Alexander: Child of a Dream (27 page)

 
Unfortunately, circumstances led me to make an irreparable gesture and anger pushed me beyond the limits that a son should always respect.
But certainly there is a god who wills such things, because when men lose control of their actions, then they do the things they are destined to do.
My friends are all well, but, like me, they are downcast because of the distance between us and our homeland and our dear ones; and you, good Eumenes, are most certainly among them. Help the King as much as you can. Unfortunately I cannot help him at all. Keep your spirits up.
Eumenes put the letter down and looked at Philip who had covered his face with his hands.
‘I took the liberty …’ he began again after a while.
The King lifted his head suddenly. ‘What liberty exactly have you taken?’
‘Of preparing a letter …”
‘By Zeus! I will kill this Greek, I will kill him with my own hands!’
Eumenes at that moment felt like the captain of a ship who, after having struggled for a long time with the waves in the midst of a storm the
sails torn, the hull battered was
now nearing harbour, but still a last almighty effort was required from his exhausted crew. He drew a deep breath, took another sheet from the pack and started reading under Philip’s incredulous gaze.
Philip, King of Macedon, to Alexander, Hail!
What happened on the day of my wedding has been for me a fount of infinite bitterness and I had decided, despite the affection which ties me to you, to exclude you from my presence for ever. But time is a great healer and it soothes the sharpest pains.
I have reflected for a long time on what happened and, convinced as I am that those who are older and have more experience should provide examples for young people who are often blinded by their passions, I have decided to put an end to the exile to which I had condemned you.
The same exile is hereby also revoked for those of your friends who, greatly offending me, decided to follow you.
It is a father’s clemency which here reigns over the rigour of the judge and the Sovereign. In exchange I ask you only to express your regret for the outrage I had to endure and to assure me that your filial love will prevent any such situation arising in the future.
Take good care of yourself.
Eumenes stood motionless in the middle of the room, his mouth open, not knowing at that stage what to expect. Philip said nothing, but it was obvious he was seeking to conceal the emotional turmoil in which he found himself. Indeed, he held his head in such a way that Eumenes could see only his blind, tearless eye.
‘What do you think, Sire?’ Eumenes finally found the courage to ask.
‘I couldn’t have written it better myself.’
‘In that case, if you would be so kind as to sign it…’
Philip put out his hand, picked up a reed pen and dipped it in the ink, but then stopped as his anxious secretary watched on.
‘Is there anything wrong, Sire?’
‘No, no,’ said the King as he signed the letter. Immediately, however, he turned the sheet over and started scribbling away with the pen in a corner at the bottom. Eumenes took the missive once more, dusted it down with ash, blew the excess off and, bowing, made for the door, rapidly and light-footed, before the King changed his mind.
‘One moment,’ Philip called him back.
He had changed his mind.
Eumenes stopped. ‘Yes, Sire?’
‘Where will you send that letter?’
‘Well … I took the liberty of maintaining contacts, of discreetly collecting some information …’
Philip shook his head. ‘A spy … that’s who I pay for looking

 
after my administration. I will strangle this Greek, sooner or later. By Zeus, I swear I will choke the life out of him with these hands!’
Eumenes hurriedly managed another bow and left the room. As he rushed towards his study his eyes fell on the words the King had added below his signature.
Try it just once more and I really will kill you.
I miss you. Father

34
attalus and Parmenion moved into Asia without meeting any resistance and the Greek cities of the eastern shore welcomed them as liberators, dedicating statues to the King of Macedon and preparing great celebrations.

 

The news coming in from his informers now pleased Philip the

 

timing of his expedition into Asia could not have been better. The Persian empire was still in difficulty due to its recent dynastic crisis, while Philip had at his disposal a powerful national army, unique in terms of valour, loyalty, cohesion and determination, and a group of generals of the highest tactical and strategic calibre, trained in his school of warfare. He was also equipped with an heir to the throne who had been educated according to the ideals of Homer and in full respect of the rationality of philosophical thought a

 

proud and invincible Prince.

 

And now the moment had come to set off on the last and greatest adventure of his life. The decision had been taken and everything was ready. He would welcome Alexander back to the fold, strengthen ties with the realm of Epirus through the unforgettably extravagant wedding of his daughter Cleopatra with his brother-in-law and then he would join his navy beyond the Straits for the great leap.

 

And yet, now that everything seemed to have been resolved, everything seemed to be proceeding well, now that Alexander had sent word saying that he would soon be at Pella and would be present for the grand event of his sister’s wedding, Philip felt a strange sense of anxiety which kept him awake at night.

