Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon

by Peter Messmore

  Philip started to follow Pelopidas, and then said, "I want my slave, Pelopidas. He's always been with me. I'm still a prince." He was nearly shouting.

  Pelopidas glared at him with a cruel smile. "You'll have a slave, but it won't be Macedonian. Your slave will be sold tomorrow. Understand that you have lost the prerogatives that you once had. You certainly are not a prince anymore. Thebes now controls your life. Follow me."

  The older man, two Sacred Band soldiers, and Philip entered the palace. As they passed through massive columns, the prince marveled at their construction. Macedonia had little approaching this magnificence. The palace walls were covered with colorful mosaics of Theban military victories. Striking statues of the twelve Greek gods lined the entrance hall. The floor was covered with geometric patterns and floral designs, reminding the visitor of the importance of the man who waited beyond. They approached an enormous door of etched bronze, beautifully decorated with depictions of Theban culture.

  "Wait here," Pelopidas told Philip.

  The guards flanked the boy as two other guards opened the door. Pelopidas disappeared inside, leaving Philip alone. Shortly, the doors opened and a guard commanded him to enter the private reception room of Epaminondas. Pelopidas, with another man he knew must be Epaminondas, reclined on couches awaiting him. He summoned what remained of his royal bearing and walked toward the leering, condescending Thebans.

  Philip studied Epaminondas. He had seen enough of Pelopidas on the long ride south. Epaminondas was easily the tallest man he had ever seen. He had long red hair and was handsome by any culture’s standards. His clothing, all fine linen, was grand beyond imagination.

  Epaminondas waited until his Macedonian hostage stopped, then stood and studied the teenager. It was as if a regal mountain were examining a wilderness sapling. Without speaking, he gestured for Philip to turn around. As he completed the maneuver, Philip saw Epaminondas shaking his head. Pelopidas continued his wry smile. "Do you understand why you were brought to Thebes?" Epaminondas asked. His voice was deep, deliberate, and authoritative.

  "I do," replied Philip.

  "Do you understand anything other than dynastic murder and drunkenness?" He smirked, unexpectedly lashing out at the boy. "Know that Greeks consider Macedonians semicivilized at best. Even your royal family lacks culture. What education do you have?"

  "Since boyhood I've been trained in those things that Macedonians value most. A boy in my homeland must kill a wild animal single-handedly before he can eat in a reclining position with other men. I'm proud to say that I made my first kill when I was ten. I've received constant military and physical training since then. I've also received instruction in Attic Greek, but not much."

  "Your Greek is offensive,” Epaminondas interjected sarcastically. “I have never heard such hideously elongated vowels and harsh consonants. Your speech reflects the crude Doric origins of the Macedonian tongue. It's the first thing we will work on."

  Philip studied Epaminondas’s face during his rant. It reflected increasing contempt; he seemed to be enjoying humbling his hostage.

  "Is that the extent of your so-called education?"

  "That's all." Philip lowered his head.

  "I have a different education in mind for you while you are here. You will stay in the home of one of my generals, Pammenes. He will explain your future. You must stay on the Cadmea. You'll not be allowed in the lower city until you have adjusted. If you attempt to escape, you'll be killed. Do you understand?"

  "I understand."

  "That's enough for tonight. Leave us. I'll see you from time to time, after we've taught you how Thebans speak and care for personal hygiene. If you ever return to your wretched country, perhaps you can teach Macedonians the value of cleanliness."

  Philip fumed at Epaminondas’ insulting remark. Let it pass. You're as weak as a human can be. As young as he was, he knew that indignation was a luxury of the powerful. He wouldn't be weak forever. For now, he must get through the first few hostage days.

  Philip left, escorted by his two guards. The trio quick-marched through an even blacker night and arrived at a small house. Philip took it to be the home of Pammenes. One of the soldiers beat on the door with the butt of his spear, and a slave opened the door. The group entered a small courtyard where the master of the house stood.

