Alexander the King

by Peter Messmore

  One night, most of the noncombatants and the king’s entire baggage train camped in a dry wadi. Hundreds of stadia north of the wadi an intense rainstorm raged. It produced a raging wall of water that raced southward through the night, following the random system of dry wadis that spread throughout the Gedrosian like a spider’s web.

  No one heard the water coming until it was too late. It swept through the encampment taking everything with it. Over five thousand women, children, and pack animals drowned. Many of the bodies were never found.

  Few of Alexander’s tough Macedonian fighters were killed in the wadi flood. Yet death took scores of them each day for other reasons. Many died of thirst and lack of food. Some lost their minds in the relentless heat and just wandered alone into the desert to die. The Gedrosian was an enemy that they had never met and they were being defeated.

  ≈

  The aging battalion commander had somehow managed to remain alive for over thirty days. His wounded legs had never healed, and they were now bleeding from new sores that oozed a watery substance that he had never seen before. After a long night’s march, he and a friend found a sleeping place beneath a large rock outcropping. It would provide some shade from the sun’s relentless attack.

  “Your legs look awful,” his friend said. “What are those black things in the wounds?”

  The aging commander was surprised with the question and propped up his legs on a rock to examine them. Tiny sand bugs had infested his leg wounds and they were busy burrowing into his raw flesh. “Son-of-a-bitch!” the old man cried out. “Now this! How much more can I take?” he cried out as he started to dig out the bugs with dirty fingernails.

  He managed to dig out most of the visible bugs but knew that many had burrowed deep into his skin. Exhausted and fearing more infection, he finally gave up the removal effort and rolled over on his side to get some sleep. “I hope Alexander knows what I have sacrificed for him,” he said in a quiet voice to his friend. “I’ve never had the chance to talk with him after all of these years. I’ll seek him out tomorrow and ask if his personal physician can look at my legs. The king has done it for other men. He owes me that.”

  He closed his eyes and dreamed of the farmland that he would purchase in Orestis Province when he got back to Macedonia. Before he died that day, his dream was of his wife and now-grown-up children. In the dream, he and his extended family were busy getting in the harvest of an abundant crop that would be sold at market. A crop that would increase his wealth more than it already was. His body’s last action was an unseen smile. He was at peace at last.

  ≈

  Sixty days after they had started, only 25,000 of Alexander’s men stumbled, nearly dead, into fertile Bampur. The Gedrosian crossing had resulted in the loss of mostly noncombatants. However, even Alexander’s elite Royal Companion Cavalry had been reduced from 1,700 to just fewer than 1,000. Each man’s face was sunburned almost black and their lips had ugly sores on them. Most had lost a fifth of their body weight.

  “Where in the hell was my support from Harpalus and the provincial governors while we were staggering across the Gedrosian?” Alexander shouted to a local chieftain in Bampur. “I had nothing. I still don’t know where Nearchus is. Craterus has yet to arrive. Things are falling apart! Heads will roll before I’m done!”

  The local official cowered before Alexander but had no answers for the furious king. He told him that emissaries would be sent immediately to the governors of Gedrosia, Susiana, Paraetecene, and Carmania informing them of the king’s anger. He made it clear that he had not failed Alexander and that the blame lay elsewhere.

  That night, the local official fled to the south and boarded a small boat for Arabia. He would never return to his homeland as long as Alexander lived. Self-preservation was a strong trait of his family.

  ≈

  A month later Hephaestion and his men limped into Bampur. Their losses had been even greater than Alexander’s. They were fortunate that anyone survived the hellish journey. It was only because of the few supplies that Alexander had left for them that had allowed them to make it. Hephaestion had never seen Nearchus during his journey across the desert.

  “We’ll slowly make our way toward Salmous while we wait for Nearchus and Craterus to arrive,” Alexander said to Hephaestion. He looked at his friend and realized that he was lucky to be alive. Hephaestion had lost thirty percent of his body weight, and his usually beautiful, fair skin was covered with sun-generated sores and blisters. Strangely, his abundant, thick hair had started to fall out after the journey across the Gedrosian. None of the king’s other men had experienced this.

