Alexander: Child of a Dream (14 page)

 
and by the stabbing pains from his wounded leg exhausted
and almost unrecognizable. But that very same day he called a session of the council and asked to be informed about events in Greece and in Macedon during his absence.
There was no good news, and had he been able to find the slightest reserve of energy he would have been a raging bull
Instead he resolved that all he could do was sleep on it and the following morning he called Philip the physician and said to him, ‘Take a good look at me. What do you think?’
The doctor studied him up and down, took note of his dull complexion and his lifeless gaze, the dry, cracked lips, the quavering voice: ‘You’re in terrible shape, Sire.’
‘You don’t mince your words,’ observed the King.
‘What you need is a good doctor. When you need people to worship and flatter you, you well know where to look for them.’
‘You’re right. Now, listen to me. I am prepared to drink any concoction you wish, to have my back broken and my neck twisted by your masseurs, to have your enemas up my rear end, to eat stinking fish instead of red meat for as long as you want, to drink pure spring water until there’s a colony of frogs in my belly, but for the sake of the gods, get me back on my feet because at the beginning of summer I want my roar to be heard as far as Athens and beyond.’
‘Will you follow my instructions faithfully?’ asked the physician diffidently.
‘I will obey.’
‘And you won’t throw my medicines and my infusions at the wall?’
‘I will not.’
‘Come to the surgery then. I have to examine you.’
Some time had passed when one quiet spring evening, Philip appeared in the Queen’s apartments unannounced. Olympias, warned by her maids, took a quick look at herself in the mirror before going to meet him on the threshold ‘I am pleased to see you have recovered, Sire. Come in, sit down; it is an honour for me to receive the King of Macedon here in these rooms.’
Philip sat and for a while was silent with his eyes lowered. ‘Is all this formality necessary? Can we not converse like husband and wife who have been together for many years?’ “Together” is no longer such an appropriate word,’ replied Olympias.
‘Your tongue is more cutting than a sword.’
‘That’s because I have no sword.’
‘I have come to speak to you.’
‘I will listen.’
‘I have to ask you a favour. My recent campaigns have not been successful. I have lost many men and have wasted precious resources. In Athens they think I am finished and they listen to Demosthenes as though he were some kind of oracle.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Olympias, I do not want a direct conflict now and I don’t want to do anything that might lead to one either. For the moment good will must prevail. The desire to somehow undo the rift, the damage …”
‘How can I help you?’
‘I cannot send a mission to Athens at this juncture, but I thought that if you were to do it the
Queen then
that might change many things. You have never undertaken any initiative against them. Some Athenians even maintain that you are a victim of Philip.’
Olympias made no comment.
‘To cut things short, it would be like an embassy from a neutral power, don’t you think? Olympias, I need time, please help me! And if you don’t want to help me, think of your son. It is his kingdom I am building, his hegemony over the entire Greek world that
is what I am preparing.’
He fell silent and composed himself after his emotional plea. Olympias turned towards the window as if seeking to avoid his gaze and she too was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘I will

 
do it. I will send Oreos, my secretary. He is a wise and prudent man.’
‘An excellent choice,’ Philip said approvingly. He simply had not expected such accommodation.
‘What else can I do for you?’ the Queen asked again, but the tone was one of cold dismissal.
‘I wanted to tell you that in a few days’ time I will go to Mieza.’ At this news Olympias suddenly changed expression and her pale cheeks flushed pink. ‘I am going there to bring Alexander home,’ he added.
The Queen hid her face in her stole, but she could not hide the emotions that came over her in that moment.
‘You haven’t asked whether I’ve eaten or not,’ Philip said to her.
Olympias lifted her moist eyes. ‘Have you eaten?’ she repeated mechanically.
‘No. I … I was hoping that you might have asked me to stay here with you this evening.’
The Queen lowered her head. ‘I don’t feel well today. I am sorry.’
Philip bit his lip and left, slamming the door.
Olympias leaned against the wall as though in a faint and listened to her husband’s heavy steps resound along the corridor and fade away to nothing down the stairs.