 

 
One day, early in spring, he sent for Eumenes, telling him to go to the stables and to be ready for a horse ride: there were things to discuss. This was an unusual request, but his secretary of course accepted the idea and kitted himself out with Thracian trousers, a Scythian jerkin, boots and a hat with a wide brim; he had the squires prepare an old mule, quiet and easy to ride, and was ready and waiting when Philip arrived.
‘Where do you think you’re off to? To conquer Scythia?’ said the King, looking at him askance.
‘My valet gave me some advice, Sire.’
‘Yes. I can see that. Come on, let’s get going,’ and the King spurred his charger into a gallop, disappearing down a path that led out of the city.
The peasants were already in the fields, weeding the wheat and the millet and tending to the vines.
‘Look around you!’ exclaimed Philip as he brought his horse to walking pace. ‘Just look around you! In one single generation I have transformed a semi-barbaric, mountain people, shepherds basically, into a nation of farmers who live in towns and villages with efficient, orderly administrations. I have given them the pride of belonging to their country. I have forged them as the blacksmith forges metal, I have made invincible warriors out of them. And Alexander repudiated me because I got a bit drunk, he accused me of being incapable of stepping from one bed to another…”
‘Stop fretting about it, Sire. You have both suffered. It’s true that Alexander said some things he shouldn’t have, but he has been severely punished for that. You are a great King, the greatest, and he knows this and is proud of the fact, I assure you.’ :
Philip fell silent and proceeded at a walk. When he came to a stream whose waters ran clear and cold from the snow melting on the mountain tops, he dismounted and sat on a rock, waiting for Eumenes to arrive.
‘I’m going away for a while,’ he announced to his secretary.
‘Away? Where?’
‘Alexander won’t be back for twenty days or so and I want to go to Delphi.’
‘No … keep clear of that place, Sire. They’ll drag you into another sacred war.’
‘There will be no more war in Greece for as long as I am alive, neither sacred nor profane. I’m not planning on going to the council of the sanctuary. I am going to the sanctuary.’
‘To the sanctuary?’ Eumenes repeated in amazement. ‘But, Sire, the sanctuary is yours. The oracle says what you want it to say.’
‘Do you think so?’
The day was beginning to warm up. Eumenes took off his jerkin, dipped a handkerchief in the water and wiped his forehead.
‘I don’t understand you. Of all people you ask me this question, after you have seen the council manoeuvre the oracle according to its wishes so that the god says things useful for a particular policy or for certain military alliances.’
That’s true. And yet the god, sometimes, manages to tell the truth, despite the falsity and the shamelessness of the men who should serve him. Of this I am certain.’ He rested his arms across his knees, lowered his head and listened to the gurgling of the stream.
Eumenes was speechless. What did the King mean? A man who had lived life to every excess, who had witnessed every imaginable type of corruption and duplicity, who had seen human malice at work in all sorts of atrocities what
could this man, covered in scars both visible and invisible, possibly hope to find in the Vale of Delphi?
‘Do you know the inscription on the facade of the sanctuary?’ the King asked.
“I do, Sire. It says, “Know thyself’.’
‘And do you know who wrote those words?’
‘The god?’
Philip nodded.
‘I understand,’ said Eumenes, without having understood.

 
‘I’ll set off tomorrow. I have left instructions and the royal seal with Antipater. Sort out Alexander’s apartments, have his dog and Bucephalas’ stable cleaned, polish his armour and make sure that Leptine prepares, as usual, my son’s bed and his bath. Everything must be just as it was when he left. But no feasts, no banquets. There is nothing to celebrate. We are both full of grief.’
Eumenes nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Sire. Everything will be taken care of as you have asked for and in the best possible way.’
‘I know,’ murmured Philip. He clapped a hand on his secretary’s shoulder before leaping onto his horse and disappearing off at a gallop.
He left the following day at dawn with a small escort, and took the road to the south, crossing the Plain of Macedon before entering Thessaly. He reached Delphi from Phocis after seven days’ journey and found the city full, as it always was, of pilgrims.
They came from all parts of the world, even Sicily and the Adriatic gulf where the city of Spina stood on an island in the middle of the sea. Along the sacred road leading to the sanctuary there were many small temples dedicated to Apollo from the various Greek cities, adorned with sculptures, and often in front of them or to the side there were spectacular statuary groups in bronze or in painted marble.
There were many stalls full of merchandise animals
to be offered sacrificially, statues of all sizes for consecration in the sanctuary, and reproductions in bronze or terracotta of the statue of the god inside the temple, or of other masterpieces nearby.
Alongside the sanctuary was the gigantic tripod of the god with an enormous bronze bowl standing on three twisted serpents, also of bronze, melted from the arms the Athenians took from the Persians at the battle of Plataea.
Philip queued up with the postulants, covering his head with the hood of his cloak, but it was impossible to hide anything from the priests of Apollo. Soon the news passed from mouth to mouth, from the servants to the ministrants of the cult hidden away in the darkness of the interior, secret part of the temple.
‘The King of Macedon, head of the sanctuary council, is here,’ announced a young, breathless follower of the cult.
‘Are you sure of this?’ asked the priest who that day had the job of ministering the functions of the cult and the oracle.
‘It is not easy to mistake Philip of Macedon for another man.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He is queuing up with the postulants and wants to question the god.’
The priest sighed. ‘This is incredible. Why were we not warned? We cannot be taken off guard by the request of such a powerful man … Quick!’ he ordered. ‘Put out the insignias of the sanctuary council and bring him to me immediately. The victor of the sacred war, supreme head of the council, has absolute precedence here.’
The youngster disappeared through a small side door. The priest put on his vestments, wrapped the sacred bands round his head, leaving them to fall down to his shoulders, and then entered the temple.
The god Apollo was there before him, sitting on his throne, his face and his hands of ivory, a crown of silver laurel leaves on his head, his eyes of mother of pearl. The enormous simulacrum wore an astonished expression, absent in the fixity of its gaze, and its lips opened slightly in an enigmatic, at times scornful smile. A brazier at its feet burned incense and the smoke rose in a bluish cloud up to an opening among the joists of the ceiling through which a small piece of sky could be seen.
A band of light came in through the entrance, slicing the darkness of the interior, striking the gilded profiles of the Doric columns and illuminating a myriad of particles suspended in the dense, heavy air.
Suddenly a massive figure stood in the doorway, his shadow