  Alexander put Hephaestion’s appearance out of his mind and then continued. “I’ve ordered a week of Dionysiac revelries that will help our men forget the terrible experiences that we have all gone through,” he announced. “It always works for them to get drunk and rape a few local women.”

  “Yes,” Hephaestion said without elaboration. “But keep Craterus away from me when he joins us. You must soon make a decision about us. We both love you in different ways. But don’t think that we can coexist now that the major fighting is over.”

  “I’ve already made a decision on this, Hephaestion,” Alexander answered. “Craterus will be sent home to Macedonia with our retired fighters. Mother has convinced me that Antipater has outlived his usefulness in Pella. She wrote me that he is white on the outside but purple on the inside. Craterus will take over as my regent in Macedonia and Greece.”

  Hephaestion’s face showed his surprise. “It will get him away from me and, for that, I am pleased,” he said.

  Then Hephaestion changed the subject abruptly. “Our Gedrosian crossing has nearly destroyed your image, Alexander. King’s live and die on what other think about their invincibility. Now, among what remains of our army and among these provincial governors, dangerous talk is being heard. It’s said that Alexander has finally experienced defeat. You cannot allow this vicious story to spread.”

  “Do you think that I have grown stupid, Hephaestion?” Alexander asked contemptuously. “I hear the same talk, and I have already started actions to counter the rumors. When all the elements of my army are reunited, a purge of the traitorous governors will begin. Harpalus had better have a good excuse why he didn’t send bullion when I needed it so desperately. A massive reorganization of my new empire will begin once our forces are united.”

  “Good,” Hephaestion answered. “Let me know what role you want me to play.”

  “When you leave, send for Eumenes,” Alexander directed. “He and I will write a positive account of the Gedrosian crossing. I’ll have him attribute our losses to enemies that we encountered along the way. I won’t have a desert defeat me, not when I have conquered every human enemy that I faced.”

  “Get some rest, Hephaestion. You look awful. We will get through this. Soon we’ll rule the greatest empire the world has ever known. Both of our legends will grow, and people everywhere will see us as gods. A long life awaits us both. After our many sacrifices, we will both deserve what we get.”

  CHAPTER 22

  PERSEPOLIS TO SUSA

  “That gimpy little bastard,” Alexander shouted. His fury over his Royal Treasurer, Harpalus, was more violent than any of his inner circle had ever seen. “I ordered him here to Salmous and he knew what he would get. He’s on his way to Athens with six thousand mercenaries and five thousand talents of my silver. I’m fortunate that he didn’t steal my entire treasury.”

  Ptolemy, Perdiccas, and Lysimachus listened and knew the gravity of the situation. At last, Perdiccas spoke up and offered his king a suggestion. “You must order all of the central kingdom generals and satraps to disband their mercenaries immediately. Harpalus’ actions were probably the beginning of a plot against you.”

  Alexander, still weak from the Gedrosian crossing and his shoulder wound that would not fully heal, stood up and gazed into space. In recent days, his drinking had increased. Drinking bouts that used to last a s
ingle night now stretched into two and three day drunken, Dionysiac orgies. His nose was always red and had a bulb at its end.

  The silence in the command tent was palpable. Alexander’s face was etched with a vindictive scorn as he started a walk around the tent. Everyone present knew that complete silence was mandatory when the king started his circuit. He had picked up the habit from Aristotle.

  “I’ll make a list of those who will be executed,” the king said at last. “Cleander and Sitacles will be eliminated after a trial tomorrow. Anyone even remotely responsible for our supply failure in the Gedrosian will either be deposed or killed. Never again will I allow those serving me to make me vulnerable. It’s clear than an insurrection was well into the planning stages.”

