The ball was moving quickly across the lake, pushed steadily by a moderate north wind. "Alexander has become literate during the last two years. He reads not only Greek, but also my Epirote dialect and the Great King's Persian language too. He practices speaking, reading and writing that strange tongue with Barsine when they're together. Your son and I feel that it's time I learn to read and write. Learn to read and write at least Attic Greek, more if I'm able."
The ball was nearly out of sight.
"You'll never learn to read or write while I'm king. You're nearly out of control as an illiterate viper. Your spy network has moved beyond the palace. It now spreads its slimy influence into Pella. I'll not help you undermine my kingship."
"You appointed me chief priestess when we were married. I'm unable to function unless I can correspond regularly with the priests at Delphi and Dodona. Would you deny Macedon the gods' grace and support?"
"You'll be given a scribe. That will meet any needs you might have as priestess. I use them to record all court actions. I absolutely refuse to give you any literacy instruction. I'll issue orders today to my palace guards that anyone teaching you will be executed. I'll have their body imprinted with your original name and hung on the drill field until the crows pick the skeleton clean. No one will help you after the edict.”
He looked out the window. The ball had disappeared. “Get out of here! I leave for maneuvers outside Pella. Function in your titular status and don't push me for more privileges. Raise our son until he's thirteen, then I'll take him away from your corrupting influence.”
“You make it impossible for me to care about you,” Philip continued. “I had decided to try and regain what we once had. But your lies to Alexander about my fatherhood have hardened my heart.” He saw a surprised look on Olympias’s face. Clearly, she didn’t believe that Alexander would tell his father about anything she had told him.
Olympias looked at the floor. Then she turned her back to her husband and walked to the center of the room. She turned on her heel, as if to take the argument to a higher level, then sighed. She held out both arms to Philip and said, “Are you quite done?”
“Not yet! “Your womb has given me all that I need in Alexander and Kleopatra. Play your role, use your religion to delude our countrymen, but ask no more from me; you'll not get it."
"You force me to ask Alexander to teach me. We both know that you'll not order his death."
"If you can be taught to read by a child, then learn what you can. His instruction will only confuse you. Reading and writing are difficult. I worked at it for years before I mastered the skills. Alexander will tire of instructing you. I know him; he seeks glory in other areas, not as a pedagogue to his mother. Leave me—now!"
Olympias left, fuming but not surprised at her husband's reaction. His cruel limitation of her growth would not be forgotten. She would learn what she could from her son. Philip was right; Alexander was too filled with wanderlust to teach her for long. His near-mastery of three languages by age seven hinted that he would not be patient enough to teach someone else. But she would learn what she could from her son, using her abundant guile and intellect to fill in the rest. Besides, there were other ways to exert her influence, and she intended to put them into action.
Nearly a month passed, during which Philip completed his plans for moving the main army again into Thrace and the Chalcidian peninsula. The king during this time focused his attention on more effective siege engines that would be used to invest Olynthus. He frequently slept in the field with his men and could often be found sitting around a campfire, drinking and singing ribald Macedonian songs with his adoring soldiers.
He returned to the palace only when pressing administrative or diplomatic matters presented themselves. During one of these returns, Black Cleitus told him that Aristotle of Stagirus had arrived and wanted an audience. Expecting the philosopher's arrival, Philip had left instructions that he was to be given the palace's finest guest room. All of his personal needs were to be met immediately.
Although dirty and still dressed in battlefield attire, Philip walked hurriedly to Aristotle's room. A slave opened the door and admitted the King of Macedon to the presence of the man that he had not seen for twenty years. "Aristotle, you're not what I expected! You have the dandified appearance of a spoiled Athenian debater."
Aristotle gaped briefly at Philip’s unkempt appearance, then recovered. He opened his arms to Philip. “Old friend,” he said warmly. The two men embraced. Philip finally stood back from his friend and examined him. He was dressed in the finest linen chiton that Philip had ever seen. His tall, nearly gaunt body wore it well. His hair was carefully cut and styled, combed forward to conceal a bald spot above a prodigious forehead. His eyes were small and penetrating, as probing as the king's son's. He wore seven rings on his fingers.
At last, Aristotle smiled and spoke to the man he had thought so much about in recent months. "Your appearance fits the reputation that Athenians have of you, Philip. I trust that you have been in the field and that this is not your normal dress."
Philip noted that Aristotle spoke quietly and with a distinct lisp. He didn't remember any speech defect when the two had been children so many years ago. "You're right, Aristotle. Linen is of little use when the arrows start flying. Tomorrow you'll see me in attire more befitting the future hegemon of Greece."
Aristotle raised his eyebrows, but left the boast unanswered. "Can you sit with me? We have much to discuss."
"Only for a while, my friend, I'm awaited in the baths. My smell will soon choke you unless I get this grime off."
The two men laughed, walked to sofas in the corner of the room, and began to talk of their childhood years. Nothing substantive was discussed, as the reminisces began. They shared memories of their childhood together. Aristotle could not help but notice that Philip was beginning to age prematurely. His battle wounds, his single functioning eye, and countless nights of drunken debauchery were showing on a man who was three years younger than he. His face was puffy and he was becoming overweight.
