and glanced forward. "Alexander's never one to mince words. If he didn't want us here, we wouldn't be here."
"He did seem a trifle upset when we boarded though," Timon gasped.
"That was because of the other night. He's most upset that his officers are attacked in the streets. He's issued arrest warrants and the city's being searched."
"I suppose it was Scolices again," asked Tomyra. "We'll never be safe until that man is dead."
"If he's in Babylon, the king's patrols will find him," replied Nikometros. "But I'm not sure he was behind the attack the other night."
"Oh?" Bithyia looked up, surprised. "Why not?"
"The attackers were Persian. The dead man, the one I killed is from the north, near the Scythian border, but he is Persian. I don't think Scolices could command the loyalty of such men."
"Besides," added Timon quietly. "Only one man knew we'd be there."
Nikometros looked his friend in the eye, willing his silence. "Exactly. We'll talk on this, my friend...later." He glanced at Tomyra but she was staring forward at Alexander.
"What's he doing?" she asked. "I mean, it's very pleasant out here, but why come out here into these reed beds?"
"He wants to expand the safe anchorage for his fleet," Nikometros explained. "I think he plans to have these channels dredged."
"He could just order it done. Why come out here himself?"
Nikometros chuckled. "Alexander believes in doing things for himself. He's a general and a king who leads, not just directs. I remember when we liberated Egypt he wanted to build a city in the north ..."
"The first of his many 'Alexandrias'," interrupted Timon.
"The point being that he didn't just order his architects to plan it out, he walked with a bag of flour over his shoulder and laid out the position of the streets, baths, libraries and palaces."
"So he does the same here." Tomyra nodded. "You have to admire his energy. A whole empire to govern and he still finds time to organise dredging for his ships." She leaned over the side and trailed a hand in the clear water. "Do you think we'll be able to bathe later, Niko? It's such a hot day and the water looks so inviting."
"When we get back to Babylon, my love. I wouldn't risk it here."
"Why not, Niko?" asked Bithyia. "I agree, a swim would be lovely."
Nikometros grimaced. "Look more closely," he said. He stood and looked out over the water, searching. After a few minutes he pointed. "There, that's why not."
Bithyia and Tomyra came across and stood beside him, shading their eyes against the reflective dazzle of sunlight on the rippling water. Timon eased himself up with a groan, and stared where Nikometros pointed.
"What?" Timon asked. "A crocodile?"
"Nothing so exciting," replied Nikometros with a laugh. He pointed again. "Smaller. See there, bobbing in the bow wave."
Tomyra screwed up her eyes and stared as the small object floated alongside then passed into the wake, being lost in the turbulence. "What was it?" she asked, puzzled.
"A turd," Timon said. "A human turd."
"A turd?" asked Tomyra. "What do you mean...oh!" She flushed with embarrassment.
"Where did it come from?" Bithyia asked. "This is a wilderness."
"Oh, the usual place, my dear," answered Timon, with a grin.
Bithyia rolled her eyes. "Men!" she muttered.
"No, really," said Tomyra. "You know what she meant."
Timon shrugged. "The city of course, where else?"
"But we're miles away."
"There are a lot of people in Babylon," observed Nikometros. "A lot of people produce a lot of...excrement. It's easier just to dump the lot in the river and let it all float away."
"But it's so insanitary," Tomyra protested.
"Same principle applies as when we set up camp," Nikometros said. "Always draw your water from upstream, never downstream."
"Well, I know I'm not swimming in this water," Tomyra said firmly.
After sailing many miles through a maze of slowly moving water channels, the barge anchored by a grassy islet. Alexander led the way ashore, scouting the boundaries of his little kingdom while servants and sailors started a fire, set out camp furnishings and prepared a meal. Nikometros and Bithyia carried Timon ashore and made him comfortable in the dappled shade of a willow where the cool breezes off the river could sooth his sweating body.
