Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon

by Peter Messmore

  Little could be done directly to oppose Philip, for that would be fatal. Antipater resigned himself to wait and not reveal his feelings about Philip's hubris-laden actions. He needed allies, and they didn't exist yet. Everything had happened too quickly. But when Alexander returned, he might be able to launch a plan that he had been considering since Philip announced the building of his Philippeum.

  Alexander returned quickly; quicker than anyone at court thought possible. During the breakneck ride back to Pella, he analyzed the implications of Philip's actions. If his mother were removed, his position as crown prince was in jeopardy. Kleopatra-Eurydice could produce a male child in less than a year, a male child that might, even now, rest in her belly. An infant that, at its birth, would become his deadly rival. He struggled with the issues, and then began a thinking exercise that Aristotle had taught him. It resulted in the ranking of his many problems. First was his mother's safety. She couldn't be brought back to the palace, as his messenger told him Philip demanded. She would be moved every few days to secret locations around Pella that the king and his men knew nothing about. He would confront Philip when he arrived home. The prince was good at discerning others' intentions, even when they were unspoken.

  As the stadia narrowed between him and his galloping companions and Pella, he rehearsed his words to his father. Philip would soon hear from his son about his odious actions.

  "You can't burst into my throne room like some Persian invader," Philip roared at Alexander.

  "You didn't seem to mind my charge at Chaeronea," the prince yelled back angrily. "It saved your drunken ass before the Athenians!"

  "I should have you killed right now! Your behavior's rude and inexcusable. Do you know you address your king, a god of Olympus?"

  "You're not a god, Philip. You're hardly a king. Why have you insulted and humiliated my mother?"

  "It's none of your damned concern why I do what I do. I'm the only one in the world that needs to know why I act." The king was off his throne now. Father and son stood nearly chest-to-chest.

  Alexander saw Philip's guards draw around him, their short Celtic swords at the ready. He lowered his voice and launched into his well-rehearsed tirade. "Do you want to divorce me as well as mother?"

  "You're still crown prince. Only Olympias is out. The gods will decide the sex of my new wife's child. Your overreaction was expected—you’re so damned predictable. If you don't calm yourself right now, I'll order your death. Don't trifle with me; you know I'll do it!"

  Philip’s guards moved closer to Alexander.

  The threat was needed. Both men calmed. Alexander walked to a balcony overlooking the lake and stood with his back toward his father.

  Philip sat on a wooden bench and called for more wine from a slave.

  Tension-ridden quietness dominated.

  Finally, Alexander walked back to his father. "What role do you expect me to play in this dishonorable affair?"

  "The same one you've been playing. You're a general in my army. You're the brilliant commander of my companion cavalry. You're the king's only son. Those are your roles. You're not a courtside defender of your mother, for she doesn't have an existence at my court anymore. She may live an honored life as a divorced wife of the king, if you behave yourself. I know where she is now, and I know where she's been. It took three tortured priests, but her spy network has been shattered by Attalus. When you attempt to become any more than your army duties, her life will be forfeit. Is that understood?"

  Alexander knew he was beaten, at least for now. Don't press him; never try to reason with a drunk. A foolish statement or action now would mean his mother's death, perhaps his own. Nor did he want to be excluded from court or from cavalry command. They were his only sources of power to defend Olympias and ensure his accession. Acquiesce to the sot. Give him his day. My day will come.

  "I'll do what you expect of me—providing my mother remains unharmed. We will give events a chance. I'll go to her and tell her of her future—she deserves that. Know that if you take further action against her, I'll oppose it and you. She is my mother and my link to Zeus-Ammon. The god expects no less from me."

  Philip rolled his eye at Alexander's remark. "I tire of this. Leave me now and join your mother. My guards will take you to her hiding place. Stay there a few days until my wedding. When you return, we'll talk again. I've started plans for the Persian invasion and I want you involved."