"I leave you now," the king finally said. "Come to my throne room after the morning meal tomorrow, and we'll return to reality. I too have much to discuss with you."
"I will be there.”
"I want you to meet my son, Alexander, when we finish. "His mind, although untrained and immature, is as dazzling as yours. He'll need a firm hand if he is ever to realize his potential."
“I look forward to meeting him. Will your wife be there? I would like to meet her."
"She won't. You may have an audience with her before you leave, if you like. I'll leave that up to you. Rest well, old friend. Slaves will bring you anything you need: food, wine, women, or boys. Just ask the slave at your door and it will be provided."
"A good bath and rest to you, Philip. I am grateful for your hospitality and warm welcome. We will continue in the morning."
Aristotle walked to an open window and peered across the muddy lake. He wondered if the rumored schism between Macedon’s King and Queen was real or merely Athenian propaganda. He would delve further into the matter when he met privately with the queen. A philosopher attempted to understand everything. The relationship between Philip and Olympias was potentially vital to his future actions.
After breakfast the next morning, Aristotle was escorted to the king's throne room. Entering, he found a different Philip sitting on an impressive throne. The monarch was scrubbed, his beard freshly trimmed, and his hair neatly cut. He wore a magnificent purple chiton. The crown of Macedon, a spectacular diadem made of gold and precious jewels fashioned to resemble oak leaves and acorns, graced the top of his head.
Philip rose from the throne as Aristotle entered and the two men walked to a side alcove where two sofas awaited. After they had exchanged morning pleasantries, the king spoke first. "I am told that you are relocating and will soon join Hermias in Assos. Why would you ever want to do that? Don't you know that the entire Troad is in a state of insurrection
? There's a real chance that Ochus will soon reestablish control there."
"These conditions are known to me. Presently, Hermias is in favor with Ochus. They apparently meet each other's needs, at least for now. Understand that Hermias is a longtime friend and fellow Platonic scholar. Although he is a eunuch and a former slave, the man has risen above his lowly beginnings. He has established a rich enclave in and around Assos and Atarneus and is content to be a client of the Persian Great King."
"Again, why would you want to live like that?"
"Hermias has assured me that I'll become not only a close personal advisor, but a member of a group that he intends to call the Council of Advisors. These advisors, all former students of Plato at the Academy in Athens, will guide him and aid him in his relations with Ochus. You must know, from your time with the Pythagoreans, that every philosopher wants secretly to direct a prince or monarch. An enlightened king-philosopher is the form of government of the future, a form I know that Isocrates has written you about."
"We have written," Philip responded with a smirk. "His idea of a king being beholden to a group of philosophers is repugnant to me. They would only tie my hands as I attempt to manage the affairs of Macedon. Nor is that the Macedonian tradition. As I see it, one philosopher-advisor is enough for any monarch."
"Open your mind to the idea," Aristotle retorted. "Collective wisdom is a valuable resource for a king, often more valuable than gold or armies."
"I've not arrived at that level of maturity then, Aristotle. Macedonians are an abrasive and direct people, with little tolerance for committee decisions. It wouldn't work here."
"You seem to have risen high without any philosophical advice. But the years ahead will be different. Remember the idea, linger on it, give it fair consideration. You may change your mind."
Philip changed the subject. "I have two requests of you. One involves my son. It's traditional that Macedonian princes are given to a tutor of high repute when they reach their thirteenth birthday. Alexander, more than other youths, needs a first-rate intellect to educate him. It's said, even by my enemies, that the boy has the brightest mind of any child in Greece. I intend for him to be the best-educated monarch that ever lived. Although the time for his education is distant, I want you to consider being his tutor for three years. The instruction would occur from his thirteenth to his sixteenth birthday. It may give you the chance to influence a future monarch, should you and Hermias fail or if your benefactor is killed by Ochus. Does my offer interest you?"
"It is an offer that I would consider. Of course, I cannot commit now. Many things will happen between now and then. But I give you my word that I'll entertain your invitation. If I did become Alexander's tutor, there would be many conditions that would have to be met. I am more than a tutor of adolescents. I have developed a universal thirst to examine all knowledge. I want to know all that can be known. I dream of philosophers studying everything below, on and above the earth. So you see, I would not come cheaply."
"Those issues don't concern me; I expected them. If they're important to you, I'll grant each one. Ponder my invitation, and when the time draws near, I'll give you anything you want—gold, teaching tools, a serene, quiet campus."
"What is the second request?"
Philip paused in the conversation, searching carefully for just the right words. He had learned from the Pythagoreans that words were very important to educated people. How a position was broached was critical to its later consideration and acceptance. "I've made some assumptions about you, Aristotle. I first want to know if they're correct. Interrupt me if you take issue with what I'm saying if you disagree. First, I assume that you left Athens because you were not chosen to succeed Plato as head of the Academy. The Athenian leaders tell me that your Macedonian childhood, your acquaintance with me, and your openly expressed views about an organized national unification of Greece contributed to political distrust of you. I believe these are a few of the reasons why you're leaving cultured Athens for a backward city in the Troad."
