Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (27 page)

‘News has arrived that Bessus is in Bactriana, where he has proclaimed himself Great King, with the name Artaxerxes IV.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The reinforcements from Macedonia have been spotted on the road from Ecbatana, about seven thousand men and the squires are with them too. They’ll be here by evening.’

‘Good. I will meet them myself, at sunset. Have the army fall in.’

The Black left, biting his lip to stop himself saying anything else, but it was not long before the rumour was doing the rounds in the camp that Alexander was dressed up like a Persian and was surrounded by women and eunuchs.

‘It can’t be true!’ exclaimed Philotas when he heard. ‘My father could never bear even to cast his eyes upon such a shameful spectacle.’

‘I can well believe it,’ replied Craterus. ‘Wasn’t it Alexander himself who warned us, when we were in Persepolis, that he hadn’t brought us all this distance to see us behaving like those we have defeated?’

‘I don’t think there’s anything strange in it,’ said Hephaestion. ‘You’ve already seen Alexander in Egypt dressed like a Pharaoh. Why when we’re in Persia shouldn’t he dress like the Great King? He has married the Great King’s daughter and has inherited his realm.’

Whatever Alexander does or says, for you it’s always alright,’ Philotas retorted, ‘but King Philip would be horrified to see such a thing and—’

‘Cut it out!’ Hephaestion interrupted him. He is King and he has every right to do whatever he wishes. And you are the ones who ought to be ashamed – you too, Black, for your behaviour. When he heaped favours on you, when he filled your tents with Persian gold, you all took it gladly, didn’t you? You, Philotas, you were pleased when he nominated you supreme commander of the cavalry, no? And now you’re all indignant about a few Persian rags. You make me laugh!’

‘I make you laugh? I’ll soon cure you of that!’ shouted the Black who was already in a terrible mood, and he lifted his fist, ready to strike.

Ptolemy immediately stepped in to separate them and Seleucus backed him up: ‘Stop right there! Have you gone mad? That’s enough! Cut it out!’

The two of them moved apart, but continued staring at each other; Craterus moved over to Cleitus’s side, as though to let him know that he was supporting him.

‘Listen,’ said Seleucus. ‘It’s idiotic to come to blows for these things. Alexander might well be dressed up in Persian clothes to please Stateira, or out of simple curiosity. We have always got on and we have to continue getting on together. We’re right in the heart of a territory that is for the most part hostile. If we start arguing among ourselves then we’re lost, don’t you understand that?’

‘These things aren’t trifles,’ came a familiar voice from behind him. Seleucus turned, ‘Callisthenes—’

‘I repeat, these things are not trifles. Alexander left Greece as leader of the pan-Hellenic League with the task of destroying the Greeks’ age-old enemy. This is his only true purpose, the one he solemnly swore to pursue at Corinth.’

‘He razed Persepolis to the ground,’ said Eumenes, who up until then had remained silent. ‘Isn’t that enough? He sacrificed the most beautiful palace in the world on the altar of the pan-Hellenic idea.’

‘You’re wrong,’ retorted Callisthenes. ‘He did it because he had no choice, and I tell you this because I have it from the most reliable source. Greece and the Greeks no longer meant anything to him at that point, just as, I fear, they mean nothing to him now.’

At that moment the trumpets sounded and a division of
hetairoi
in parade dress came out of the western gate of the camp at a gallop, lining up in two rows along the sides of the access road. Shortly afterwards there came the rhythmical sound of the drums and the regular march of an army moving closer.

‘The reinforcements are here!’ exclaimed Ptolemy. ‘Alexander will arrive at any moment. Let’s get ready, instead of standing here talking.’

Callisthenes shook his head as if to express his forbearance and moved off. The others went with greater or lesser haste to put on their armour so that they could line up with the rest of the army which was preparing to welcome the companions who had just arrived from Macedonia.

The new arrivals marched in perfect order across the field, saluted by shrill trumpet blasts and by the
hetairoi
division which presented arms, and then went to line up before the podium which stood alongside the royal tent. Behind them were the ranks of the massed army. The squires, the young sons of the finest Macedonian nobility, stood out more than all the others because of their white capes and their red
chitons.
They had come here to serve King Alexander just as Perdiccas, Ptolemy, Lysimachus and the other Companions had come to serve King Philip in the palace at Pella.

Then came the sound of yet more trumpet blasts and this time they all turned towards the eastern gate because they had been told that the King would make his entrance there.

‘Oh by the gods,’ said Ptolemy under his breath as he raised one hand to his forehead. ‘He’s still wearing the Persian clothes.’

‘This way they’ll all know how to behave,’ said Seleucus impassibly. ‘It’s the best thing, believe me.’

Alexander arrived at a gallop astride Bucephalas and his Persian clothes made of the finest byssus flew in the wind like veils. The scarf that framed his face and moved down to cross his chest and then his shoulders gave him an unusual look, but one that nevertheless was strangely attractive.

He leaped to the ground before the podium and slowly climbed the steps leading up to the platform, then, dressed as he was, he turned and faced the Macedonian army with its veterans and its new recruits, before the astonished eyes of everyone, from the companions to the very last soldier – even the young men lined up directly under the stage stared at him as though they could not believe what they were seeing.

‘I wanted to come in person,’ he began, ‘to welcome these our recent recruits who have been sent to us by the regent Antipater and to welcome the young men that the nobles of Macedonia have sent to us so that they will grow in the service of their King and learn to become valiant and loyal warriors. I read the astonishment in your eyes, as though a ghost had appeared here before you, but I know what the reason is – it is this coat I am wearing, a
kandys,
and this cloth I am wearing around my head. This in fact is Persian dress that I am wearing over my Greek warrior’s
chiton,
and I want you to know that I have done this deliberately because now I am no longer simply the King of Macedon. I am also Pharaoh of Egypt, King of the Babylonians and Great King of the Persians. Darius is dead and I have married the Princess Stateira, and therefore I am his successor. As such I claim authority over the whole empire that was his and intend to make use of this authority by pursuing the usurper Bessus wherever he may be hiding. We will get him. And we will inflict on him the punishment he deserves.

