Alexander: Child of a Dream (15 page)

 
baggage, everything you want to take back home, to Pella. And say goodbye to your tutor. You will not see him again for some time.’
Having said this the King moved off, leaving them to bid each other farewell.
‘This period has flown by,’ said Aristotle. ‘I feel as though I arrived here at Mieza yesterday.’
‘Where will you go?’ asked Alexander.
‘I will stay here for a while. We have collected much material and so many notes and observations which will all need careful arranging. It will take some time. And I am also doing some research on the transmission of illnesses from one body to another.’
‘I am glad you are staying, that means I’ll be able to come and visit now and then. I have so many questions still to ask you.’
Aristotle looked at him and for a moment he read all those questions in the changing, disquieting light of the Prince’s gaze.
‘The questions you still have in you, Alexander, are those to which there is no answer … or if there are answers you can only hope to find them in your own soul.’
The light of that spring afternoon illuminated all the scattered sheets covered with notes and drawings, the painters’ bowls with their paints and brushes, the big map of the known world and the small, grey serene eyes of the philosopher.
‘And then, where will you go?’ asked Alexander again.
‘First to Stagira, to my home.’
‘Do you think you’ve succeeded in making a Greek of me?’
‘I think I have helped you become a man, but above all else I have understood one thing: you will never be Greek nor Macedonian. You are Alexander. I have taught you all I can and now you must go your own way and no one can tell you where it will take you. The only sure thing is that whoever chooses to go with you will have to abandon everything home,
love, homeland for
an adventure into the unknown. Farewell, Alexander, may the gods protect you.’
‘Farewell, Aristotle. May the gods keep you safe as well, if they want some light to shine through the darkness of this world.’
That was how they took their leave of each other, with a long gaze. They were never to see each other again.
Alexander was awake until late that night, prey to a deep perturbation that prevented him falling off to sleep. From his window he looked out at the quiet countryside and the moon which illuminated the still white peaks of Bermion and Olympus, but in his ears he could already hear the metallic clangour of weapons, the neighing of horses as they thundered along at full gallop.
He thought of Achilles’ glory, so great it had warranted Homer’s song. His mind was full of the fury of battle and the clash of arms, but he could not understand how all this could inhabit his soul together with the teachings of Aristotle, the works of Lysippus, the odes of Alcaeus and Sappho.
Perhaps, he thought, the answer lay in his origins, in the nature of Olympias, his mother wild
and melancholic at one and the same time and
in his father’s nature amiable
and ruthless, impulsive and rational. Perhaps it lay in the nature of his people who behind them had the wildest of barbaric tribes and before them the luminous cities of the Greeks with their temples and their libraries.
The next day he would rejoin his mother and his sister. How much had they changed? And how much had he changed? What would his position be now in the palace at Pella?
Seeking to calm the tumult in his soul with music, he picked up his lyre and sat on the windowsill. He played a song that he had heard sung many times by his father’s soldiers at night around the watch fire. It was a rough song, just like their mountain dialect, but it was full of passion and nostalgia.
Then he realized that Leptine had come into his room, called by the melody, and she was now sitting on the edge of the bed, listening.

 
The moonlight caressed her face, her shoulders and her smooth white arms. Alexander put the lyre down while Leptine, with the most delicate of gestures, bared her chest and held out her arms to him. He lay down beside her and she pulled him to her, holding his head between her breasts as she stroked his hair.

20
alexander was presented to the assembled army three days after his return to Pella. Alongside his father, dressed in his armour and astride Bucephalas, he inspected the troops. First, from the right, came the heavy cavalry of the Hetairoi, the ‘King’s Companions’, the noble Macedonians of all the mountain tribes, then the infantry of the pezhetairoi, the so-called ‘Foot Companions’, made up of farmers from the lowlands who together formed the formidable phalanx. They were arranged in five lines and the soldiers in each line carried sarissae of progressively increasing lengths so that when they were all lowered all the points appeared in the front row.

 

An officer shouted the order to present arms and a forest of iron-clad spears stood proud to pay homage to the King and his son.

 

‘Remember, my boy, the phalanx is the anvil and the cavalry is the hammer,’ said Philip. ‘When an enemy’s army is driven up against that barrier of spikes there’s no escape for him.’

 

Then, on the left flank, the ‘Vanguard’, the leading squadron of the royal cavalry, rode by; these were the men and horses that were sent out at the crucial moment in the battle to inflict the hammer blow that would shatter the opponent’s lines.

 

The cavalrymen shouted, ‘Hail, Alexander!’ and they beat their javelins against their shields homage

 

reserved exclusively for their leaders.