People from the other ships in the little fleet also came ashore. Nikometros was delighted to see Prince Mardesopryaxes disembark from one of the craft and called him over. The Persian prince brought with him a youth, clean-shaven and dressed in fine silks.
"Nikometros, may I present my youngest brother, Blepharaxes." He ushered the youth forward with a hand on the boy's shoulder.
The youth bowed his face solemn. "I am honoured," he said simply in flawless Greek. "I have heard of your exploits among the savages of Scythia."
Nikometros gave a small smile. "I'm delighted to meet you, Blepharaxes. May I, in turn, present my wife Tomyra--priestess of the Great Goddess."
Tomyra acknowledged the boy with a cool nod. "Savagery comes in many guises, as does civilised behaviour. At least that is what I have found among my people--the Scythians."
Blepharaxes blushed deeply and his mouth dropped open in horror. "Oh...oh, my lady...my apologies," he stammered. "I didn't mean to...to cause offence." He swallowed and took a deep breath, visibly collecting his thoughts. Bowing deeply once more, this time to Tomyra, he addressed her in formal tones.
"My lady Tomyra, I beg forgiveness for my crass comments. Though I offer up no excuse for my behaviour, I ask that you remember my extreme youth and, having no experience of the world to draw on, I rely solely on what my tutors impart to me. I can see that in this instance they are gravely mistaken."
"Bravely said," murmured Nikometros, in Scythian. "What do you think, Tomyra, give the lad another chance?"
Tomyra smiled and extended a slim hand to Blepharaxes. "There is nothing to forgive. How can any of us learn if we don't put ourselves in the path of knowledge?" She tugged on the youth's hand, drawing him aside. "Come and talk with me, there is much I would know about your people." As she walked off to the shade of a spreading willow tree, she beckoned to Bithyia. "This is my friend Bithyia. She too is Scythian."
Nikometros watched Tomyra and Bithyia strolling and talking with Blepharaxes. "A fine lad," he said. "I didn't know you had other brothers, Mardes. I thought your elder brother Astyges was the only one."
"Astyges and I were both sons of my father's wife. Blepharaxes is a son of one of his concubines. There are two others, barely walking, and of course, numerous daughters." Mardes waved a hand dismissively. "I sent for him to give him a taste of court life. It is in my mind to ask Alexander to let him remain behind in his service when I return home."
"I'd be happy to keep an eye on him," Nikometros said. "When do you return home?"
"Another week, maybe two," replied Mardes. "Alexander has set the date of the expedition for ten days hence. No point staying at court if the king isn't there, so I'll return to my lands. Plenty to keep me busy there."
"I'll be sorry to see you go. Perhaps you'll come back to Babylon when we return."
Mardes lifted an eyebrow. "Return? Surely the king will stay in the west, in his Macedonian homeland?"
"Hardly. Alexander views Persia as his home now. I know for a fact he intends to make Babylon his world capital."
Mardes inclined his head with a smile. "May the gods grant the king a swi
ft and safe return to his people then."
"Indeed," agreed Nikometros. He turned, hearing his name called and saw Tomyra beckoning. Servants were serving up the noon meal. "Ah, lunch. Shall we?" He put his arm around his friend and started toward the others.
Mardes hung back. "A moment, Niko, I beg."
Nikometros stared at the prince's troubled face. "What's wrong?"
"It may be nothing." Mardes hesitated. "Your friend, the Roman..."
"Caius?"
"He keeps...what should I say...dubious company?"
Nikometros looked mystified. "I don't understand."
"He spends time...too much time, with Kassandros."
Nikometros frowned. "Why should that be a problem?" he asked cautiously.
"Kassandros hates Alexander. That's obvious for all to see. Add in a Roman who fears the king will subjugate his people and you have a dangerous combination."
"He could just be seeking information, Mardes. Caius is forever asking questions of anyone willing to talk to him."
"I hope so, my friend."
"You have seen them together? Do they behave suspiciously?"
"I haven't. One in my employ saw them with another man, two or three times in the last few days." Mardes shrugged. "He doesn't know this other man but he'll find out."