‘Now I will distribute gifts to the new arrivals and this evening you will all have a special supper with plenty of good wine. I want you to enjoy yourselves and I want you to be in good spirits because before long we will set off once again and we will not stop until we have achieved our goal!’

There was some lukewarm applause, but Alexander did nothing to provoke any warmer, more enthusiastic reaction. He was aware of what was going through the minds of his men and his companions, and he realized just how puzzled were the young men, the squires who had just arrived from Macedonia; for them he was already a living legend, and here they found themselves before a man dressed in the clothes of the recently defeated barbarians, clothes which had a definite feminine feel about them. And that was not all – what he was about to say was even worse.

He waited until there was silence and then began speaking again: ‘The enterprise we are about to undertake is no less difficult than the feats we have accomplished up to now, and the fresh troops who have just arrived from Macedonia are not enough – we will have to pit ourselves against enemies we have never seen nor fought against before, we will have to impose garrisons in so many cities and fortresses, clash with armies still more numerous than those we defeated at Issus and at Gaugamela.’ Total silence now fell on the camp and all the warriors’ eyes were fixed on Alexander, their ears poised so as not to miss a single word. ‘It is for this reason that I have taken a decision you may not approve of, but it is absolutely necessary – we cannot use up the lifeblood of our homeland with the continual calling up of young men, neither can we leave its defences unmanned. I have therefore arranged to recruit thirty thousand Persians and to train them in Macedonian military techniques. Training will begin immediately – by tomorrow the military leaders of all the Satrapies of the empire will receive precise instructions.’

No one applauded, no one asked to speak, no one made a sound. In that stony silence, the King was alone as he never had been before. Only Hephaestion moved closer and held the bridle while Alexander leaped astride Bucephalas and immediately disappeared at a gallop.

E
UMENES ROLLED UP
the document and looked Callisthenes in the eye, ‘So this, for you, is Alexander?’

‘Perhaps I should say, “This is what Alexander should be,”’ replied Callisthenes with a puzzled expression in his eyes.

‘The historian’s role ought to be that of recounting the facts as they happen, after having witnessed them himself or after having consulted reliable eye witnesses,’ replied the Secretary as though reciting some memorized formula.

‘You think I’m not aware of what a historian’s task is? But I also have to try to interpret Alexander’s soul and his thoughts and render them understandable for those who will read my work. I allowed you to read what I have written up to now because I need your support and because you write the expedition’s journal every day, but especially because—’

‘Because he is moving beyond the margins of your page, beyond the confines you had marked out for him in your work?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Then you have to put your mind at rest – Alexander is no longer the person we knew; perhaps in truth he never was that person.’

‘He took an oath before all the Greeks to lead a pan-Hellenic expedition against Persia, the age-old enemy.’

‘He has done that. And he won. He is the leader of all the Greeks.’

Callisthenes started and got to his feet, evidently irritated, ‘Yes, but now he is becoming one of them – he dresses like them, he is surrounded by eunuchs and concubines, he is having them instructed in our combat techniques; apparently he’s even having Persian lessons, they say that . . . yesterday, during one of his wild parties, he actually kissed that . . . that Bagoas on the mouth in public’

‘He has decided to scandalize all those who look at these things in the same way you do,’ retorted Eumenes. ‘He wants to show you that we have reached a point where there is no turning back. As for the parties, I don’t believe ours were any less barbaric. We have to learn to accept that which is and that which always has been, believe me, and we have to forget the image we had created because it gave us peace of mind.’

‘Peace of mind?’

‘Yes. The image you provide in your
History
is a reassuring one, easy to understand and love for a well-educated Greek with reasonably moderate ideas – but Alexander is something quite different.’

‘Oh, there is no doubt about that, and with every day that passes he misses no opportunity to remind us of the fact. The men are worried, the new recruits and the young squires who have just arrived from Macedonia are shocked. They thought they were coming here to serve a hero, a conqueror, heir to Achilles and Hercules, but instead they see a man dressed like a woman who introduces barbaric customs and contemptible, shameful habits.’

‘Customs that are simply different from those we are used to, Callisthenes. He has led us into territory that no Greek had ever crossed before, under another sky, across deserts and highlands; he has led us beyond the Nile, the Tigris and the Euphrates and he is dreaming of the Indus. Nothing could remain as it was, don’t you understand?’

‘I understand it, but I will never accept it.’

‘Have you told him?’

‘Certainly.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said, “Write whatever you like, Callisthenes.” Nothing means anything to him any more, he doesn’t care.’

Eumenes said nothing else; he was aware that Callisthenes was so disillusioned that nothing now could shift him from the conviction and the ideas that had formed in his mind. It was late, and he stood up to leave, but before crossing the threshold he turned because he felt he still had something to say to Callisthenes and some advice to give him, ‘Alexander changes continually because his curiosity is insatiable and his vital force is inexhaustible. He is like the halcyon, the bird they say never lands on earth during its life and which even sleeps as it flies, being carried along by the wind. If you do not feel up to following him, Callisthenes, then go now, turn back while there is still time.’

Eumenes left, leaving the historian to meditate over these words and to read through the lines of his
History of Alexander’s Expedition
in the lamplight. A servant’s voice broke into his concentration some time later, ‘Lord, there is a man here who arrived with the reinforcements and who has been looking for you for some time. He says he must speak to you.’