18
the meadow was flooded with spring light and dotted with flowers as Alexander ran across it Half naked and barefoot, he moved quickly against the wind that blew through his hair and brought with it a slight smell of sea spray

 

Pentas was running alongside, checking his pace so as not to overtake his master and lose him Now and again he barked to attract Alexander’s attention and the Prince turned towards the dog and smiled, but without stopping

 

It was one of those moments in which Alexander gave free rein to his spirit, in which he flew like a bird, galloped like a steed It was then that his ambiguous and mysterious centaur-like nature violent

 

and sensitive, dark and sunny at one and the same time seemed

 

to find expression in harmonious movement, in a sort of initiators dance under the shining light of the sun or in the sudden shade of a cloud

 

With each stride his sculpted body first contracted and then extended in a long movement, his golden hair bounced soft and bright on his back like a mane, and his graceful arms accompanied the rise and fall of his chest in the brisk labour of his running

 

Philip watched him in silence, sitting immobile on horseback at the edge of the wood Then, when he realized they were close now and heard the dog’s barking suddenly increase on spotting him, he spurred on his steed and came alongside his son, waving his hand, smiling even, but without stopping him, enchanted as he was by the power of that running and the wonder of those indefatigable limbs

 

 
Alexander stopped on the bank of a small river and dived into the water; Philip dismounted and waited for him. The boy leaped out of the stream together with the dog and they both shook the water from their bodies. Philip embraced his son hard and felt Alexander’s equally strong grip tangible
proof that his child had become a man.
‘I have come to collect you,’ he said. ‘We’re going home.’
Alexander looked at him in disbelief. ‘Is that the King’s word?’
‘The King’s word,’ assured Philip. ‘But the day will come when you will remember this period of your life with regret for its ever having come to an end. I never had such fortune; I had no songs, nor poetry, nor wise lectures. And this is why I am so tired, son, for this is why my years weigh so heavily on me.’
Alexander said nothing and they walked together through the meadow, towards the house: the young man followed by his dog, the father holding his horse by its bridle.
Suddenly, from behind a hill that hid the view of the Mieza retreat, there came the sound of a horse neighing. It was an acute, penetrating sound, a powerful call like that of a wild beast, or a chimerical creature. And then there came the sound of men shouting, calling, and powerful hooves all shod with bronze that made the earth tremble.
The neighing came again, more acute and angrier this time. Philip turned towards his son and said, ‘I have brought you a present.’
They reached the top of the hill and Alexander stopped in amazement: below, there before him, a black stallion reared up onto its hind legs, shining with sweat like a bronze statue under the rain, held by five men with ropes and bridles in their hands, all trying to keep the animal’s formidable power under control.
It was blacker than a raven’s wing and it had a white star on its forehead in the shape of a bucranium, an ox’s skull. With every movement of its neck or its hindquarters it scattered the grooms to the ground and dragged them across the grass like lifeless puppets. Then, head down, it leaped onto its front hooves, kicking out wildly with its hind legs, whipping the air with its tail while the long mane flowed from one side of its neck to the other, shining in the light.
Around the wondrous animal’s mouth was a bloody froth and every now and then it stopped struggling, its neck bowed so as to inhale as much as possible, filling its chest with air and then exhaling like a breath of fire, like a dragon blowing. And again it neighed, shook its splendid neck, stretched the tightened muscles that swelled its withers.
Alexander, as though struck by a whip, suddenly came to and shouted, ‘Leave it! Let that horse free, by Zeus!’
Philip put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait a little while more, my boy, wait until we have broken it in. Just a little patience and it will be yours.’
‘No!’ shouted Alexander. ‘No! Only I can tame it. Leave it! I’m telling you to let it go.’
‘But it will escape,’ said Philip. ‘My boy, I paid a fortune for that horse!’
‘How much?’ Alexander asked. ‘How much did it cost, Father?’
‘Thirteen talents.’
‘I’ll bet you the same amount that I can break it in! But tell those fools to let it go! I beg you!’
Philip looked at him and saw that he was very nearly out of his mind with emotion, the veins in his neck were thick and swollen like those of the raging stallion.
He turned to the men and gave the order, ‘Let it loose!’
They immediately obeyed. One by one they undid the ropes and the bridles. The animal ran off onto the plain straight away. Alexander ran after it and managed somehow to catch up as the King and his grooms watched on in disbelief.
Philip shook his head and mumbled, ‘Oh, by the gods, the boy’s heart will burst, his heart will burst.’ Peritas, held by one of the men, bared his teeth and growled and barked but the groom quietened him and gestured to the others to listen. They all heard Alexander speaking to the horse in the midst of their

