Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest

by Robert Fabbri

  The thought kept him preoccupied as he and Kassandros entered his suite of rooms to find the woman and her brat awaiting him in the custody of a Hypaspist and the steward of the apartment.

  ‘Where do you come from?’ Perdikkas asked.

  The woman shook her head, indicating that she had no Greek.

  Perdikkas nodded to the steward who translated and then listened to the reply.

  ‘She’s a slave from the royal hunting lodge on the road to Susa,’ the steward informed Perdikkas. ‘Roxanna forced her to come to Babylon when she was staying there.’

  ‘Ask her if she knows what happened at the lodge.’

  The steward did so; the woman looked at Perdikkas, frightened, and then back at the steward, shaking her head.

  ‘Tell her I know she’s lying to me and remind her that I can always reverse my decision to spare her child.’

  That brought the required result; a stream of gibberish, to Perdikkas’ ears, poured from her accompanied by the furious waving of her free arm.

  ‘Roxanna poisoned the two queens and threw them down a well,’ the steward explained. ‘Then she had the steward of the lodge impaled as she left; the slave-girls who disposed of the bodies she had killed as soon as she got back to Babylon so that there would be no witnesses.’

  Perdikkas feigned surprise at the news of the queens’ murders; he had assumed as much after Roxanna had left Babylon for a month and Stateira and Parysatis had failed to make the journey from Susa. So that’s how she did it. ‘Ask her how she knows all this if there are supposed to be no witnesses.’

  ‘Because she witnessed it all but then Roxanna forced her to watch her slave-girls having their throats cut,’ the steward said over the woman’s tears. ‘Roxanna then told her that she and her at-the-time-unborn child would suffer the same fate if she would say a word or refused to do as she was bidden.’

  So she would have been murdered whether or not Roxanna used her boy so that the last witness would be silenced. This could be a very useful woman to me. ‘How did she come to witness this crime?’

  The steward listened to the reply. ‘She worked in the kitchens and had been out at the well getting water. When they came out with the bodies she had hidden in the shadows but had been discovered. Roxanna was about to have her slaves throw her into the well too until she saw just how pregnant she was; then an idea seemed to occur to her and she changed her mind.’

  Perdikkas understood her thinking. ‘She realised that she was due any day and if it were to be a boy then it could be of use; but if it were a girl then mother and child would have their throats cut. In a way you have to admire the ruthlessness of that eastern wildcat.’ Perdikkas turned to Kassandros. ‘You heard all that so you can bear witness to the murder of Alexander’s two pregnant Persian queens.’

  Kassandros nodded. ‘Were they pregnant?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant so long as we say they were.’

  Kassandros smiled. ‘That’s a fine weapon to hold over the eastern wildcat’s throat.’

  Perdikkas turned to the steward. ‘Have this woman and her child cared for here where she is safe. And summon Phocos, my secretary; I have a letter to write.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Whilst I get him, Aristonous is waiting with someone in your study.’

  ‘This is Isodorus, one of Cleomenes’ agents in Egypt,’ Aristonous said without any preamble as Perdikkas entered his study. ‘He has just made the journey from Memphis to here in less than a moon to bring you Cleomenes’ report on what Ptolemy is doing and I felt that you should hear it immediately.’

  Perdikkas looked at the short, brown-skinned man; the skin on his angular face was like leather and his head had evidently been completely shaven before he had set out on his journey. ‘Well, go on then.’

  ‘If it pleases you, master,’ the agent said, bowing in the most cringing and obsequious fashion.

  ‘It does, get on with it; I haven’t had the best of days.’

  ‘My master, Cleomenes, sent me as soon as he saw the truth for himself, a month ago. Ptolemy has assembled a fleet and an army in the newly founded city of Alexandria and, when I left, was about to set sail west to annex Cyrenaica, it having been taken over by a Spartan mercenary called Thribron.’

  Perdikkas stared at Isodorus in disbelief; for the second time that day the shock of his orders being flouted hit him like a slingshot. ‘But I told him not to,’ he blurted, instantly regretting losing his dignity in the company of one so low. ‘Who is this Thribron?’ Is it worth me sending him support?

