The Persian Boy (27 page)

I thought, They should have let me near him. When I named Darius, he heard. Never mind what they do, I am going back to him.

But he was free now, striding down the hall, calling for Kleitos as if he were still in hearing. “All this faction in the camp, it’s all your doing!”

He passed by me unseeing; and I let him pass. How could I take hold of him before all these people? There had been enough unseemliness. That he should have wished to chastise this insolent boor with his own hands, instead of sending for the executioners! What king could think of such a thing, except one reared in Macedon? It was bad enough, without his Persian boy dragging at his arm in sight of everyone. I expect it made no difference, I daresay he would have shaken me off unheard. Yet even now, I wake in the night and think of it.

Just then, Ptolemy slipped in quietly through the service door, and said to the others, “I walked him right outside the citadel. He’ll cool off there.”

The King was still calling “Kleitos!” but I felt better. He’s just fighting drunk, I thought. It will soon go off. I’ll get him into a good hot bath, and let him talk. Then he’ll sleep till noon, and wake up himself again.

“Kleitos, where are you?” As he reached the outer doors, they burst wide open. There stood Kleitos, red-faced and panting. He must have started back as soon as Ptolemy left him.

“Here’s Kleitos!” he shouted. “Here I am!”

He had come back for the last word. He had thought of it too late, and would not forgo it. It was his fate to be given his wish.

From the doors behind him, a guard came in doubtfully, like a muddy dog. He’d had no orders to keep out the Commander; but he did not like it. He stood spear in hand, looking dutiful and ready. Alexander, checked in his stride, stared unbelievingly.

“Listen, Alexander. Alas, ill rule in Hellas…”

Even Macedonians know their Euripides. I daresay everyone there but I could have completed these famous lines. The gist of them is that the soldiers do it all, the general gets it all. I don’t know if he meant to go on.

A flash of white went to the door, and turned again. There was a bellow like a slaughtered bull’s. Kleitos clutched with both hands at the spear stuck in his breas?t; fell and writhed grunting; jerked in the death-spasm. His mouth and eyes fixed, wide open.

It had been so quick, for a moment I thought the guard had done it. The spear was his.

It was the silence, all down the hall, that told me.

Alexander stood over the body, staring down. Presently he said, “Kleitos.” The corpse glared back at him. He took the spear by the haft. When it would not come, I saw him begin the soldier’s movement to brace his foot on the body; then flinch and pull again. It jerked out, a handspan deep in blood, splashing his clean white robe. Slowly he turned it round, the butt on the ground, the point towards him.

Ptolemy has always maintained that it meant nothing. I only know I cried, “No, my lord!” and got it away. I took him unready, as he had done the guard. Someone reached over and carried it out of sight. Alexander sank on his knees by the body, and felt over its breast; then covered his face with his bloody hands.

“Oh God,” he said slowly, “God, God, God, God.”

“Come away, Alexander,” Hephaistion said. “You can’t stay here.”

Ptolemy and Perdikkas helped lift him to his feet. At first he resisted, still searching the corpse for life. Then he went with them, like a sleepwalker. His face looked dreadful, all striped with blood. The Macedonians, in little knots, stared as he passed. I hurried after him.

At the door of his room, the squire on guard started forward saying, “Is the King wounded?” Ptolemy said, “No. He doesn’t need you.” Once inside, he flung himself on the bed, face downward, just as he was in his bloodstained robe.

I saw Hephaistion looking about, and guessed what for. I wetted a sponge and gave it him. He pulled at Alexander’s hands and washed them, then turned his head this way and that, and cleaned his face.

Alexander pushed at him and said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting the blood off you.”

“You will never do that.” He was sobered. He knew it all.

“Murder,” he said. He spoke the word over and over, like a foreign one he was trying to learn. He sat up. His face was nowhere near clean. I would have sent for warm water, gone quietly about it, and done it properly. “Go, all of you,” he said. “I want nothing. Leave me alone.”

They exchanged looks and moved towards the door. I waited, to care for him when his first grief was spent.

Hephaistion said, “Come out, Bagoas, he wants no one here.”

“I am no one,” I answered. “Just let me put him to bed.”

