Creation (46 page)

A cold wind rattled the awning that had not yet been taken down for the winter. Through the open portico I could see brown leaves whirling. I thought of my school days in that same palace, and I shivered; it seemed always to be winter when I was a child at Susa.

“After we took Miletus, a group of Medes—who else?—set fire to the temple of Apollo at Didyma and burned the whole thing to the ground, oracle and all. Then that idiot Artaphrenes sent a message to all the Greek cities saying that the burning of the temple was in revenge for the burning of the temple of Cybele at Sardis.”

“But wasn’t it?”

“Brother of my youth, the priesthood of Apollo at Didyma, the priesthood of Apollo at Delos, the priesthood of Apollo at Delphi are all supported by the Great King. Each year he sends them divisions of archers.”

Democritus wants to know if we still pay for the Greek oracle at Delphi. No, we do not. The wars are over now. Besides, the priests learned their lesson. Nowadays, oracles seldom comment on political matters.

“Anyway, the Great King has been making apologies ever since. He’ll also have to pay to rebuild the temple. And that means less money for Persepolis.” In those days, Xerxes could drink half a dozen flagons of unmixed Helbon wine at a sitting without ill effect. On the other hand, even in my youth I always mixed wine with water—like a Greek.

Xerxes ordered the cupbearer to bring us more wine. He then described the collapse of the Carian revolt. “After Miletus fell, that was the end for those yokels. What else? Histiaeus was captured and put to death by the idiot at Sardis, which made the Great King angry because he liked Histiaeus and never blamed him for any of the Milesian business. But of course the charge against the old conniver was piracy, not treason, and he was certainly a pirate during the last years of his life. Your mother was very upset when he was executed.” Xerxes always found my mother’s intrigues amusing.

“They weren’t friends after Miletus rebelled. Or so I gathered. I wouldn’t really know.” I was always careful to distance myself from the Greek faction.

“Only in the sense that they never saw each other again. But they were still devoted to each other.” Xerxes grinned. “I
know
,”
he said and, of course, he did. Xerxes had a dozen spies in the harem—unlike Darius, who tended to ignore harem intrigues unless they involved Atossa. Needless to say, Darius spied on her constantly and she spied on him. They were like neighboring sovereigns.

“After Miletus, we sent the fleet up the Ionian coast. The Greek cities surrendered. Then our fleet—mostly Phoenicians now—passed through the straits, and the local tyrant was so alarmed that he went home to Athens. I can’t think why. As one of the Great King’s most loyal vassals, he was perfectly safe. Now he’s a traitor.”

Thus, casually, Democritus, did Xerxes refer to Miltiades, a minor Persian vassal who less than three years later was elected supreme commander by the Greek allies. He is given credit for the so-called Greek victory at Plataea. Democritus tells me that Miltiades was not at Plataea, but at Marathon. Small details like this are no doubt important to a Greek history. This is a Persian history.

“Then, last spring, Mardonius was given command of both the fleet and the army.” Since Xerxes loved Mardonius like a brother, Mardonius’ success was all the more unbearable to him.

“In less than six months Mardonius conquered Thrace and Macedonia. Not since Cambyses gave us Egypt has anyone added so much territory to the empire. It’s lucky for me that he is the Great King’s nephew and not his son.”

“Why aren’t you given the same opportunities?”

Xerxes raised high his right arm, palm open—the traditional gesture of homage to the Great King on state occasions. “My life is too valuable, they say. But how am I to be Great King myself if I’ve never taken the field? Oh, I need victories! I need to be like Mardonius. Only ...” Xerxes’ arm fell to the table. The open palm became a fist.

“Queen Atossa?”

“Yes. Thanks to her, I am the heir. And thanks to her, I am less than my cousin, less than my brothers, less than you.”

“You are certainly more than I.”