  ‘He used to be in the pay of Harpalus when he was on the run with the money he stole from Alexander, master. Half that wealth was left in Athens and Harpalus took the other half with him when he fled to Creta. Thribron murdered him there and used the money to recruit a mercenary army to take Cyrene and then the rest of Cyrenaica; he was then betrayed by his Cretan allies and forced out of the city but he eventually defeated his enemies, and held off the Carthaginians and Lybians who came to their aid, and now holds sway in the whole area.’

  ‘And Harpalus’ stolen money?’

  ‘Is in Thribron’s hands.’

  So that’s why Ptolemy’s going; not satisfied with what he must have found in Memphis’ treasury, he wants more. That can only mean one thing. I’d better act quickly.

  ‘What else did Cleomenes charge you to say?’

  ‘Only that he soon hopes to send the money that you have asked for. Ptolemy has put him in charge of the treasury and, having been the satrap, he knows Egypt’s finances intimately.’

  Because he found every way to extort money from the locals when he was in sole charge of Egypt. I wonder what made Ptolemy give him the same opportunity. ‘I’m sure he does. Rest here for a couple of days and I will send you back with a letter to him. Now go.’ With a wave, Perdikkas dismissed the agent, slumped in his chair and looked, with weary eyes, at Aristonous and Kassandros. ‘Why are all my orders ignored?’ He raised his hand, palm out, to stop them from answering what was a rhetorical question; he fully knew the answer. ‘It’s because I’m not feared and I don’t have close allies. So, gentlemen, it’s time to work out how to address that.’ A knock on the door interrupted him. ‘Come in!’

  Alketas came in followed by Phocus, the secretary with his writing box.

  ‘All done, Brother,’ Alketas said, holding up a dripping sack.

  Perdikkas smiled. ‘Excellent, thank you, Alketas. That’s just what I need to help gain me respect. Come, Phocus, sit at your table, we have letters to write to Antipatros, Cleomenes and Ptolemy; but first to Antigonos to accompany Alketas’ little present there. Just two words: Your balls.’

  PTOLEMY, THE BASTARD

  THERE’S NOTHING MORE gratifying than a dying enemy; especially a viciously cruel enemy who’s dying in great agony. Ptolemy looked with the inner satisfaction of a job well done at the writhing body of Thribron, hanging from his cross in the agora of Cyrene, accompanied by his supporters in the city. Although I suppose that having lost his ears and nose and had his eyes replaced by his testicles and his tongue by his cock, he’s not altogether too unhappy about starting his journey to the Ferryman; I imagine he just wishes it could be a slightly more direct route. Never mind, one can’t have everything.

  Attended by his general, Ophellas, Ptolemy sat on a throne set beneath a canopy at the opposite end of the agora from the occupied crosses, as the delegation of Cyrenaeans approached and knelt before him.

  Ptolemy listened with little interest as they thanked him for his intervention and affirmed their loyalty to him – the price he had extracted before he had sent his army, under Ophellas’ command, to liberate their city from what was no more than an army of unemployed mercenaries out for easy loot. Now the loot was in his hands and most of the mercenaries were in his employ, apart from those he had been forced to nail up to encourage the rest – he had considered using impalement but being of a slightly squeamish disposition and liking to think of himself as a forgiving and big-hearted m
an, he had opted for crucifixion instead. His major achievement was, however, the recovery of half of Harpalus’ stolen fortune, almost four hundred talents of gold and silver; and once he finally managed to prise the whereabouts of the Egyptian treasury, in the next few days, from Cleomenes – who seemed to consider it his personal property – he would be a long way to recruiting and keeping a large enough army and navy to ensure that he was left in peace as he cemented his position in Egypt. All in all, a very good few months’ work.