 
breathless running shouting
something, his words snatched away by the wind as was the neighing of the stallion which somehow seemed to be replying.
And suddenly, when it seemed the young man must collapse because of the effort, the steed slowed down, trotted for a while and then started walking, shaking its head and breathing deeply.
Alexander once again approached it slowly, with the sun behind him. He could see it now, fully illuminated, he could see its wide, black forehead with the white mark in the shape of an ox’s skull.
‘Bucephalas,’ he whispered. ‘Bucephalas … there, that’s your name, that’s it. What do you think … do you like it? Like this name, do you?’ And he came closer and closer, to the point where he could almost touch it. The animal shook its head, but still it did not move and the boy put out his hand and touched its neck, delicately, and then the cheek and its muzzle, as soft as moss.
‘Do you want to run with me?’ he said. ‘Do you want to run?’
The horse neighed and lifted its proud head and Alexander understood that it was saying yes. He stared into its burning eyes for a moment and then leaped swiftly onto its back and shouted, ‘Go, Bucephalas!’ And he touched its belly with his heels.
The animal sped off at a gallop, stretching its shining back, lengthening its head and its legs and its long tail. He ran as fast as the wind across the plain as far as the wood and the river, and the hammering of his hooves was like thunder.
They stopped in front of Philip, who found himself wondering whether to believe his eyes.
Alexander slipped to the ground. ‘It’s like riding Pegasus, Father, it’s as though he had wings. Achilles’ horses, Balius and Xanthus, children of the wind, must have been like this. Thank you for the gift,’ and as he said this he stroked the horse on its neck and sweaty chest. Peritas began to bark, jealous of what he felt must be a new friend of his master and Alexander petted him too, to reassure him.
Philip looked on in amazement, struggling to take in all that had happened. Then he kissed Alexander on the head and said, ‘My son, you must seek out another kingdom for yourself. Macedon alone is clearly not big enough for you.’

19

‘Did you really pay thirteen talents for him?’ Alexander asked as he rode alongside his father.
Philip nodded. ‘I think it’s the highest price ever paid for a horse. It’s the most handsome animal that Philonikos’s stables in Thessaly have produced in many years.’
‘He’s worth more,’ said Alexander, stroking Bucephalas’ neck. ‘No other charger in the world would be worthy of me.’
They ate with Aristotle and Callisthenes. Theophrastus had returned to Asia to continue with his research, occasionally sending news of his discoveries to his master.
Sitting with them at the table were two ceramic painters Aristotle had called from Corinth, not to paint pots, but to work at another, much more delicate that job which Philip himself had commissioned a
map of the known world.
‘May I see it?’ asked the King impatiently when they had finished eating.
‘Certainly,’ replied Aristotle. ‘Indeed, it is thanks to your conquests that we have been able to include all these different lands.’
They moved to a spacious, well-lit room dominated by the large map, painted on a tanned ox skin fixed by means of some studs to a wooden board of the same size. The colours used by the artists to represent seas, mountains, rivers and lakes, gulfs and islands were bright and striking.
Philip looked at it spellbound. His gaze ran over its lines from the eastern to the western extremities from
the Pillars of Hercules to the spread of the Scythian Plain, from the Bosphorus to the Caucasus, from Egypt to Syria.
He stroked it gently with his fingers, almost afraid to touch it, searching for countries friends
and enemies alike. His eyes shone as he recognized the city he had recently founded in Thrace and which bore his name -Philippopolis.
Thus it was that he finally saw a physical representation of his dominion.
Towards the east and the north the map faded into nothing, just as it did towards the south and the endless sands of the Libyans and the Garamantes.
On a table to one side were many sheets of papyrus which the artists had used for preparatory sketches. Philip looked at some of them, lingering over a drawing that represented the earth.
‘Do you think it is round?’ he asked Aristotle.
‘I don’t think so. I know so,’ replied the philosopher. ‘The shadow projected by the earth onto the moon during eclipses is round. And if you watch a ship sail away from port, first of all you see its hull disappear, then the mast. If you watch a ship approaching port it happens the other way round.’
‘And what’s down there?’ the King asked, pointing to an area marked -with the word antipodes.
‘Nobody knows. But the lands there are probably equal in surface area to our own. It’s a question of equilibrium. The problem is that in truth we still do not know the full extent of the northern regions.’
Alexander turned towards Aristotle and then his gaze fell, enchanted, on the provinces of the vast empire that was said to extend from the Aegaen Sea to India. The passionate words of the Persian guest who three years previously had described his homeland came back to the Prince’s mind. He imagined himself on Bucephalas, galloping over those endless highlands, flying over mountains and deserts to the ends of the earth, beyond the waves of the river Ocean which Homer had said encircled the entire world.
The sound of his father’s voice and the touch of his hand placed on his shoulder interrupted Alexander’s reverie. ‘Sort all your things out, my son, tell your servants to prepare your