"Let me know when you do. I'm sure it's innocent enough but the king may need to know."
"I'll do so, never fear," replied Mardes. "Now," he added, rubbing his hands together. "You said something about lunch?"
Nikometros and Mardes rejoined the others in the shade of the trees where a great quantity of food and drink lay on trestle tables and on the springy turf. For a time, conversation lagged as all, commoners and nobility alike, assuaged their hunger pains. Afterward, they relaxed, in shade or sun, slept for a time or talked quietly. Nikometros lay on his belly on the short grass and watched tiny blue butterflies fluttering over the sward, feeding on nectar from minute white flowers that dotted the grass like stars in the heavens. The sailors and servants broke up into small groups and played dice or gossiped. Some of the Greeks, the king among them, swam or splashed in the shallows, oblivious or uncaring as to what else floated alongside them.
Timon rested quietly beneath the shade trees, a solicitous Bithyia at his side. As the day advanced, he developed a slight fever, his wounds reddening.
Tomyra drew Nikometros aside. "I don't like it, Niko. I fear his wounds are infected."
"Aye. He won't complain but I can see he's in pain."
"I'll feel better when we can get him back to the palace. I can treat him properly there."
They embarked in a warm mid-afternoon, turning their prows upriver to Babylon. Mardes and his young brother joined the king's barge. Facing into fitful breezes, the Assyrian shipmasters hauled down gaudy sails and unshipped great two-man oars. The sailors manned these amid joking and challenges.
As usual, Alexander made joy of necessity and organised races between the ship crews as they oared their way through reed-lined river channels. The king stood in the prow, took the helm or just strolled among the crew, joking and laughing with the sailors. He wore a battered sun-hat, worn and stained, with a purple ribbon, a symbol of his royal power.
Great trees grew alongside the river channels here; their arching canopies meeting above. The ships moved through great green caves of languid water then, bursting out into the sun once more, forged across pools covered with lily-pads, ablaze with white and yellow and pink flowers.
The stream broadened and the ships glided into calm waters. The wind, instead of a steady breeze from the north, gusted in flurries, whipping the tops of the trees. Great stone monuments and statues, crumbling and stained, loomed among the willows. Striding bulls and man-headed lions stared in stony disdain at the little fleet intruding on their endless silence.
Alexander ran to the side of the barge and leaned on the rail, staring eagerly at the enigmatic stonework. He turned to his Assyrian shipmaster. "What are they? Who built them?"
"Great King," rumbled the shipmaster. "They are the tombs of the ancient Assyrian kings. This is a burial ground."
A gust of wind answered his words, bending the trees and beating at the royal barge. Alexander's sun hat whisked overboard and its purple ribbon lofted into the air. It rippled and flew, lodging in the reeds beside a crumbling tomb.
The sailors stopped rowing and a groan of dread echoed through their ranks. One of the rowers, a young man, dropped his oar and dived overboard, swimming for the reeds. He unwound the purple ribbon, treading water, then after a moment's hesitation, wound it around his own head to leave both hands free for swimming. He swam back to the royal barge in a dreadful silence and handed it to the king.
Alexander thanked the man and turned away to take up his station in the prow, looking thoughtful. The rowers, under the urgings of the shipmaster, resumed their passage toward Babylon.
Nikometros turned to Mardes, noting the young Persian prince's stricken expression. "What? You look like you've seen your own death."
"Not mine," he whispered. "The king's."
Tomyra arrived and stood by the two men. "What does this mean, Mardes?"
Mardes turned his horrified face to Tomyra. "The king's diadem, his ribbon, his symbol of kingship, has gone from his head to a tomb and from there to another man's head. It's a most dreadful omen."
Nikometros turned and looked to where the young man had resumed his place at an oar. His fellows drew back from him, shunning him. "What if the king had the man killed? Like the madman on the throne. Would that avert the omen?"
"Possibly." Mardes nodded to where the shipmaster and one of the accompanying seers were obviously remonstrating with Alexander, entreating him to kill the young sailor.