  "I'm Pammenes," the man said. "So you are Philip. I’ve been expecting you.” The middle-aged general looked Philip over, and then continued. “You'll live with me during your captivity. Tomorrow, we'll discuss what your life will be like here. Go to your room up those stairs. Everything you need is there. Tomorrow you'll meet your slave. Bathe tonight before you sleep. Use the water in the amphora. I'll not have your disgusting Macedonian grime on my bedding."

  Philip left Pammenes, climbed the wooden stairs, and entered the small room. There was a long cot in it, a single wooden table, and a large amphora in the corner. Amphorae were large, clay containers used throughout the Greek world to hold liquids. The room had a single open window with strong wooden bars on it. Tonight would begin his captivity, and this was his prison. After bathing, he stretched his muscular body on the cot. The weariness of his journey and the stress of an uncertain future enveloped him and sleep came quickly. It brought an endless series of hopeless dreams.

  The crowing of roosters in the lower city startled him awake. He had made it through his first night. He went to the barred window and peered out at Thebes below him. Hundreds of homes with red-tile roofs radiated out from the base of the Cadmea. Each house appeared made of mud-brick, covered with a kind of stucco. The impression the city gave from this height was one of affluent orderliness. Surrounding Thebes was a fortified wall. Watch towers punctuated it at regular intervals. He couldn't see the main city gate, but he was certain that it was well guarded. He could just make out several impressive buildings in the distance. Near their center was the agora, the marketplace in most Greek cities. Clustered around it were other public structures that he took to be religious temples and government buildings. A stunning theater was cut neatly into the side of a rocky hillside. Philip could clearly see the slaves as they cleaned the seats and floors of debris. Far in the distance were neat plots of farmland, both inside and outside the walls. The boy wondered how self-sufficient the Thebans would be if their city was ever besieged.

  He walked away from the window and tried opening the door, but it was locked from the outside. He looked for his clothes and found that they were gone. In their place, folded neatly on the foot of his cot, were new ones, all in Theban style. Philip dressed and returned to his window. Now begins my waiting.” A hostage, he was sure, spent much of his time waiting. Soon he heard the door being unlocked. It opened and a slave stood before him.

  "I am Archlus," the slave said. "Master General Pammenes commands that you come to him."

  "Lead the way," Philip responded with authority. At last, he had met someone toward whom he could show superiority.

  Archlus walked down the wooden stairs and Philip followed. They entered a room larger than the one in which he had spent the night. Reclining on a sofa was Pammenes. The general sat up as they entered, directing Archlus to stand along the wall.

  He then spoke to Philip. "Sit here, Philip.” The hostage Macedonian complied and Pammenes continued. “I'm directed by Epaminondas to explain your duties and responsibilities while you're a hostage. First, know that your time here is indeterminate. Only political conditions in Greece and Macedon will dictate your stay. Epaminondas will make that decision. He has decided to educate you in Greek culture and thought. You'll be taught Pythagorean philosophy, as Epaminondas himself was. We're aware of your culture’s abuse of uncut wine—wine that even Macedonian children drink. A Pythagorean indoctrination to the disciplined life may give you a chance at sobriety.”

  “Your diet will be a vegetarian one. Until you have proven yourself worthy, you must practice sexual abstinence from both men and women. You'll not be allowed to leave this house until the Festiva
l of Cronia, when masters and slaves feast together. It's in seven days, so your room isolation will be tolerable. You will also receive religious instruction during your captivity. The gods have been faithful to Thebes, and you must learn how they control men's destinies."

  Pammenes paused and eyed his guest-captive. "Greeks find the shaggy beards Macedonians wear repulsive. A properly trimmed beard is characteristic of a civilized man. In time, you'll come to understand that. If you want to keep it, I'll not force the issue. When you shave it, or at least trim it, I'll know that you have become one of us."

  I'll never shave it voluntarily, Philip thought. Beards were a rite of passage for young Macedonian men. He would die before he acquiesced to this womanly symbol of Theban and Greek culture.

  "You'll learn Greek music, art, history, proper Attic Greek, mathematics, and architecture," Pammenes droned on. "I was once in your backward country as a young hoplite. I know these subjects, especially architecture, will be a revelation to you. True Greeks have advanced far beyond the rocks and sticks that your countrymen use as building materials. If you ever return to Macedonia, which I doubt, a modicum of this knowledge may return with you."

