Alexander the King

by Peter Messmore

  He still intended to enjoy a long retirement in Macedonia. What had happened to Alexander today might end that dream. Unlike his young friend who had died of arm amputation and blood poisoning weeks ago, he refused let his life fly away uselessly so far from his beloved homeland.

  ≈

  “It’s the closest he has been to death,” Ptolemy said to Hephaestion. “We may still lose him.”

  Hephaestion’s face was dour. For the moment, he ignored Ptolemy’s morbid evaluation of Alexander’s condition. He had stood over his friend while Critobulos had cut open his chest to remove the deadly arrow and shaft. He had been at his bedside for over a week, sleeping fitfully on a cot beside the king’s bed. He let out a mournful sigh, and then acknowledged Ptolemy’s comment. “He hasn’t said a word. His eyes have only opened twice. But he’s going to make it. Death has never met such an opponent.”

  Ptolemy smiled a half smile and agreed. “Either one of us would be dead by now. Nevertheless, despite our assurances that he lives, his men think him dead. Only when they see him will they believe us. Insurrection is in the air again. Many of our first-rate Macedonian fighters have told me that they will return home without us soon if they’re not allowed to see Alexander alive.”

  “He can’t be moved yet,” Hephaestion snapped. “That would kill him. Meet with the senior commanders and tell them, once again, that the king lives and that he is recovering. I want all but a small force to move south to where the Ravi and Chenab rivers join. Establish camp there and wait for us. I hope that in a few days we can join you by boat. Perhaps then, I can let the men see him. Not before that! I don’t want to be asked again about this. It’s your job to convince everyone that this is how it is going to be.” Ptolemy nodded and left Hephaestion alone.

  The king’s intimate friend then kneeled beside his wounded companion’s bed and started a mournful prayer to all of the Greek gods. “One day he will join you on Mount Olympus. But it’s too early in his life. Other worlds await his conquering and all-knowing guidance. He is your representative on earth and cannot be taken. Heal this great man. He’s a true son of Zeus-Ammon. Touch him with your spirit and give him continuing life.”

  As never before, Hephaestion meant every word in his prayer. “If a life is needed in his place, take mine,” he lamented. “I will gladly die before he does. In the name of Zeus-Ammon, I make this supplication.”

  Hephaestion had tears in his eyes by now. Sobbing, his arose and touched the fevered brow of Alexander. His temperature was still alarmingly high. He went to a bowl of cold water beside the bed and dipped a soft chamois in it. Alexander himself had killed the beautiful animal that had produced the skin. He wrung out most of the water, then wiped Alexander’s face and forehead.

  The king breathed deeply as the soothing coolness reacted with his clammy skin. Then he moaned and was silent. Hephaestion quickly put his ear next to Alexander’s heart and was reassured to feel and hear a strong beat. His friend just needed time; he knew that Alexander would recover.

  ≈

  Four days later, the king was conscious and talking for brief periods. Hephaestion explained what had happened and told Alexander that his army was in great distress over his condition.

  “Begin the move south in the boat,” Alexander whispered. “The journey must be slow. My insides are almost gone. The slightest jarring causes me great pain.”

  “We’ll leave as you command,” Hephaestion answered. “How do you want the men to see you? I hate to ask this of you, but it’s important right now.”

  Alexander grimaced, then managed an insipid smile. “Lash another boat to my command vessel,” he commanded with a weak voice. “It will make both vessels more stable. When we approach the main army encampment, have my bed carried to the main deck. Build a platform between the two boats. Make it high enough so that I can be seen. The men will then be reassured.”

  Hephaestion left Alexander with Critobulos and began preparations for departure. Soon, all will be well, he thought. Although still gravely ill, Alexander is recovering. His legend will grow when his men see that he has cheated death once again.The crisis is nearly over.

  ≈

  Four days later the king’s ship slowly approached the first of his men waiting quietly on both banks of the Indus. A great hush fell on the rugged fighters as the ship passed. Many of them took off their helmets and dipped their weapons in the king’s direction as a sign of respect. Alexander, visible on an elevated platform in the middle of the two ships, could only move his head in the direction of the men.