  “You think you know me, don’t you, Philip. You think I’ll forget what happened just for the glory that will be Macedon’s in Persia. I do want that. I’ll have that.” Alexander’s lips were tight; his brow was furrowed. He continued: “But you wronged the gods when you rejected Olympias. You need not answer to me for that. Zeus-Ammon will mete out justice for what has been done from your throne.” The prince turned on his heel and left. He was followed by three of the king’s guards.

  Alexander stayed with his mother for two days and then returned to court. Burning inside him was the need for redress of the great injustice that his father had so cruelly put on his mother and himself. Yet, he hid his feelings well. Philip began to think that his prediction about his arrogant son was correct, as he watched the prince lose himself in the war plans for the Persian invasion. The immediate crisis had passed.

  Alexander, but not Olympias, attended Philip's marriage to Kleopatra-Eurydice. The beautiful, young blue-blood was younger than the crown prince. Alexander watched her as she entered the temple. Her body was an example of the most rare womanly figures: petite, even diminutive, yet displaying a curvaceous shape and large breasts.

  Is this wisp of a girl going to be the one that robs me of my destiny? His depression mounted. The gods favor me. My accession is secure. Suppress your anger. Zeus-Ammon will guarantee my future. Trust your divine pedigree.

  The wedding ceremony was extravagant, the most impressive that Pella had ever seen. The battle-scarred, middle-aged king married Attalus's niece and the wedding party left the temple. The bride and groom were transported through Pella's wide streets in an impressive royal litter to receive the acclaim of their adoring subjects.

  That evening, at the wedding banquet, the king was approached by one of his Royal Page guards, a young man named Pausanius. Pausanius, years ago, had been a boy-lover of the king. When Philip tired of him, he had been cast aside as a new lad was brought in to meet Philip's sexual appetite. Pausanius hated the new king's lover and had used every opportunity to ridicule the boy. Finally, at a banquet similar to the present one, Pausanius called the boy a tart and a prostitute. The boy was so humiliated that in the army's next battle he put himself on the front line of the phalanx and deliberately allowed himself to be killed. The boy was a blood relative of Attalus. Attalus waited his chance and then invited Pausanius to his home, where he got the page drunk. He then gave Pausanius to his stable hands, who beat and raped him.

  Pausanius repeatedly sought redress from Philip for this repulsive act, but Philip had refused to take action against one of his most trusted generals and confidants. At first, Pausanius was given rapid promotions in the Royal Page ranks as placation. When the appeals to Philip continued, the king resorted to gifts of land to assuage the young aristocrat's smoldering hatred. Tonight, at the king's own wedding feast, Pausanius had the audacity to bring up the matter again.

  Pausanius waited until the banquet drinking had entered an advanced stage, then approached King Philip. “What are you going to do about Attalus’s disgusting deeds? Have you forgotten what we once meant to each other?”

  Philip glared at his former boy-lover and considered killing him on the spot. No, there has been enough killing. “I’ve given you rapid promotions through the Royal Pages ranks. What else do you want?” he stammered.

  “I want Attalus punished!

  Attalus, also attending the king’s wedding banquet, looked inquisitively at the king. Then he stood and shouted, “You got what you deserve, you little queer.”

  Philip intervened. “Tomorrow I’l
l appoint you captain of my private bodyguard. That’s all you going to get. If you ever bring up the matter again, I’ll have you killed. Now get the hell out of here. You’re ruining my celebration.”

  Guards whisked Pausanius out of the banquet hall, leaving Philip to enjoy the feast.

  Pleased with his promotion but still seething with revenge, Pausanius left the palace and sought out Antipater.

  Antipater, had not been invited to the king’s wedding banquet. Lounging in his comfortable residence on the low hills surrounding Pella, he heard a loud pounding at his door. A slave opened the door and was told that Pausanius wanted to see the master of the house. The general rose and walked to the front door. “What is it, Pausanius? It’s late.”

  “We must talk! It cannot wait.”

  Antipater walked outside and closed the door behind him. Then he led Pausanius around the corner of his residence, toward extensive grounds peppered with natural boulders. He didn’t want anyone seeing the king’s former lover with him. The night was cool and dark. The only light was from thousands of stars shinning down on Pella’s broad plain.