Alexander refused, with an angry shake of his head. He beckoned the young man over and handed him something. The seer backed away and came toward the helm, shaking his head.
Nikometros accosted the seer, plucking at his sleeve. "What happened? What did the king say?"
The seer looked at the tall Greek officer with tears in his eyes. "He rewarded the man," he whispered in a tone of shocked disbelief. He wiped his tears away with his sleeve. "He won't execute the man to avert the omen. The king chooses to disregard all the warnings of the gods."
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Chapter Thirty-Nine
The embassy from Siwah returned. Sent months ago, during the madness of Alexander, to ask of Zeus-Ammon that Hephaestion be admitted as a god to the ranks of the immortals, men dreaded the return of the embassy. Alexander had emerged slowly and painfully from madness and many feared a relapse.
The king received the embassy in the Throne Room, surrounded by his Companions, generals and friends, who lounged on silver couches. The envoys entered, made obeisance to the Great King and ceremoniously unrolled papyrus containing Ammon's words.
The priest of Ammon at Siwah and friend of Nikometros, Ketherennoferptah cleared his throat and drew his wizened diminutive form erect. His voice, soft but commanding, penetrated to the corners of the huge reception room. "The god Ammon, all-high and all-mighty, sends greetings to his son Alexander, Pharaoh of Egypt, Great King of Persia, Hegemon of Greece. Know that Ammon is a jealous god and does not share the godhead lightly. The man Hephaestion is refused worship as a god but is accorded divine honours as a Hero. Ammon has spoken."
Ket rolled up the papyrus and retied the purple ribbon around it. With a bow he handed it to Alexander's secretary Eumenes and resumed his position with the other envoys.
For a long time Alexander remained lost in thought as silence enveloped the Throne Room. At last he stirred and lifted his head to contemplate the priest of Ammon. "I have heard the words of my father Ammon, priest, and am content." He stood, the Companions and the rest of the court rising with him. "Let it be universally known that lord Hephaestion is proclaimed a divine hero. Let temples be erected in his name and prayers and sacrifices be offered to him as...as a
n averter of evil."
A buzz of comment broke out, and applause, scattered at first but quickly gathering strength, washed over the king.
Perdikkas leaned toward a smirking Eumenes. "Don't get too happy with the idea that your rival has been refused godhead," he whispered. "You're still going to have to use his name in all official documents from now on."
Eumenes' smile vanished.
Alexander dismissed the embassy with his thanks and ordered a great celebratory feast for that evening. "This good news has come at a most opportune time. The fleet leaves in five days' time and now lord Hephaestion can be invoked, with the gods, to bring a blessing on this venture. Let this feast be in honour of my admiral Niarchos, the greatest fleet the world has seen, and Hephaestion's elevation to heaven."
The meeting broke apart, Alexander conferring with his closest friends as he walked from the Throne Room. "Peukestas, make sure that sufficient funding goes out to the provinces. I want a temple to Hephaestion in every city before year's end."
Peukestas looked worried. "That will be a considerable drain on the treasury, Alexander, particularly as we are still outfitting the fleet. Perhaps we could start them in Babylon and say, Ekbatana and Persepolis, and wait until the new taxes are in?"
Alexander nodded impatiently. "Very well, but get them started. And don't skimp on the materials. Now, Ptolemy, Egypt was ever your love. See to the temple in Alexandria. I want it to be the talk of the civilised world."
"Of course, Alexander. No expense shall be spared. Egypt is a rich province."
The little group emerged from the shadowed palace into the sweltering heat of summer. The sun burned in a pale blue vault, the air rippling and distorting the great city that lay before them.
"It'll be good to get away from Babylon," Alexander said, flapping his tunic away from his sweating body. "Though I daresay Arabia will be just as hot."
"Probably," agreed Ptolemy. "Yet the desert heat is drier and not so enervating. This wet heat is dreadful. At least it will be cooler when we set sail."