  “He’s dead,” a surly Macedonian soldier shouted. “I know him; if he was alive he would have at least raised a hand saluting us. It’s a trick. He’s dead, I tell you!”

  Before Alexander’s boat docked in the middle of the army’s encampment, wild rumors had preceded him. Although thousands of his men had seen him, it wasn’t enough. “It’s just the theatrics of his commanders,” a young Macedonian said who had just joined the army in India. Anger, unrest and renewed talk of returning home without their officers once again swept the camp.

  ≈

  “It didn’t work, Alexander,” Hephaestion said. “They won’t believe that you are alive unless you walk among them. I can do no more.”

  Alexander knew what he must do. “Get me up,” he commanded in a quiet but firm voice. “Dress me in my most colorful uniform. Wrap me in my cloak, the one with the eight-pointed Macedonian star on it. I’ll walk from the boat on my own. Then I’ll get on a horse.

  I won’t be able to mount alone. Have some men available to lift me onto the saddle blanket.

  It must be done.”

  Seeing Alexander among them that day was the only thing that saved massive desertions and premature departure for Macedonia. Shouts of “He’s alive!” and “Zeus saved his son!” were heard amid shouts of joy and tears. The king’s men still had great affection for him, as long as he led them back to their homeland.

  Another crisis had passed.

  ≈

  It took weeks of slow recuperation for the king to recover. Then, more months of continued pacification of the ever-aggressive Indian armies to the east was necessary. But Alexander’s life and his precarious empire had been preserved.

  Predictably, an uncontrolled rumor that Alexander was dead swept through his conquered lands. It caused the revolt of 3,000 Greek mercenary settlers in several provinces. Reports started to come in that groups of mercenaries were returning to Greece.

  Finally, nine months after they had left Jalalpur, Alexander’s naval and land forces arrived at Pattala. The grubby city was on the delta of the great Indus River. It was from here that he and his army would start their fateful trek west. Almost nine years had elapsed since the start of the invasion.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE GEDROSIAN DESERT

  Craterus’ mission turned out to be the easiest of the army’s return westward. His king had ordered him to lead home the siege and baggage trains, all of the army’s sick and wounded, 10,000 time-expired veterans, two hundred elephants, and three support battalions totaling 20,000 fighting men. Queen Roxane, Thais, and hundreds of other women and children who had followed Alexander’s expedition for years also went with him.

  Craterus’ mixed force left the Indus Valley well before Alexander’s departure because of the slow movement that was inevitable with so many noncombatants. “We’ll cross the mountains via the Bolan Pass,” Craterus said as he sat in his command tent with his second in command, Polyperchon. A large map of the entire Hindu Kush mountain range was spread out before them. Other regional maps of the territories they would pass through were scattered on a large field table. “Our final destination is in Carmania province, at this location. It’s called Salmous.

  “I’m in awe of these maps and their details,” Craterus continued. “Alexander’s surveyors and scientists are the best an army ever had. We would be lost so far from home without them.”

  “Some of the details come from ou
r eastward conquests,” Polyperchon remarked. “But much of this return journey will be new to us. How the geographers got so much information is a marvel.”

  Craterus nodded agreement, folded the maps and went outside with his second in command. “I’m glad to get out of Hephaestion’s sight,” he said with a scornful look on his face. “Alexander warned us both that our bickering must end. He even threatened to execute the next one who starts something. That’s how I ended up in command of these noncombatants. Any glory that emerges from the Gedrosian Desert crossing will go to Alexander, Hephaestion and Nearchus. I’m seething about it.”

  “Our scouts have already reported rebellions in the territories beyond the mountains,” Polyperchon said. “It may not be as easy as you think. Three battalions may not be enough if these reports are true.”

