‘He hasn’t been poisoned,’ I said, startled.
Olympias smiled. ‘All Alexander’s illnesses are caused by poison. A god cannot get sick, so he must have been poisoned.’
I took the grass snake coiled up in a woven basket just big enough to hold it. It was harmless, and I wasn’t afraid, but I wasn’t about to share my bed with a snake. ‘Thank you,’ I said, bowing. I was learning diplomacy.
Then I had to go see Sis, and she gave me remedies for Alexander’s illness. Hers were a handful of amulets, a parchment with a spell written on it, and a jar full of something noxious that smelled as if it had died years ago. I thanked her, called to Chiron and Paul who were playing a board game with one of her slaves, and we went back to my rooms. The day passed slowly. It rained again and steam rose from the hot tiles around the pool.
Alexander came back that evening and was well enough to bathe alone and dine but that night he was ill again. The fever came back and he became delirious. He always had a high temperature, but now it seemed to soar. Usse gave him more quinine and willow-bark tea. He slept, but fitfully. It was May 31st.
Eumenes, the faithful secretary, took down Usse’s words every morning on how Alexander spent his nights. He wrote things like this:
“June 1st: The King made the necessary sacrifices in the temple and then retired to his quarters. After bathing, he went to his chamber and played dice, then he slept but during the night had an excess of fever. He spent an agitated night.
June 3rd: After another bath he went to the temple to make the ritual sacrifices. He spoke to Nearchus about the next expedition, and then retired to his rooms where he dined. That evening the fever returned and he spent the night in the bathroom.” (This was true. His fever was so high that Usse laid him on the cool tiles in the bathroom to try to ease his pain. Alexander’s skin became so sensitive that we could hardly touch him without him crying out.)
“June 4th: The day was spent at the poolside. The fever was very strong and wouldn’t go down. His officers came to see him and they discussed filling vacant posts in the army. He told them to appoint men with experience.
June 6th: The fever still raged. He was carried in a litter to the temple where he assisted in the rituals, and then he went back to his rooms where he slept poorly.
June 7th: The fever still wouldn’t leave him. He was transported to the Grand Palace to meet with his generals but he could barely speak to them and it seemed as if he was delirious.” – Plutarch, Alexander the Great.
By now, Usse and I were concerned. Alexander seemed to have caught a particularly virulent form of malaria, certainly from one of his hunts in the swamps. It seemed that the quinine and the willow-bark tea weren’t helping him. He hardly slept, but spent all day and night tossing and turning. His muscles hurt, his abdomen was sore, and his fever gave him appalling headaches. His eyes were glazed and he hardly knew where he was.
On the 8th of June Eumenes wrote: “All day long he had an enormous fever as well as that night.” – Plutarch, Alexander the Great.
Usse came to me that afternoon. ‘My lady, if the fever continues he will not live two more days. His life is in grave danger. What shall we do now?’
I had been expecting this. I had one last chance to save him. It all depended on his sickness. Malaria, if I remembered correctly, was caused not by infection or a virus, but by a parasite in the bloodstream. Fever didn’t kill it, but cold could. Of course, there were no refrigerators here, no freezers to make ice, and the nearest snow was on the mountain top, a year’s march away.
‘Ashley?’ It was Plexis. He had been watching Alexander’s decline with barely concealed panic. The inability to move was driving him mad. Even Usse couldn’t calm his fears.
‘What is it?’ It was nearly dawn. I’d spent a sleepless night at Alexander’s bedside. I wanted Usse to get some rest, and I managed to convince him to leave me alone with my husband. Usse had already gone without sleep for three nights, and I would need him later. I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and leaned over Plexis, a smile on my lips.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said.
‘Like what?’ I was surprised.
‘Like I’m a cranky child. I’ve been trying so hard to be good.’ His voice broke. ‘I lie here and I hear everything that’s going on, but I can’t get up to see you, or Iskander. I am frightened. I fear that he will die, and that nothing you or Usse can do will save him. I know that neither you nor Iskander could sleep last night. I heard how ill he was. Tell me, Ashley, will he live?’