  Philip sat erect, nodding at the proper times to show respect for his host's words. Little did Pammenes know that the royal family's palace at Pella was becoming an architectural wonder. Clearly, Pammenes had only been in Macedonia's hinterlands. He started to protest but was silenced with a wave of his host's arm.

  "Your new slave is a Theban. His name is Archlus and he was born here. He'll always be with you. He knows what you can and cannot do. Don't involve him in any plots to escape, or you both will be killed. Theban justice is swift.”

  “You'll no longer be allowed to wear those animal skins that are so popular with your countrymen. Greeks shed the hides of animals long ago. Here, our basic way of dress is the same for men and women. The tunic you see me wearing is the chiton." Pammenes held each layer of clothing out from his body and showed how the garment was to be worn.

  Philip watched attentively.

  "This covering is called a himation. Its color and design show a citizen's status and rank. Since you have no status, both your chiton and himation will be white. No underclothing is worn beneath the robes. Sandals must always be worn on your feet. It's how a civilized person dresses. You must at least look as if you are civilized, even before the Pythagoreans have had their chance with you.”

  “After the Festival of Cronia, you'll be allowed out of my house. Guards will accompany you everywhere. You'll be free to move about the Cadmea, providing the guards are with you. As time passes, and if you behave, Epaminondas will allow you into the lower city. You'll then begin physical training. Eventually you may qualify for military training. You must earn this right. It's not assured. After a year or two you'll become what we demand of our citizens—a civilized man."

  Philip waited to be sure that the long harangue of Pammenes was finished. Then he rose and reacted to what he had heard. "I understand all that you require of me, Pammenes. I want to know whether I'll be allowed to write my brother in Pella."

  "There will be no communication," Pammenes snapped back. "Later, if Epaminondas finds it useful, he'll allow you to write your family. That's based on the assumption, of course, that they haven't all murdered each other by then. Return to your room now." Pammenes turned away and added a last remark.

  “During your first seven days, all meals will be brought to you by Archlus. He'll attend to your personal needs. You and I will meet every other day until I am satisfied that you have accepted your fate. I'm a harsh judge of character, and I'll know whether you are sincere. Now leave me."

  Not being able to write or hear from his family was a bitter restriction for the hostage prince. Philip knew that he could endure his captivity, but he must find a way to hear from Perdiccas. There has to be a way to make clandestine contact. Wait for an opening; a message just might get through. Until then, he could only do everything that Epaminondas demanded of him. He would show his captors what a barbarian could do. A resolve started to grow in him that was only hoped for on the trip south. Philip and Macedonia would prevail. His naïve, adolescent attitude ignored the enormous odds against anything like that happening. That didn't matter. He didn't know how or when, but final victory was to be his.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Mother, can't you stop whoring long enough to be queen?" Eurynoe screamed. The sight she had interrupted caused the queen’s daughter to retch, holding both hands over her stomach. "Father found you two this way. It almost killed him."

  Her mother was naked on her bed with Ptolemy of Alorus. He, too, was naked. Ptolemy, just married to Eurydice, left the bed and stood before, Eurynoe, his former wife. He did not attempt to cover himself. His right fist jabbed threateningly at her. "Get out of here, you little bitch. You keep this up and you'll join your brother in the cemetery."

  Queen Eurydice, Philip’s mother, pulled an embroidered sheet around her, stood and grabbed Ptolemy's arm. "Leave, Ptolemy," she said quietly. "Let me talk to her."

  Ptolemy scowled at both women, pulled on a chiton and stormed out of the queen's bedchamber. His door-slam echoed through the palace as queen and daughter were left alone. Eurydice discarded the sheet and dressed quickly in a plain himation. Walking to an outside balcony above muddy Lake Loudias, she began talking to her daughter without facing her. "What’s wrong with you Eurynoe?" she began. "Don’t you know your actions endanger your life? Ptolemy isn’t making idle threats. He'll eliminate you, just as he did your brother, Alexander. You have no protector other than me. Perdiccas retreats into philosophy and literature. He will never be strong. He's just like his feeble father. Philip's a hostage in Thebes and may spend the rest of his life there. We must get along."