 

‘You are their commander,’ Philip explained. ‘From now on you will lead the Vanguard into battle.’ Just at that moment a group of cavalrymen dressed in magnificent armour, their heads

 

 
protected and adorned with shining helmets bearing high plumes, broke ranks. The bits in the mouths of their chargers were made of silver, their caparisons were of purple wool and they stood out from the others by virtue of their size and the nobility of their bearing. They set off immediately at a gallop as though in a furious charge and then, at a given signal, they performed a wide, striking and perfect turn. The rider at the pivot of the turn held his charger still while the others continued riding at ever greater speeds so that the last outrider did not have to slow down at all.
Once the spectacular manoeuvre had been completed, they set their animals off again at a gallop, shoulder to shoulder, head to head, leaving a trail of thick dust behind them, then pulled to a dramatic halt in front of the Prince.
An officer shouted in a stentorian voice, ‘Alexander’s troop!’ And then he called their names one by one: ‘Hephaestion! Seleucus! Lysimachus! Ptolemy! Craterus! Perdiccas! Leonnatus! Philotas!’
Alexander’s friends!
With the roll call finished they all raised their javelins and shouted, ‘Hail, Alexander!’ Finally, violating protocol, they surrounded him, almost pulling him down from his horse, and held him in what seemed to be an endless embrace in full view of the King and his soldiers, motionless in their ranks.
The friends thronged around their Prince, shouting for joy, tossing weapons into the air, jumping and dancing like madmen.
When the parade was dismissed Eumenes also joined the group; because he was Greek he was not actually part of the army, but in the meantime he had become Philip’s private secretary and thus played a vital role at court.
That very evening Alexander attended a banquet which his friends had prepared in Ptolemy’s house. The room had been prepared spectacularly and painstakingly: the benches and tables were made of inlaid wood decorated with gilded bronze, the lamp holders were beautiful Corinthian sculptures of bronze in the shape of young girls. From the ceiling hung other lamps in the form of vases with lattice-work that projected a curious play of light and shadow onto the walls. The platters were all of solid silver, finely worked around the edges. The food had been prepared by cooks from Smyrna and Samos, Greek in terms of taste, but also refined connoisseurs of Asian cuisine.
The wines came from Cyprus, Rhodes, Corinth and even from far off Sicily, where the colonial farmers were now surpassing their counterparts in the motherland in terms of the quality and excellence of their produce. They were served from a gigantic Attic crater, almost a hundred years old, decorated with a dance of satyrs chasing semi-naked maenads. Each table was equipped with a bowl decorated by the same artist with rather suggestive symposium scenes: nude female flute players in the arms of young men drinking and wearing crowns of ivy, almost a sort of foretaste of what the evening had in store.
On making his entrance Alexander was welcomed with an ovation and the host went towards him bearing a beautiful cup with two handles, brimming with Cypriot wine. ‘Well, Alexander! After three years of fresh water at Mieza you must have tadpoles swimming around in your belly. At least we got out of there before you did! Drink some of this and it’ll son you out.’
‘So, what exactly did Aristotle teach you in his secret lessons?’ Eumenes asked.
‘And where did you get that horse?’ Hephaestion chipped in. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘I’ll bet you haven’t,’ commented Eumenes without waiting for Alexander’s reply. ‘It cost thirteen talents. I signed the payment order.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Alexander. ‘It was a present from my father. But I won the same amount of money from him betting that I would manage to break it in. You should have seen it,’ he continued, his excitement growing, ‘there were five of them holding him and the poor animal was terrified, they were pulling him by the bit, hurting him.’