‘There is nothing Usse or I can do,’ I said sadly.
‘Nothing?’ His hands clenched the sides of his bed and I saw the pulse in his throat beat faster.
‘There is something that might save him,’ I said slowly. ‘But, Plexis, I’ll not lie to you. Iskander is gravely ill.’
‘That I know,’ he said. His voice wavered. ‘What shall we do?’
‘We pray,’ I said. ‘That’s all we can do right now.’
‘If you wanted to make me feel better you’ve just failed miserably,’ he said.
I took a sharp breath and looked out the window where the dawn tinted the sky deep gold. ‘I wish I could do something more, but I can’t.’ My voice was little more than a whisper.
I was lying. I knew something nobody in that world could ever suspect. I knew that a time-travelling journalist was on his way to interview Alexander on his deathbed.
Thirty years before I was born, a journalist had come to interview Alexander the Great. The transcripts from the interview were disappointing, to say the least. The Institute of Time Travel had put a red flag on that file. It was marked as a failure, but no reason was given. The Institute kept its secrets. According to the report I was able to access, Alexander had been in a coma, delirious with fever, and unable to answer any questions. It was part of the mystery that made me want to interview the young king when he was twenty-three years old.
I’d been with him for almost ten years now. For all that time I’d kept this a secret. And I’d waited. Now it was time.
We moved Alexander to the Grand Palace and I spent my time going back and forth from my room to his. One thing that seems to be true about late pregnancy: I didn’t need much sleep. I grabbed quick naps now and then, but otherwise I was wide awake and full of a nervous energy that made my hands tingle.
That night I spoke to Usse. He already knew a great deal, but now I told him about my coming from the future. The doctor took it more or less in his stride. It didn’t change his attitude about me. However, I needed to tell him everything. I would have to tell him, because I needed his help. I couldn’t carry Alexander by myself, and we had to act quickly.
As usual, he listened to me silently. His thoughts remained hidden behind his inscrutable gaze. When I finished, he reached over and took my hands in his. ‘Thank you for telling me all this,’ he said. ‘I will do as you ask of me.’
‘Do you think I’m wrong to try to save him?’ I asked.
‘Only the future will tell,’ said Usse.
‘No, I want to hear your opinion,’ I said. ‘You have no idea how guilty I feel.’
‘Do you feel badly about Plexis?’
‘Yes, in a way I do.’
‘You saved him from death.’
‘But don’t you see? In a way, he is dead! When he recovers, the only thing he can do is leave. He can never see any of his friends or family again. Because of me, he lost his wife, and she lost her baby. I have no idea where he’ll go, or if he’ll want to stay with us.’
‘He doesn’t blame you for any of that,’ said Usse, his voice soft. ‘I’ve spoken to him often.’
‘Perhaps not, but I blame myself. It’s the same for Iskander. It will be as if he’s dead, and I’m starting to wonder if I truly have the right to do this.’
‘He would do the same for you, if he could,’ said Usse.
I sighed deeply and nodded. ‘I love him so much that I would sacrifice his kingdom. I o
nly hope that someday he’ll forgive me.’
‘But, Ashley, don’t you understand? You are changing nothing. If what you tell me is the truth, if you do nothing he will die. If we save him, he must seem to be dead to the world. I do believe you Ashley. I believe your story. Therefore I know I must help you. I feel as if I have been chosen for something important. I will not fail you, and you will not fail Iskander.’
I hoped that he was right. I also hoped it wasn’t too late, because then this whole conversation would have been for nothing.
The next day was the worst. Alexander was in a coma and all his generals and companions lined up outside the palace demanding to see him. News of his illness had become so grave that they thought he was already dead.