I took a step to him; but he said “Everyone go”; so then I went. If Hephaistion had kept his mouth shut, I’d just have sat quietly in a corner till he forgot about me. Then, later in the night, when the life runs low, he would not have been sorry to have me tend him. They had not laid a blanket on him, and the nights were cold.

They went off talking together. In my room I kept my clothes on, in case he called for me. I could well understand, having brought on himself so dreadful an indignity, he could bear no one near him now. My heart shed blood for him. We had taught him enough in Persia, for him to feel his shame. When Nabarzanes had asked Darius to step down for Bessos, and the King had drawn his scimitar, it had been almost a courtly scene, compared with this.

I pictured such a person as Kleitos insulting the King at Susa, if such a thing could be conceived. The King would just have motioned with a finger, and the proper people would have appeared. The man would have been taken off with a hand over his mouth; the feast would have proceeded decently; and next day, when the King had rested, he would have decreed the mode of death. It would all have been quiet and seemly. The King would have done no more than move his hand.

I thought, He knows he forgot his dignity, before Greeks and even Persians. He feels he has lost esteem. He needs comfort, and to be reminded of his greatness. In all this trouble, he should not be alone.

In the dead hour after midnight, I went along to his room. The squire on duty looked at me, unmoving. From outside, I could hear the hig?h whining of Peritas, and knew he must be weeping. “Let me in,” I said. “The King needs attendance.”

“Not your kind. Nor any other. Those are my orders.”

This youth, Hermolaos, had never left me in doubt of what he thought about eunuchs. He was glad to keep me out; he had no feeling for his master’s grief. The sound tore at my heart; I could hear it now. “You have no right,” I said. “You know I have the entry.” He just held his spear across the doorway. Gladly I would have sunk a knife in him. I went back to bed, and did not close my eyes till morning.

When the night guard had changed, between dawn and sunrise, I went again. It was Metron now. I said, “The King will expect me. Nothing at all has been done for him since before supper.” He was sensible, and let me in.

He lay face upward, staring at the ceiling beams. The blood on his robe had turned dark brown. He had done nothing for himself, not even pulled on the blanket. His eyes looked fixed like a dead man’s.

“Al’skander,” I said. Dully his eyes moved, empty of welcome or displeasure. “Al’skander, it’s almost morning. You have grieved too long.”

I laid my hand on his brow. He let it lie just long enough not to slight me, and turned his head away. “Bagoas. Will you take care of Peritas? He can’t stay shut up here.”

“Yes, after I’ve seen to you. When you’ve taken these things off, and had a bath, you may still get a little sleep.”

“Let him run by your horse,” he said. “It’s good for him.”

The dog had. jumped up, and was padding from one to the other of us, full of trouble. He sat down when I told him, but his head still turned about.

I said, “The hot water’s coming. Let us get these dirty clothes off.” I hoped this would work with him. He hated not to be clean.

“I have told you, I want nothing. Just take the dog and go.”

“Oh, my lord!” I cried. “How can you punish yourself for such a fellow? Though the work was beneath you, it was still a good work done.”

“You don’t know what I have done,” he said. “How should you? Don’t trouble me now, Bagoas. I want nothing. His leash is in the window.”

For a moment he growled at me; but Alexander spoke to him, and he went meekly. There were three jars of hot water standing by the door, and a slave was toiling up the stairs with another. I could only send them back.

Metron moved from the door, and said softly, “Won’t he have anything done?”

“No. Only the dog looked after.”

“He’s taking it hard. It’s because he killed a friend.”

“A friend?” I must have stared like an idiot. “Do you know what Kleitos said to him?”

“Well, but he was a friend, since they were boys. He’d a name for being rough-spoken . . . You’d not understand, not having lived in Macedon. But haven’t you found that friends’ quarrels are the bitterest?”

“Are they?” I said, having no knowledge of it; and led the dog away.

After I’d given him his run, I hung about the door all day. I saw food brought in at noon, and sent out un-tasted. Later on, Hephaistion came. I could not hear what he said, because of the guard at the door; but I heard Alexander cry out, “She loved me like a mother, and I give her this.” He must have meant his nurse, Kleitos’ sister. Hephaistion left soon after. There was nowhere to withdraw to; but when he saw me he said nothing.