  “Winning difficult victories with less than the full army will help build my reputation,” Craterus said arrogantly. “Every battalion fighter with us is a seasoned veteran; we will not be defeated. I’ll establish a new city along the way and name it after Alexander. That may help me get back in his good graces.”

  Polyperchon smiled and agreed with his commander. “You know there will be intrigues once we reach Babylon,” he added. “Alexander is extraordinary in war. But I don’t know what he will be like as Great King, with no more worlds to conquer.”

  Craterus flashed a cruel look at Polyperchon. “Don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “Your words border on insubordination. I’m aware of what might happen, and I am prepared. I know too that I will never advance in the king’s designs as long as Hephaestion remains his darling. But I don’t ever want to hear you discussing this again. These are deadly challenges; amateurs like you can only muddle the situation. Do you understand me?”

  Polyperchon, humbled by Craterus’ upbraiding, answered quickly. “I’ll never speak of it again. I leave now to brief our commanders on our journey. Is there anything else?”

  “Leave me,” Craterus said, still miffed at Polyperchon’s rash words.

  Alone, he ruminated on Polyperchon’s remark. He knew that his second in command was neither a fool nor wrong in his assessment of what could happen when the return was complete. Clearly, Alexander had enormous trust in him or he would not have turned over command of 20,000 of his best fighters. It was the first time that the king had done that.

  Yet, the problem of Hephaestion remained. Craterus knew that he could never advance to higher positions as long as Hephaestion continued to poison his relationship with Alexander. He could only wait and perform his duties without failure. His high ability and devotion to Alexander would eventually pay off. Hephaestion was pretty, but he wasn’t Craterus.

  ≈

  Thais, Ptolemy’s mistress, was exhausted. She had just given birth and now had the responsibility of an infant daughter, along with her two other sons sired by Ptolemy. “I had a good life in Athens,” she complained to another hetairai, a woman who was the mistress of a young officer in Alexander’s Companion Cavalry. “I love Ptolemy, but it hasn’t been worth all of these years I gave him. Now, we have to follow Craterus over those damned mountains again. I almost lost my feet to the cold the last time. I’ll look like a sixty-year-old woman by the time we get back to Greece.”

  Her lament was genuine and shared by most of the women who had accompanied the expedition for the last nine years. Both women knew their social rank in the mass of noncombatants that began their second traverse of the Hindu Kush mountains.

  Roxane occupied the top of the social pyramid, and only her ladies in waiting and women slaves ever saw her. The aloof Bactrian cared nothing for common women and children below her exalted status as Alexander’s wife and queen.

  Next in the social order were the wives and mistresses of Alexander’s top officers. Thais occupied this level, along with nearly two hundred other women. Some of these women were Greek or Macedonian; most had been picked up from among native women during the last years of the expedition. Many could not speak the other women’s languages. It made for a lonely and difficult life.

  The lowest social level was women who were common prostitutes. No one other than Alexander’s ordinary fighters ever associated with these unfortunate souls. Their lives were short and brutal. Most died early of malnutrition or sexually transmitted diseases. While they lived, they trailed after the army wherever it went.

  The other hetairai made a feeble attempt to rearrange her unkempt hair out of her face and agreed with Thais. “I’m only twenty nine and I look older than my mother,” she said. “Do you think they will ever marry us?”

  “We all hope that,” Thais answered. “But few do. When they get back to their homeland, most will discard us. We’re as expendable as one of the king’s broken siege engines. I thought that when Ptolemy named our first son after his father that he would marry me and legitimize our relationship. But time is passing. I know that he has other dreams in other lands.”

  The other hetairai hung her head and agreed. “If we make it to Babylon, that’s where they will dump us. Rumor has it that Alexander wants his officers to marry royal Persian women there. You know where that will leave us.”

  Thais had heard the rumor too. Yet, she felt that Ptolemy would never reject her. He might take a wife, but she would remain his mistress. He valued her sexual prowess too much. Despite all of the uncertainties, she knew that he loved her.