Eumenes, Alexander’s secretary, wrote this; “The soldiers and generals were taken with a violent desire to see Iskander. For some, because they longed to see him while he was still alive; for others because rumour had it he was already dead and the royal guard was keeping it a secret. But most, feeling most keenly pain and love for their young king, came to see Iskander. As the army filed in front of his bed, he was already past speaking. However this didn’t keep him from greeting each and every man by raising his head with a great effort, and acknowledging them with his expressive eyes.” – Arrien, Anabase d’Alexandre VII, 25, 1-26, 3.
We let them come in. One by one, they filed by Alexander’s bed. He tried to speak to them. It broke my heart to see him. He clasped each man by the hand, and his great eyes spoke volumes, even if his throat could not. The men were deeply shocked at his appearance. His colour was bad, his breathing hoarse, and his hand, when they took it, was burning hot. More than one man cried out in surprise and horror. All of them were crying when they left the room.
That same evening Seleucos and Ptolemy Lagos went to the oracle and begged it to tell them what to do. The oracle was remarkably clear and concise that night. ‘Do nothing,’ it said. ‘Leave him alone. And whatever you do, don’t move him.’
I had paid a great amount of gold to have the sibyl say that.
The next morning was June 9th. Alexander was in a coma.
I kissed him tenderly on the mouth. He didn’t move. He was wasting away from the fever; in a few hours, he would be dead.
I sat at the foot of his bed, waiting for the man who would come from three thousand years in the future. He would come that afternoon. Meanwhile, I had Usse and Millis prepared for action.
Millis was to follow the man and tell us where he went after he left Alexander’s bedside. Usse and I would carry Alexander to where the time-traveller would find the tractor beam for his return.
Time-travel is a stomach-wrenching experience that takes your atoms apart, freezes them, and then puts them back together after submitting them to a magnetic beam fixed on the year of choice. There is a complicated explanation involving relativity, time warps, and various factors such as speed of light and folding space. I never learned the mechanics of it. I did know that the magnetic beam froze you.
Alexander’s only chance to survive lay in that freezing cold magnetic beam.
The time-traveller came right on time.
At noon, the last of the tearful generals and companions left. They were destroyed. None of them could utter a coherent word after seeing their king lying so ill on his bed.
An hour passed. The sun beat on the roof and the temperature climbed into the hundreds. A deaf slave waved a fan over Alexander, stirring the air like hot soup. Usse and I watched silently as he lay dying.
Then a man walked into the throne-room. He was uncertain, walking slowly, and I was wryly amused to see that he limped from his shabby grass sandals. He wore an unbleached linen loincloth and I knew that a tradi-scope implanted in his head would translate everything that we said to him, and that the amulet hanging from a chain around his neck was a recorder.
He hesitated as he approached. No one had accompanied him. I’d given orders to let him come in alone. When he was ten feet away he stopped and prostrated himself, touching his forehead to the ground. He’d studied the Persian protocol before coming. Usse motioned him to approach, and I stood up and greeted him. He saw that I was pregnant. It was obvious I was going to give birth any day.
Roxanne was pregnant too. She had been terrified that Alexander would kill her, so she had tried to hide it for as long as possible. Alexander had gone to see her just a month ago. He told her not to worry, that her children would always be welcome. She was thankful but deeply suspicious. Now she wouldn’t let anyone but her own slaves near her, keeping to the gynaeceum.
Lysimachus, the father of her child, stayed away from us as well. Alexander had never said anything to him, but Roxanne was busy plotting to claim the crown after Alexander’s death. She wanted to make Lysimachus king. She had come to see Alexander once since he was ill. She’d sidled into the throne room, her eyes darting, her face pale. I had to clench my fists to keep from slapping her when she asked Usse, in a high, childlike voice, when Alexander would die. Usse lowered his own murderous gaze at her and told her that his life was in the hands of the gods and that she should go back to her rooms and pray.
She had gone back to her rooms, but not to pray. Instead, she’d sent for Lysimachus and together they started to scheme.
I knew all this from Nassar, my ever-faithful translator. He was working in the palace with the diplomatic corps. He was not one of the people I’d trusted with my secret; he was a good spy, but an awful gossip. He told me everything about Roxanne and Lysimachus, and my history lessons had told me the rest.