  The droning of speeches came to an end and it took Ptolemy a few moments to realise that it was his turn to be polite. ‘Thank you for your words of love and loyalty,’ he said, addressing the leader of the delegation in his most solemn tone that he now reserved for dealing with matters such as this. ‘Now you have subjected yourselves to my protection you shall receive a garrison to fend off the Libyans and Carthaginians to the west and in return for that you will pay a tenth of all the value of your Silphium trade, both of the plant itself as well as the animals fed on it, to Memphis.’ Ptolemy held up a treaty he had had drawn up during the short two-day trip from Alexandria to receive the city’s formal surrender. ‘There are two copies; one for you and one that I shall take back to the new city of Alexandria and deposit in the temple of Apsis there. Let there always be a state of friendship between us.’

  This sentiment was greeted with much enthusiasm from the delegation and the crowd of citizens looking on – all those who had the good fortune to have chosen the winning side in the recent struggle. Ptolemy watched as the delegation took it in turns to sign the documents before adding his own signature and authenticating it with his seal.

  That’s one up the arse for Perdikkas; I would imagine that Cleomenes’ odious little sneak, Isodorus, is whining to him right about now. I wish I could see the fool’s face. I expect he’s sitting down to write me a very stern letter. I shall look forward to it. ‘I shall leave Ophellas here to act as my proxy; you will treat his word as mine. However, you are free to run your city as you wish.’ Leaving that obvious tautology unexplained, Ptolemy rose and took his most regal pose, one arm extended towards his people, the other touching his breast. ‘And so I say farewell for I must now return to Egypt where pressing matters await.’

  The pressing matter in question was his mistress, Thais. Even after ten years together and three children during that time, Ptolemy was still obsessed by her beauty and her wit and, as he pressed into her again and again, in the slow rhythm that their love-making had eased into over the years, he marvelled that she still held him enthralled. Indeed, he hated being too long away from her, even now. She moaned in her pleasure as the pace of his pressing grew, her pale skin gaining in colour and her tongue, the bringer of such delight, playing with her top lip. Her hair, red-golden, fanned out on the pillow, framing her face, catching the evening sun as it flooded through the open window of the near-complete Royal Palace on the eastern edge of the great harbour of Alexandria.

  Together they worked to a shuddering climax, backs arching and features contorting before slumping into each other’s loose embrace, panting. With his head on its side, Ptolemy admired Thais’ profile, the gentle pout of her lips, the slight curve of her nose, all the little details he knew so well. He caressed her cheek and leant forward to kiss her. ‘I’m going to have to take a wife.’

  Thais did not open her eyes. ‘I know. What are you going to do with the present one?’

  ‘Artacama? I’ll keep her, I suppose. What do you mean: you know?’

  ‘I mean: I know. Of course you are going to have to take a wife, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Of course it does if it’s even occurred to you.’ Thais turned over and propped her head up with her hand, looking down at him. ‘You’ve just disobeyed Perdikkas’ direct order not to move west into Cyrenaica and, whilst you were away, Cleomenes fell into the trap that you set for him—’

  ‘How do you know that as well?’

  ‘Because the venal fool stole so much coin off the caravan that you told him was setting out for Babylon with a quarter of Egypt’s wealth as a peace offering to Perdikkas, that it was impossible for him to get it back to his residence here without drawing attention to it.’

  Ptolemy smiled at the image of the outrageously fat man and boxes and boxes of coin. ‘I knew he would not be able to resist it. I’m told his men took the caravan as soon as it was out of sight of the city.’

  ‘It was quick; the man I had watching his house said he turned up with a loaded wagon on the first night you were on your way to Cyrene. Anyway, you now have all you need to execute Perdikkas’ representative in Egypt so you’ve as good as declared war on him. So of course you’re going to ask Antipatros for one of his delicious daughters because you want the old man on your side.’

  Ptolemy shook his head in awe of his lover’s logic. ‘And you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind; did you hear me say a word when Alexander made you marry Artacama at the Susa mass wedding? I am one of the highest paid courtesans in the Greek world, of course I don’t mind if one of my clients gets himself a new wife.’

  ‘But you only have one client now.’

  ‘He’s still a client, even though I’ve borne him three children. After all, you keep me in more luxury than I ever tasted in Athens. No, take your Macedonian peace-cow, darling, rut her well and fill her belly; anything that makes us more secure here is fine by me.’