  “Hephaestion and Craterus will be kept apart from now on as well,” Alexander continued. “Yesterday, both had their swords drawn in their latest squabble. I’ve ordered Hephaestion to take the coastal road to Persepolis and Susa. With him will be our baggage train, all of the elephants, and most of the army. Craterus and I will move overland with the Companion Cavalry. Nearchus will continue commanding our fleet and meet us south of Susa.”

  Ptolemy waited for the king’s edicts to sink in, then brought news of importance to everyone gathered in the tent. “A courier arrived this morning with news. The 30,000 youths you ordered trained in our language and military tactics are ready for presentation to you. Where do you want them to meet us?”

  Alexander was pleased with the news and his anger lessened. It had been three years since he had established the youthful troop. If he liked the outcome of the youths’ training and indoctrination, they would become his model of the new fighting men of his empire. “Have them meet us in Susa,” he answered. “I want this conspiratorial mess cleaned up before we charge them with their duties. If they are as good as I hope they are, I will no longer have need of Greeks and Macedonians questioning every command decision I make.”

  Alexander knew the impact that his last statement had on his officers in the tent. Each was Macedonian. He looked each bodyguard in the eye, and then ordered them to leave. He had more drinking to do with a teenage eunuch that had just been presented to him.

  In three days, he would leave and everything would be different. He was becoming a different man; his vast empire would have to learn to accommodate these changes. World civilization would soon bear the imprint of the son of great Zeus-Ammon.

  ≈

  At Persepolis again, six years after I left it

  Olympias:

  I walked today through the charred desolation that the Persians called the most beautiful city in the world. I now regret burning it.

  Inside, I feel like the city’s blackened expanse. When we first came here, I was full of hope and confidence, imitating proud Persepolis herself. All of that has changed.

  I have prayed and offered countless supplications to Zeus-Ammon, but my spirit continues its descent. Conspiracies are all around me. I eliminate those whom I know are plotting, but there are more. I trust no one.

  Lately, I have even had difficulty confiding in Hephaestion. He and Craterus quarrel constantly. I give them command responsibilities that keep them apart. My heart weeps because of this. They are the two that I loved and trusted most.

  My health is poor. My shoulder wound that I received in India will not heal properly. I fear that my arm strength will never return. This is an ominous condition for the fighting king that I have always been. Our crossing of the Gedrosian Desert sapped my energy further.

  I find comfort only in our Macedonian wine. As you feared, mother, I have lost control of my drinking. In that regard, I have become Philip.

  I tried to write a poem about all of this, but nothing came out. I often long for my childhood days, when poems flowed from me like the winter melt of the Hindu Kush. When I grow old, I know that I will become a prolific poet again. But not now.

  I need information about Antipater’s activities. I received reports that you and my sister are challenging him in Macedonia and Epirus. Continue those activities. When I reach Babylon, I will replace him. There may be others in Greece and our homeland who are plotting with him. Spy on his son, Cassander, and keep me informed on his actions.

  When you decode and read this message, burn it. The thoughts contained here are for you alone.

  I may bring you to Babylon once I solve all of these problems. An Indian philosopher helped me understand that I should rule my empire from there. The longer you and Cleopatra stay in Epirus and Macedonia, the more danger you both will experience.

  I go now to bathe in Darius’ tub. Only boiling water helps me relax and think with clarity. I’ll get through these difficulties, as I always have.

  Please go to the Dodona temple that we visited when I was a boy. Offer prayers and sacrifices for me there that I may continue to fulfill my destiny. I need the support of our ancient gods as my life proceeds.

  Your troubled son,

  Alexander.

  ≈

  “Look at them,” Alexander said as he sat in the royal reviewing stand in Susa. He was dressed in full Persian regalia that featured a long Persian pleated robe and mantle. He wore multicolored trousers made of the finest pure silk from an eastern land that he had never reached. On his feet were boots with high heels. They made him appear much taller than he really was. His ears seemed heavy because of six golden earrings, each one studded with precious stones and gems. He knew that most of his Macedonian soldiers and officers hated his dress. That knowledge gave him a perverse pleasure.