  “Why do you come to my home like this?”

  “Something must be done about Philip,” Pausanius shot back. “I cannot and will not accept his inaction for what Attalus did to me.”

  Antipater, along with everyone else in the royal court, knew about Pausanius’s rape. “You are not the only one disillusioned with Philip. Are you willing to do anything about it?”

  Pausanius’s eyes widened, then he shot back, “Yes—anything.”

  Antipater put his arm around Pausanius’ shoulders and steered him down a rocky path, toward a marble bench. The two sat and looked down on Pella and King Philip’s palace. Distant music and drunken shouts were heard from the wedding banquet. A cool wind had started to blow up the hillside. It carried the sound of distant thunder.

  King Philip’s former trusted general provided a sympathetic ear for the wronged former king-lover during discussions that lasted half of the night.

  At the wedding banquet, other storm clouds were gathering. Alexander entered late, after visiting his mother and giving sacrifice to Zeus-Ammon. He took his usual place of honor opposite the king and allowed a slave to pour him a large kantharos of wine. After several gulps, he stood and proposed a toast. "May Philip and his new wife get what is deserving to them. I am fortunate that I've even been invited to this banquet. When my mother remarries, I'll invite everyone to her wedding banquet."

  The tension that Alexander's toast produced mimicked the moment just after a lightening flash. It received only silence and angry scowls from the king's drunken lackeys. Only a few of Alexander's boyhood friends and companion cavalry members shouted their approval.

  Awkward time passed, and the drinking continued. Then Attalus, so inebriated that he could barely stand, rose and proposed another toast. "I offer a toast and a Zeus supplication. “ May Philip and my niece produce a baby boy, a boy who will be a legitimate successor to Macedon's throne." He stressed the word legitimate.

  Alexander, already having consumed far too much wine before coming late to the banquet, could stand no more. He jumped from his couch and threw his wine into Attalus's face. His empty kantharos followed it. "Are you calling me a bastard, Attalus?"

  "You know your name!" Attalus retorted as he started toward the prince.

  Philip drew out his short ceremonial dagger and lunged toward Alexander. But he was so drunk that all he could manage was to entangle his two lame legs in the table's supports. The king of Macedon fell face-first across the table and then slid to the floor, covered with food and blood-red wine.

  "Look upon your king, Macedonians," Alexander shouted contemptuously. "This is the leader who makes plans to cross from Europe to Asia, yet can't leap from one couch to the next."

  The prince stormed out of the banquet hall while Philip's guards hurriedly picked up the king from the floor.

  That night, Alexander and his mother left Pella, heading west toward Epirus and the safety of the former queen's homeland. With the small party rode twenty of Alexander's most trusted companions. The son traveled on to occupied Illyria, after leaving Olympias in Passaron. There he would find safety with one of his former conquests and now friend, King Langarus.

  Macedonia had grown too small to hold the collective temperaments of Philip, Olympias, and Alexander.

  Antipater studied the actions of King Philip and Attalus during the next month. He was careful not to take any action that might be interpreted as too supportive of Alexander and his mother. Planted rumors began to spread around the court, and into Pella itself, that Olympias was divorced because of shameless infidelity during Philip's many absences. Gossip had it that her indiscretions increased when the king had been in central and southern Greece. A parallel rumor began at the same time. It cast doubt as to whether Alexander was the true son of Philip. Some even believed that the prince was the result of a sexual union between Olympias and one of Zeus-Ammon's priests. Antipater knew that these rumors were the handiwork of Attalus. Only he could have started such vitriolic gossip. He also knew too that the rumors could not have grown without the king's approval.

  As one month passed into another, Antipater was contacted clandestinely by one of Alexander's agents. Olympias was safe in Passaron, he was informed. She had found a haven there with her younger brother, Alexander of Epirus. Philip, of course, controlled the client-king, so one was not sure how long her security could be maintained. The agent told him that the former queen had a plan to ensure that Alexander's birthright would be protected. He was asked to help in its implementation and to make the critical personal contacts in Pella.