  Her daughter, crying quietly, remained where she had been standing near the door. Finally, she got control and joined her mother.

  "Why have you betrayed our family and me, mother? You only had me marry Ptolemy while father lived so you could sleep with him. Is sex that important?"

  Eurydice turned and stared at her. Her expression was arrogant and cruel. "I was forced to marry your father when I was two years younger than you. Sex meant nothing to me then. I wanted to be queen. Alexander and Perdiccas came in eighteen months. Philip followed in a year, then you. I hope you never have to endure having an old man like Amyntas impregnate you. It was all suffering, and no joy." She left the balcony and walked to a small alcove next to the bedchamber. Her daughter followed her, choking back sobs.

  Eurydice pointed to a couch and sat on another close by. Her daughter curled on the couch in a fetal position, her head buried in her arms. "When Ptolemy first showed interest in me, I was helpless. He was so handsome and strong." A cool breeze wafted through the open balcony window, bringing Lake Loudias’s lake smell into the room. It helped calm the tension. "I learned for the first time what sexual passion was. Amyntas was nearly eighty then. Forcing you to marry Ptolemy was the only way I could keep from losing him. I'd do it again." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? After four babies, I finally learned how to enjoy lovemaking. No, I more than enjoyed it: I grew to crave it."

  At the mention of sex, Eurynoe started crying again. "Why did you have to marry him?" she blurted out. "You stole your daughter's husband!"

  "He was never yours; you delude yourself. You were just available." Eurydice brushed back her hair and sighed. "But you asked why I married him. Ptolemy was clever with me. After he knew that I couldn't do without him, he gave an ultimatum. It was marriage or nothing. I did stop him from killing your father. Amyntas died of natural causes. Why shouldn't I have married him? I was a widow."

  Eurynoe rose from her couch and faced her mother. "You did nothing when he killed Alexander at the folk dancing festival. You knew it was going to happen!"

  "You're wrong!" Eurydice shot back. "I was in Aigai. I would have stopped him." The queen rose and put her hands on her hips. "This is useless. Get out of here; feel sorry
for yourself somewhere else. I'm working with the Athenians to soften Ptolemy's actions. That's the best I can do. Don't underestimate your mother. Macedon may become the first Greek nation to be ruled by a queen."

  Eurynoe stood. She looked surprised by her mother's last remark. The girl walked to the door, turned, and launched a final invective. "Mother, if I see you betraying our line again I'll take action. Perdiccas may be weak, but I'm not. Get control of Ptolemy or I'll have him poisoned. Lyncestis province is full of men who would love to be king!" The girl gave her mother the same look that she had received on the balcony and left the room.

  Eurydice was alarmed by Eurynoe's departing threat. Before now, she had dismissed the troublesome girl's behavior as just behavior associated with her monthly period. Eurydice feared for the first time that she was showing a backbone. The queen intended to be the only person in Pella's palace with a backbone. This was more serious than she had thought. She would pray over these matters during her afternoon temple devotions. Perhaps she would have to let Ptolemy have his way with his former wife.

  Ptolemy left Pella and went hunting in the low hills northwest of the capital. With him were three young Macedonian nobles. Each was a strong supporter of Ptolemy. In recent days, they had been urging him to take action against the only remaining son of Amyntas in Macedonia, Perdiccas.

  "You have just three years before he comes of age," said Polemo. He was a stout, bull of a youth known for entering wrestling contests with men a third his weight. "You're Macedon's regent now, but how long do you think you'll live when he demands the kingship for himself?"

  "I know that!" Ptolemy snapped. "I eliminated Alexander, didn't I? Eurydice wouldn't tolerate another murder so fast. No one believes the story we concocted about Alexander's death. Eurydice chose to believe it, at least publicly. I can't rule Macedon right now without her. Later, she'll be expendable, along with that sissy Perdiccas."