The King sent out, untouched, a good hot supper. Next morning, early, I brought an egg posset to put some strength in him. But a different guard was there, and turned me off. He lay fasting all that day.

After that, people of importance started coming, begging him to take some care of himself. Even the philosophers came, to preach at him. To me, it was beyond belief they should send Kallisthenes. I thought quickly and walked in after him. If he could enter, so could I. I wanted to see about the drinking-water; I remembered the pitcher had not had much in it.

It was just as it had been, quarter full. In two days, and with the thirst a man has after wine, he had not even drunk.

I sat down in a corner, too distressed to listen to K?allisthenes. I think he tried, in his way, to be of use, saying the virtue of repentance was next best to leaving the deed undone. To my mind, his mere presence, setting himself up, was an affront; but Alexander listened quietly, and at the end said without anger that he wanted nothing, but to be alone. I remained, as I’d hoped, unnoticed.

But then in came Anaxarchos, and asked why Alexander lay grieving there, when he was master of the world and had the right to do as he chose. Him too the King heard with patience, though in his state even the grasshopper must have been a burden. Then, just as the stupid man was going, he felt moved to add, “Come, let Bagoas here bring you food and make you fit to be seen.” So I was noticed, and sent out with the sophist, my trouble all gone for nothing.

The third day came; nothing was changed. The news was all over the camp. The men were not strolling the town, but milling in their quarters, or sitting about before the palace; they kept sending to ask after the King. You could not be long with Macedonians, without guessing they killed each other in drinking-brawls pretty often; it had taken them some time to be anxious for him. But they knew that what he willed, he did; and they began to fear that he willed to die.

I had lain fearing it half the night.

I was glad to see Philippos the doctor go in. Though it was before my time, I knew the story of how the King, when very sick, had trusted him enough to take his draught, though Parmenion had just written that Darius had bribed the man to poison him. He’d handed him the letter to read, and meantime swallowed the medicine. But he came out, now, shaking his head.

I must get in, I thought; and I brought two gold staters, to bribe the guard. If he’d asked for a jar of my blood, I would have given that.

As I went to speak to him, the door opened, and Hephaistion came out. I stood aside. “Bagoas,” he said, “I want a word with you.”

He led me down into the open courtyard, away from eavesdroppers; then he said, “I don’t want you to see the King today.”

Because of his great power, I tried to hide my anger. What if he sent me from my lord? I said, “Is that not for the King to order?”

“True.” I saw, surprised, that he too was holding back; what had he to fear from me? “If he asks for you, no one will keep you out. But stay away till he does.”

It shocked me. I had thought better of him. I answered, “He is killing himself like this. If he is saved, do you care who saves him? I do not care.”

“No,” he said slowly, looking down from his tall height. “No, I daresay.” He still spoke as if to a tiresome child, but one he had half forgiven. “I doubt he will kill himself. He will remember his destiny. He has great endurance, as you’d know if you’d soldiered with him. He can stand a great deal of punishment.”

“Not without water,” I said.

“What?” he said sharply. “He has water there, I saw it”

“It is just as it was when you fetched me out the first night.” I added, “I concern myself with these things, when I am allowed.”

Still he held back. “Yes, he must take water. I will try to make him.”

“But not I?” I regretted, now, not having poisoned him at Zadrakarta.

“No. Because you will go in there and tell him the Great King can do anything.”

What I had meant to say was different, and no business of his. I answered, “So he can. The King is the law.”

“Yes,” he said. “I knew you would tell him that.”

“Why not? Who will give him respect, if traitors can spit in his face? At Susa, a man like Kleitos would have prayed for the death he got.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. I thought of Philotas’ screams, but did not remind him. I only said, “Of course, if the King had been himself, he would not have soiled his hands with it. He knows that now.”

He took a deep breath, as if restraining himself from clouting my head. “Bagoas,” he said slowly, “I know the Great King can do anything. Alexander knows it too. But he also knows he is King of the Macedonians, who can’t do everything. He cannot k?ill a Macedonian, with his own hand or anyone else’s, unless Assembly has voted. This he forgot.”