Roxanne would perish in the civil war between Olympias and Cassander, a pawn because of her ambitions. Her son would die too, and Lysimachus, who would ultimately triumph, would declare war against Seleucos in Persia and would get killed by his former companion-in-arms.
All this was upsetting to me, especially when I saw my two former friends nearly every day. Lysimachus was becoming increasingly distant, and Seleucos, already satrap of Persia, would soon become absolute ruler and founder of a dynasty. At least, under his rule, Persia would bloom and know centuries of glory.
Olympias had come to see Alexander every day since he fell ill. Already she was hysterical with grief. I hoped that she would stay away until that evening. Her wailing got on my nerves. Sis was even worse. She dressed in black and walked around the entire palace, her face covered in ashes. Of course, when Olympias saw that, she had to rub ashes over her face, and soon the two queens were having a mourning contest, although Alexander wasn’t even dead.
As I expected, the time-traveller asked Alexander several questions and was bitterly disappointed to see that he was incapable of speech. He turned to Usse and asked if he thought Alexander would be able to speak to him.
‘It will be as the gods wish,’ said Usse in a solemn voice.
The time-traveller looked at me nervously. He wasn’t sure if he could speak to me directly or not. Finally, he asked me, ‘Are you Roxanne?’
I choked, but decided it was best to pretend to be Roxanne. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re expecting a child?’
‘I am.’
He was flustered by my short answers, but because Alexander was unconscious, I was the next best person to interview. I could sense his journalist’s mind ticking. ‘So, your husband just got back from India?’ he asked.
I shrugged. ‘Yes.’
There’s something aggravating about ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers. Journalists hate them. He tried to draw me out. ‘What did he think about it?’
‘He loved India,’ I said bleakly.
‘Ah. And he fought Porus and Musicanus.’ He’d done his homework better than I. ‘What about Hephaestion?’
‘What about him?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Did his death cause your husband much pain?’
I darted a glance at Usse who was frowning at the man. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘They were best friends. Wouldn’t you be upset if your best friend died?’
‘
What about the stories I hear about him being a god? Is he really the son of Zeus?’
‘The Persians think he’s the son of Zeus-Amon,’ I said. ‘But the Greeks and the Macedonians do not. I, coming from Bactria, do not.’
‘I see. What did he like best about India?’
‘The elephants.’
‘Oh.’ That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. ‘And did he give any indications about what would happen, uh, in case he died?’ He was walking on thin ice now and he knew it.
‘No.’ I decided to go back to my monosyllables. I looked over at Alexander and my heart gave a lurch. His face was waxen. I could see his chest rising and falling with the effort of his breathing, and the heat of his fever seemed to radiate off his body. I touched his face gently and tears welled up in my eyes.
The man drew a deep breath and addressed Usse again. He was a good journalist; he didn’t give up easily. ‘Did you follow him on his travels?’ he asked.
Usse smiled sadly and nodded. ‘I went to the ends of the earth and back with him,’ he said.
‘Why? Why go so far?’
‘Because I love him.’
The answer was simple but seemed to stymie the journalist. He glanced at me again and asked, ‘And you, my lady Roxanne, did you see any of his battles?’
I closed my eyes and tears leaked from beneath my lids. ‘I saw only one, the one he fought against Porus. It was a horrible fight. Ten thousand good men died.’
‘You saw that battle?’ His voice held a note of interest now. ‘And tell me, was it true he built twelve altars to the gods near the river Beas?’
‘It’s true, he did have them built,’ I said wearily. I wished he’d stop talking about things I didn’t want to think about . ‘He built them on a small rise overlooking the river. They were … they are beautiful. An artist carved my face on one.’ My voice tapered off. I shook my head, and looked bleakly at Alexander. For a heart-stopping minute I thought he’d died, but then I caught sight of a fluttering breath and my shoulders sagged in relief. He was still with us.
Storms over Babylon Page 14