Philip paused, waited for Aristotle to speak or to react to his sensitive comments. The philosopher remained silent and expressionless.
Aristotle at last said softly, “Continue.”
Philip resumed. "I've mulled these ideas around for some time. You're aware that I see myself as the monarch who will eventually unite Greece. Isocrates has spoken to you about this; he has written that you're not without sympathy for the idea. When Greece has granted me the hegemon title, I'll mount an expedition into Asia and topple the Great King. This is inevitable—only my death will prevent it."
"Your facts and most of your assumptions are correct. The time of quarrelsome Greek poleis has passed; a new order is the only way that civilization can proceed. That order will require an enlightened monarch, leading a unified nation. It is the only way that Greece can ever resist Persian aggression. The day is coming, certainly within our lifetimes, when the Persians will invade for a third time. We must be ready for them."
"Your words are like Macedonian wine to me. “ You and I may not agree on minute aspects of the future, but on the broad goals and aspirations, we are of like mind."
The king now approached dangerous territory. If he misspoke, if he insulted his guest, much would be lost. He rose from his sofa, walked around his throne room in silence and then returned to Aristotle's side.
Aristotle busied himself rearranging his chiton as he awaited the king's return.
"I need ears and eyes in the area south of the Hellespont. Artabazus, one of the Great King's former satraps now lives here in my palace. You will meet him before you leave. He has told me much about the area's geography, its rivers, how food is grown, and the disposition of Ochus's military forces. But he can no longer provide me with current information. Agents that we have sent there have only been partially successful. Ochus discovers them, tortures and eventually kills them all. We continue to send new ones, but they're discovered quickly."
Aristotle leered at Philip, then interrupted his old friend. "You want me to become one of your agents—a spy?"
"That's too strongly put. I'm just asking you to help me so that when the time comes for Greeks to confront Persians, we'll not be at a disadvantage in a strange land. Surely you don't want a strong hegemon to emerge in Greece only to be defeated by the Great King at Asia's doorstep!"
Aristotle smiled, as if he had been expecting Philip’s request. "I will help you, but only indirectly. Here's what I propose: I will send you occasional reports, but they will be lacking in direct military significance. They will be sent to you, under the guise of scientific summaries, for forwarding back to the Academy in Athens. If you read backward the first words of each scroll page word, you will find occasional messages there about the matters that interest you. That I will do.”
“But that will not be the most important service that I'll render. You will need to know when Ochus is at his weakest. You will need to know when court intrigues have him preoccupied. You will need to know when he is ill, or depressed, or mad with passion for a woman or a boy, for it is during these times that he will be vulnerable. It is then that you must be prepared to strike. Of course, this presumes that you can unify Greece. We both know that Ochus will only grow stronger as the years go by. These events will be controlled by the gods' schedule, not ours."
"You are indeed wise, Aristotle. I hear your words and will heed them. Trust that you will be greatly rewarded for your assistance, even if you eventually decide not to tutor my son. Philip never forgets those who aid him. That's my reputation. That's my bond."
"Your honor and generosity are well known. Let us leave matters as they stand. To plan details for events so far in the future is folly. May I have the pleasure of meeting your son now?"
"He waits outside. Let's meet the prodigy before he starts writing poetry on the new hallway paintings—they cost me a small fortune."
Philip motioned for a slave to open the throne room door and Philip called for his son to enter.
Young Alexander skipped into the room and halted abruptly before Aristotle.
"Why do you wear so many rings? Why is your hair styled as a woman's? Why do you cover that bald spot on your head with longer hair?" the Prince of Macedon asked the philosopher in rapid succession.
"Your mind trips over your words, young Alexander," Aristotle retorted. "Have you considered thinking before you speak?"
"Never!" the boy shouted. "I'm a prince. Mother informs me that I’m the son of Zeus-Ammon. Why must I think before I speak?"
Philip was embarrassed. He had hoped Alexander had given up on the god-connection. He nearly picked up Alexander and smacked his backside. But he refrained and allowed the sharp exchange between his obnoxious son and his potential tutor to continue. It was a good test.
"Even Zeus-Ammon filters his words through oracles and priests in the desert of Siwah,” Aristotle said. “No human has ever heard the mightiest of gods confuse his thinking with his words. Perhaps his son should copy his spiritual father's verbal habits. Consider filtering your words through your considerable intellect before you speak. Then others will listen more carefully to your questions."
Alexander lowered his head and, for the first time Philip could recall, fell silent. The king was pleased with the exchange and Aristotle's handling of the out-of-control prince.
Philip dismissed his son and walked with Aristotle to Artabazus's quarters. He invited the philosopher to linger in Pella for as long as he wanted and told him that he eagerly awaited reading his scientific reports. Then he left his friend with his other Persian agent and prepared to join his army in its encampment on the outskirts of Pella. In a matter of days, he would lead them eastward again. The steady northern Etesian winds were on schedule this year. His attack and besieging of the Chalcidian capital, Olynthus, would soon begin. Athens's powerful navy would again be immobilized, unable to sail northward to rescue the last stronghold of her influence in the Chalcidice. He would soon be one step closer to his dream of becoming Greek hegemon.
Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon Page 25