  Ptolemy kissed her again and swung out of bed; naked, he crossed to the window, took a deep breath of salt-tanged air and looked out over the building site that was Alexandria. ‘When you think that eight years ago this was nothing but a collection of fishermen’s huts…’ He trailed off as the scale of the construction in that time had no words to describe it, such was its magnitude; just the mole, connecting the rocky, barren Pharos island to the mainland, thereby sheltering the harbour, was a work worthy of Titans. But now a city was taking shape on the modern idea of a grid system. Already tens of thousands had flocked to the half-completed metropolis, eager to be a part of what was surely going to be the greatest city in the world; and he, Ptolemy, was now its ruler.

  ‘You should make yourself Pharaoh,’ Thais said as if reading his thoughts.

  ‘Ha! That would really give it to Perdikkas up the arse.’

  ‘He might like it; I do.’

  ‘Well, he can wait for that treat. I have a better one for him first: coinage.’

  Thais sat up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, intrigued. ‘Coinage?’

  Ptolemy took a coin from a small box on the chest next to the window and tossed it over to Thais. ‘What do you think?’

  After a few moments her eyes widened. ‘No one has ever done that before, that is genius.’

  ‘Yes, until now coins have always had the gods on them, never a mortal man. By putting Alexander’s head on my coinage I’m claiming his legitimacy; it’s going to be a powerful propaganda statement as these start to circulate around the world. I’ll let my rivals get really cross and then I’ll make it even worse for them and put my own head on the face.’

  ‘Lucky Perdikkas gets it up the arse twice.’

  ‘And I can guarantee that he won’t moan with pleasure nearly as much as you; especially when I pull my biggest surprise on him.’

  A knock on the door prevented Ptolemy from expanding on Perdikkas’ coming discomfort.

  ‘Come.’

  The door opened and a young slave poked his head around it.

  ‘What is it, Sextus?’

  ‘Master, Lycortas says to tell you that he has Cleomenes waiting downstairs.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be there shortly.’

  The slave bowed and retreated, closing the door behind him.

  ‘I can barely understand the lad through his thick accent but he’s one of the best body-slaves I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘Some town in Latinum, I believe it’s call
ed; it’s in Italia, north of the civilized Greek part. I don’t suppose that Alexander would have even bothered with it had he lived to go west.’ He picked up his discarded loincloth, fastened it and then slipped his chiton over his head, stepped into a pair of leather slippers and picked up his belt. Stooping over the bed he gave Thais a lingering kiss. ‘I hope you have as much fun in the coming hour as I’m going to.’

  Thais giggled and gave an enticing smile. ‘I’m sure I can think of something to do but, actually, I think that I’d rather come and watch you deal with Cleomenes.’

  Cleomenes shook in outrage; great folds of blubber wobbled on his neck and belly and hung loose from the undersides of his arms. ‘I did not attack that caravan, nor did I command it to be attacked.’

  Ptolemy made to consider the statement as if it might be the truth and then abruptly changed his mind. ‘No, Cleomenes, that’s not true, is it?’

  ‘It is the truth; I would swear it by all the gods.’

  ‘I don’t think that the gods have much regard for you since you took away age-old privileges from the priests here in Egypt and forced them to buy them back for a huge amount.’

  ‘Alexander needed the money.’

  ‘No he didn’t, nor did he need the money that you forced the priests to pay you when you threatened to kill all the crocodiles in the Nile just because one ate your favourite bum-boy. No, Cleomenes, be honest with yourself, you’ll feel much better for it; you’re an avaricious lump of flab and you’ve been on this earth for too long. Go on, say it; the truth will refresh you.’

  ‘I did not take the caravan!’

  ‘Tell him why we know he did, Lycortas.’

  Resplendent in a long, loose-fitting robe of refined taste, Ptolemy’s plump chamberlain, shaven-headed and with an inscrutable expression on his pudgy-lipped face, rose from his seat and motioned a couple of slaves forward. Between them they carried a money chest. They placed it down at Cleomenes feet.