 
falling long, almost to the priest’s feet. He advanced towards the statue of the god and the limping steps of his studded footwear resounded through the deep silence of the sanctuary.
The priest went towards him and recognized the King of Macedon. ‘What are your wishes, Sire?’ he asked deferentially.
Philip lifted his eyes to the impassive gaze of the statue that loomed there before him. ‘I wish to question the god.’
‘And what is your question?’
Philip gave the priest a look from his only eye, a look that must have penetrated his soul, if he had a soul.
‘I will ask my question of the Pythia directly. Take me to her.’
The priest lowered his head in confusion, surprised at this request which was impossible to deny.
‘Are you sure you wish to expose yourself directly to the voice of Apollo? Many are those who have not been able to bear the experience. It can be sharper than a war horn, stronger than thunder…”
‘I will bear it,’ replied Philip peremptorily. ‘Take me to the Pythia.’
‘As you wish,’ replied the priest. He moved towards a bronze triangle hanging from a column and struck it with his staff. The metallic sound bounced off the walls in a complex game of echoes until it reached the most intimate and most secret sanctum of the entire temple: the adyton.
‘Follow me,’ he said when the sound had died away, and he started walking.
They passed behind the pedestal of the statue and stopped in front of a bronze sheet which covered the rear wall of the cell. The priest struck it with his staff, creating a dark reverberation which seemed to be swallowed up by an invisible subterranean space. Then the sheet of bronze turned silently, revealing a narrow stairway that plunged steeply underground.
‘No one, during the course of this generation, has ever entered here,’ continued the priest without turning round. Philip went down the steep, uneven steps until he found himself at the
CHILD OP A DREAM
centre of a hypogeum, an underground chamber poorly lit by a few lamps.
At that moment, from the total darkness of the far wall, there entered a dishevelled figure covered by a long red gown reaching to her feet. Her face was ashen pale and her heavily made-up eyes moved rapidly, full of suspicion, like a hunted animal. Two ministrants held her, almost carrying her towards a sort of bowl on a tripod. They placed her inside it.
Then they struggled to open a stone hatch in the floor, uncovering the mouth of an abyss from which pestilentially smelly vapours began to exude.
‘This is the chasma ghes,’ said the priest, his voice trembling, this time without any pretence, in sheer terror. ‘This is the fount of night, the last mouth of primeval chaos. No one knows where it ends and no one who has ever gone down there has ever come back.’ He picked up a pebble from the rough floor of the cave and threw it into the opening. There was no sound at all.
‘The god is about to penetrate the body of the Pythia. He is about to fill her with his presence. Watch.’
The seer inhaled the vapours that came out of the chasm and her breath came in fits and spasms that tormented her body and at moments she writhed inside the bowl, letting her arms and legs hang loose, showing the whites of her eyes. Then, suddenly, she began trembling in pain and gave out a sort of rattle that became sharper and sharper until it was like the hiss of a snake. One of the ministrants put a hand on her chest and nodded to the priest.
‘You may question the god now, King Philip. The god is present now,’ said the priest in a quiet voice.
Philip moved forward until he was almost touching the Pythia’s hand.
‘Oh god, we are preparing a solemn rite in my house and I am about to avenge the outrage that the barbarians once inflicted upon the temples of the gods in our lands. But my heart is leaden and my sleep is troubled by nightmares. What is the answer to my worry?’