  This was, of course, treason, and Antipater knew it. Philip would have him killed immediately if he knew that he was plotting with his former wife. The agent further told him that Alexander was a hero among King Langarus's Illyrians. They saw in him the only chance to depose the man who now stood unchallenged in all Hellas. If the allies led by Athens could not defeat Philip, then the only person left who could possibly succeed was his hot-headed son.

  Antipater told Alexander's agent that he would consider helping the prince and the ex-queen, but not now. He was alone and nearly powerless in Pella. His direct involvement awaited a more conducive political environment, when he had more allies in the Macedonian capital. He had not yet become suicidal.

  Fate intervened in these deadly maneuvers. Philip softened his uncompromising anger toward Alexander. He was clearly motivated by a fear of launching the Persian invasion with a hostile son living among Macedon's age-old tormentors. He spent the next several months attempting to solve the problem, yet no practical solution emerged. He didn't want to send for his son, for he knew the headstrong Alexander would take that as a sign of weakness.

  Finally, the old man who had given Alexander his horse Bucephalas as a gift when he was eight offered to mediate the dispute. He was Demaratus of Corinth. During a visit to Pella he half-shamed, half-appealed to Philip's need to improve his precarious home situation before invading Persia. He got the king to approve a reconciliation mission by him to Illyria. The aging friend of both king and son made the difficult journey and persuaded Alexander to return with him.

  "Why have you consented to my return, Philip?" Alexander’s tone was angry, yet subdued.

  "Why did you agree to return?," the king retorted testily.

  "Aristotle taught me never to answer a question with another question."

  "This is not Mieza. School is over. This is real life! Get serious! Your survival is at stake here."

  "I was assured by Demaratus that my life would not be in danger. Have you betrayed one of your oldest friends as well as your wife and son?"

  The encounter was getting out of hand. Philip, sensing his son's rising fury, calmed himself and the exchange. "I instructed Demaratus to inform you that you're still my chosen successor. Didn't he tell you that?"

  "He did. I wouldn't have returned had he not.
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  "Then give me a chance. Olympias is out of my life, but you and I can go on. I need you. The invasion plans are nearly complete. Your cavalry leadership is needed."

  "What happens to me if your new wife delivers a male child? Will you still need me then?"

  "I give you my assurance that you are now and would, even then, remain the crown prince. If you don't trust me, wait until Kleopatra gives birth. Actions always speak louder than words."

  "I'll stay at least until then. We'll discuss my role after the birth. Am I to assume that there will be no restrictions placed on me during that time?"

  "There won't. But I won't tolerate you working against me while living in my palace. Concentrate your energies on drilling the companion cavalry and making them ready to defeat the Persians. That's your only reason for living. Attalus eliminated all Olympias’s agents, so you have no hope of using them to strengthen your position beyond what I authorize. If you do these things, confidence can grow again between us."

  "That will take time. You affronted my pride and threatened my destiny. I'll not forget that easily."

  "Forget it you must! Let your hatred pass. I know you. You seek glory. I'm the only one that can give it to you. Examine your options, as Aristotle taught you. You'll conclude that I'm right."

  "I've already begun that process. I would not be here had I not. I'll observe you in the months ahead. We may have arrived at a stalemate, but both of us are now on guard. Treat me as your son and only successor, and we may yet have a future together. Treat me as a bastard castoff, and I'll become your worst nightmare."

  "You threaten again! I don't take threats lightly. It's best that you leave now. Start the calming that your spirit needs. We'll talk after Kleopatra's delivery. Perhaps I can make you feel better then." King Philip rose and left Alexander standing among his armed guards.

  Macedon's crown prince remained there in silence, studying the empty throne. He then turned and left the chamber. He rode immediately to the companion cavalry encampment outside Pella. He could breathe better with his own kind than in the hostile environment that was Philip's palace.