  In the reviewing box with him were all seven of his Royal Bodyguards. For most of the morning, they had been watching the 30,000 Iranian youths that Alexander had commissioned years earlier.

  “By my edict, they will be called the Royal Successors,” the king announced. “Each is fluent in Attic Greek and is expert in our Macedonian battle tactics. From their ranks will come my empire’s future governors and field generals. I’ve spoken to over a hundred. Each one is a zealot and completely devoted to me. They doubt nothing and burn with ambition to serve their king. Their successful training and presence here is the best news that I have had in years.”

  Alexander was aware that these teenage boys presented a substantial threat to his inner circle of bodyguards. That also gave him pleasure. As devoted as each of his bodyguards were to him, each man would have to develop an understanding that a new day was approaching when unquestioning devotion, even worship, of him would become the measure of whether they remained alive or not. The past was the past. He was now the Great King of Persia, who used to be a Macedonian. If the old guard Macedonians were to follow him to new conquests in Northern Africa and Europe, a new level of kingly service was required. This was to be the beginning of his new world order.

  The last marching formation of Royal Successors—a group that Alexander had been told was the elite of the elite—approached the reviewing stand, and Alexander stood to salute them. Their squadron resembled the vaunted Macedonian phalanx, with sixteen rows and sixteen columns. All two-hundred and fifty-six of the youths carried the long Macedonian pike, the sarissa.

  Seeing the king stand to salute them, the group’s commander gave a sharp verbal command. Every youth in the formation simultaneously and effortlessly lowered his pike at a right angle to their march’s direction. The moving, human mass projected two-and-a-half-hundred spears directly toward Alexander. It was a scene high with theatrical drama.

  Then, without an audible command, they started singing a chant that extolled and glorified their king. Their marching boots created a deep, percussion accompaniment as the song’s words reached Alexander’s ears.

  A living god—trained us well.

  For Great Alexander—we’ll march into Hell.

  Our language is his—we speak like our King.

  We fight as he does—great victories we’ll bring.

  Ask the impossible—we’ll soon win the day.

  Successors we are—leading the wa
y.

  The youths then brought their pikes to vertical and started singing the song again. At last, with the sound of their voices fading, they marched away to join the rest of the Successors in a distant camp established just for them. The impression that they had made was enormous.

  “They make all of the sacrifices I have made worth it,” the king said with a broad smile on his face. “Let it be known that everything will change because of their superiority. They are my model of the Great King’s fighters and leaders. Everyone around me either will mimic their behavior or suffer elimination. Those are the choices.”

  The king then left the reviewing stand to ride to the Successors’ encampment, followed by his personal guards. He wanted to hear the song again and speak to as many of the youths as he could. He didn’t want to be around his old guard at a moment like this. He would handle them later.

  ≈

  Alexander and Hephaestion were alone. Their meeting was a reconciliation, a much-needed one after the king had nearly killed his friend because of his juvenile attitude toward Craterus. However, he couldn’t shut out Hephaestion any longer. Alexander smiled at Hephaestion and knew that what he was about to announce to his life-long companion would please him as never before.

  “I’ve planned mass marriages for nearly a hundred of our top commanders and Bodyguards,” he began. “Ten thousand of our soldiers will also marry Persians. I will take two royal wives myself: the daughter of Darius and the daughter of Artaxerxes Ochus. Philip would be proud of me. This will give me three royal wives. That’s more than enough to produce a male successor.”

  Hephaestion’s face was impassive. Alexander knew that his friend thought that this was the final act of him being cut out of the king’s life. “What is to happen to me?” he asked. “Is this my end?”

  Alexander grinned and walked over to his lover and gave him a warm embrace. “It is not. I want you to marry Darius’ other daughter. It will make any children we sire nephews and nieces. This will bond us to each other for the rest of our lives.”