 
‘And what did you do?’ asked Perdiccas. The? Nothing. I ordered the idiots to let him go and then I ran after him …’
‘That’s enough talk of horses!’ shouted Ptolemy in an attempt to bring some order to the commotion the friends were creating as they all crowded round Alexander. ‘Let’s talk about women! And take your places because supper’s ready.’
‘Women?’ Seleucus shouted even more loudly. ‘Did you know that Perdiccas has fallen in love with your sister?’
Perdiccas blushed and gave Seleucus a push that sent him rolling across the floor.
‘Really!’ Seleucus insisted without getting up. ‘I’ve seen him making eyes at her during an official ceremony. A bodyguard with the look of love in his eyes! Ha!’ and this time he rolled around with laughter.
‘And you haven’t heard this,’ Ptolemy added. ‘Tomorrow he has to lead the escort that will take the Princess to offer the initiatory sacrifice to the goddess Artemis. I wouldn’t trust him at all if I were you.’
Alexander saw that Perdiccas had turned scarlet and sought to save his embarrassment by changing the subject: ‘Well, lads! Just one thing … I want you all to know that I’m pleased to see you again and I am proud that you, my friends and companions, are all part of Alexander’s troop!’ He lifted up the cup and drank its contents in one gulp.
‘Wine!’ ordered Ptolemy. ‘Pour wine for everyone,’ and then he clapped his hands and while the guests took up reclining positions on their dining beds, servants poured the wine from the crater and others began serving the food: partridge on skewers, thrush, mountain hens, duck and then a fine rarity pheasant.
At his right hand Alexander asked for his dearest friend, Hephaestion, to his left, Ptolemy, his host.
After the game came a quarter of veal roasted
and cut into pieces and served individually by the carver while the servants brought in baskets of fragrant, freshly baked bread together with shelled walnuts and boiled ducks’ eggs.
The flautists entered with their instruments and began to play. They were all beautiful and exotic women -Mysian,
Carian, Thracian, Bythnian and
they all wore their hair tied up with coloured ribbons or bonnets fringed with silver and gold. They were dressed in imitation of the Amazons, with short tunics and bows and quivers over their shoulders, props used in the theatre.
After the first song some of them put down their bows and then, after the second song, their quivers and then took off their leggings and their tunics so that they were completely naked, their young bodies shining with perfumed oils under the light of the lamps. They began to dance to the sound of the flutes and the drums, floating in front of the tables and among the diners’ beds.
The friends had all stopped eating, but they continued drinking and were now in a state of total excitement. Some of them stood up, took off their clothes and joined in the dance with the accelerating rhythm of the drums and the tambourines carrying them inexorably towards a climax.
Suddenly Ptolemy grabbed a girl by the hand, stopping her gyrations and maneuvering her so that Alexander could get a good look.
‘She’s the most beautiful of the lot,’ he said. ‘I’ve grabbed her for you.’
‘And for me?’ asked Hephaestion.
‘Do you like this one?’ Alexander asked as he stopped another striking girl, this one with red hair.
Ptolemy had given orders to the servants to fill the lamps in such a way that some of them would have run out of oil before others, leaving the room in a sort of half shadow.
The youngsters fondled one another as they lay on the dining beds, and on the rugs and the skins that covered part of the paved floor. Meanwhile the music of the flautists continued to

 
ring against the frescoed walls, almost giving rhythm to their excited panting and the surging of their gleaming bodies in the glow of the few lamps that were still burning in the corners of the great room.
Alexander left in the deep of the night, prey to an uncontrollable excitement and headiness. It was as though a long-repressed force had suddenly been let loose and was dominating him completely.
He stopped on a terrace of the palace that was exposed to the northerly wind to clear his mind a little and he stood there gripping the parapet until he saw the moon set behind the mountains of Eordaea.
Down there, lost in the darkness, was the peaceful retreat of Mieza and perhaps Aristotle was burning the midnight oil as he followed the subtle thread of his own thinking. It seemed as though years had passed since he had left his tutor.
He was woken up by a guard a little before dawn and he dragged himself up to a sitting position, holding his throbbing head in his hands.
‘I hope you have a good reason for having woken me up, because if not…”
The reason is that the King has called you, Prince. He wants you to go to him straight away.’
The young man struggled to stand, somehow managed to reach the wash basin and dipped his head in it several times. Then he threw a cloak over his naked shoulders, tied his sandals and followed his guide.
Philip met him in a room of the royal armoury and it was immediately clear he was in a foul mood.
‘Something very serious has happened,’ he said. ‘Before your return from Mieza I had asked your mother to help me in a delicate mission: an embassy to Athens, an attempt to stymie a plan of Demosthenes’ that might have proved damaging for our policies. I thought that an envoy from the Queen might have more chance of being heard and of obtaining something. Unfortunately I was wrong. The envoy was accused of being a spy and was tortured to death. Do you realize what this means?’
‘That we must declare war on Athens,’ replied Alexander, who on seeing his father had to some extent recovered his senses.
‘It is not quite so simple. Demosthenes is trying to form a pan-Hellenic League to lead into war against us.’
‘We will defeat them.’
‘Alexander, it is time you learned that weapons are not the solution to all problems. I have done everything in my power to be recognized as the guiding light of a pan-Hellenic alliance, not to be seen as its enemy. I have an ambitious project: to make war in Asia against the Persians, to defeat and to push back beyond the Aegean coasts the age-old enemy of the Greeks and to acquire control of all the trade routes which reach our shores from the East. In order to achieve these aims I must affirm myself as the undisputed leader of a great coalition that unites all the forces of the Greek states. And I must do so in such a way that in all the important cities the party that supports me comes out on top, not the party that wants me dead. Do you understand?’
Alexander nodded. ‘What will you do?’
‘I will wait for now. During my last campaign I suffered considerable losses and I must rebuild those parts of our army which were annihilated in the war on the Hellespont and in Thrace. I am not afraid of fighting, but I prefer to do it when the chances of winning are higher.
‘I will have all our informers in Athens, Thebes and other cities in Greece alerted so that we have constant news on the development of the political and military situation. Demosthenes needs Thebes if he wants to entertain the slightest hope in any battle against us because Thebes has the strongest land forces after our own. Thus we must decide on the right moment to try to prevent the consolidation of this alliance. It shouldn’t be so difficult in that the Athenians and the Thebans have always