  She walked to her friend, stroked her bird nest hair, and gave her a comforting gift. “Ptolemy bought me a slave hairdresser and I will share her with you,” she said. “Our hair is our glory; if we stay beautiful, we will survive. Use her as much as you want.”

  Thais walked away from her friend and rejoined her children. She would struggle to keep herself attractive, but the toils of the coming trip were sure to cause her aching body to deteriorate even more. She prayed to an obscure Athenian deity that after she reached Babylon, she could regain her stunning looks. It was her only hope.

  ≈

  Alexander remained in Pattala in the middle of the brutally hot Indian summer. Still weak from his near-fatal injury, he directed plans for the pacification of south India and heard reports of an enormous half-a-million-man army that was being raised against him in central India. Intelligence reports told him that the new enemy force had over five-thousand war elephants. The chance to fight a monumental battle and die gloriously in combat caused his pothos-driven personality to dream impossible dreams. However, he had promised his men that he would return and he would keep his promise.

  Each night his sleep was interrupted as his subconscious struggled with opposing emotions. He both loved and hated the fighters that had brought him this far. His love for them was obvious in the way that he enjoyed being in their company. However, they had betrayed him at the revolt on the Beas. Some symbolic action was necessary to repay that rejection.

  The last weeks had seen him meeting with Indian Brahmin wise men and philosophers. Many of them never wore clothes. He could not wait to tell his countrymen about these naked philosophers.

  Through translators, Alexander debated with them about the meaning of life, his greatness, and how their worldview compared to Aristotle’s. He finally concluded that their belief system was similar to the Greek Cynic, Diogenes.

  Gradually, his wound healed and he grew stronger. At last, he decided to begin his journey westward. He called for Hephaestion and issued commands that would stabilize his rearward position and allow for the return to Babylon. “Stay in Pattala and construct docks and a seaport,” he began. “It will become an important trade center after I return to Babylon.

  “When I have explored the two arms of the Indus Delta, I’ll take the rest of the noncombatants and some of our fighters across the great Gedrosian Desert. If they won’t let me continue east, I’ll conquer an impossible desert with a large army. Two Iranian rulers tried to invade India across the Gedrosian and failed. Both returned with less than twenty survivors.”

  “Why don’t you wait unt
il the port is completed and let me return with you?” Hephaestion asked. He too had heard stories of the aborted Iranian invasions across the dreaded Gedrosian and knew what his friend was attempting.

  “No, I have made up my mind,” Alexander shot back. “Nearchus has agreed to command the navy flotilla and take most of the army back on ships. His will be a fearful voyage, the most dangerous of any of our commanders’ journeys.”

  “Do you trust the maps that we have gotten from these Indians?” Hephaestion asked. “You know that they have also heard the stories. They could be sending you into a death trap!”

  “I’ve thought of that. Our maps come from a variety of sources, not just the Indians. Everything has been coordinated with Nearchus. He will sail along the coastline and leave water and food at predetermined supply dumps. I will leave enough for you and your men when you leave Patalla. You worry too much.”

  ≈

  After only a few days, Alexander’s Gedrosian expedition turned into a disaster. The desert was a nearly waterless moonscape and the heat was greater than anything the Macedonians had ever experienced. Everywhere Alexander looked, he saw only sand dunes, salt flats, and wind-scoured cliffs. Soon, his army was forced to march only at night and then find what shade they could for sleep before the relentless sun returned.

  When they found map-marked wells on their maps, they discovered that most were brackish. This didn’t prevent soldiers and noncombatants alike from rushing headlong to the well and drinking polluted water. Within hours, many died from gulping down the foul water. Others who did not drink died of heat stroke. Troops began breaking into sealed stores that were intended for Hephaestion’s soldiers and killing pack animals and horses for food.

  ≈

  Weeks passed. For some reason that Alexander did not understand, Nearchus did not appear on the coast as planned. Had his entire naval force been lost in a storm? Yet the king would not turn back. It was the beginning of a two-month hell across the Gedrosian.