“Well, yes, of course. But I haven’t seen India, and you have. And because of you, we’re now in a position to annex a whole world. Well, let’s pray that that will be my work. Let’s also pray that Darius allows Mardonius to go on fighting the Greeks, which Mardonius wants to do. I can’t think why. There’s nothing in the west that anyone would want.”

“Doesn’t the Great King want to avenge the burning of Sardis?”

“Any one of a hundred generals could manage that. All you have to do is burn down Athens. That’s easy. And pointless. But India!” Xerxes was happier for all the wine he had drunk. He gripped my forearm; his fingers were roughened from military practice. “When you report to the Great King, tell him that I must—well, no, you can’t tell him that he
must
do anything but ...”

“I can hint. I can also speak to Queen Atossa.”

“Don’t. She’ll want me safe in Babylon.”

“If she thought that the conquest of the Indian kingdoms would be easy, she would let you go. She’s not a fool, to say the least.”

Xerxes used a dagger’s tip to clean the mortar from under a thumbnail. “She might be helpful. It’s hard to say. We’ll see.” He smiled. “If I go, you’ll come with me.”

Happily, we plotted glory, as the young do; an exquisite pleasure denied the old when all plots are at an end, like the spider’s web when the spider’s dead.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll have set things in motion
before
Mardonius is up and around.” Xerxes suddenly nicked his thumb. Bright blood made two tiny red pearls. He licked the blood away.

“Is Mardonius ill?”

“Wounded.” Xerxes tried not to look pleased. “He was ambushed on his way back from Macedonia. By Thracians. A leg tendon was severed. So now he limps about, full of complaints even though he sits every day at the Great King’s table. Sits at his right hand when I’m not there, and Darius feeds him from his own plate.”

“But if he’s wounded, that’s the end of the Greek business.” I always did my best to divert Xerxes’ attention whenever he started to brood on his father’s indifference to him. But, no, indifference is not the right word. Darius saw Xerxes as an extension of Atossa, daughter of Cyrus; and Darius was not only in awe of his wife and her son but fearful of them. I shall soon come to the reason for this.

“It should be the end. Certainly, there’s nothing else for us in the west except Mardonius’ ambition to be satrap of all the Greeks. Luckily, he’s not fit for a spring campaign. And I am. So with a bit of ... good fortune”—Xerxes used the Greek phrase—“I shall lead the Persian army this spring. And we’ll go east, not west.” Xerxes then spoke of women. He found the subject endlessly interesting. He wanted to know all about Ambalika. I told him. We agreed that my son should be brought up at the Persian court. Xerxes then told me about his principal wife, Amestris. “You know she was chosen for me by Atossa. At first, I didn’t know why.”

“Because of Otanes’ money, I should’ve thought.”

“That was a consideration. But Atossa is deeper than that. Atossa chose Amestris because Amestris is like Atossa.” Xerxes smiled without much pleasure. “Amestris studies all the accounts. She administers my household. She spends hours with the eunuchs, and you know what that means.”

“She is political?”

“She is political. Atossa wants to make sure that after she dies, I’ll be looked after by yet another Atossa. Naturally, I revere my mother. Because of her, I am the heir.”

“The eldest living grandson of Cyrus was bound to be the heir.”

“I have two younger brothers.” Xerxes did not need to say more. It had always been his fear that he would be superseded not by Artobazanes but by one of his own royal brothers. After all, when Darius became Great King,
he
had three older brothers, a father and a grandfather living. Admittedly, this anomalous situation is not apt to recur in Persian history; even so, there are still many precedents for the passing over of the eldest son in favor of a younger one: witness my current master, Artaxerxes.

“We must get you a Persian wife.” Xerxes changed the dangerous subject. “You must marry one of my sisters.”

“I can’t. I’m not one of The Six.”

“I don’t think that the rule applies to the royal girls. We’ll ask the law-bearers.” Xerxes finished the last flagon of wine. He yawned contentedly. “The law-bearers will also have to pick a wife for that Indian ...?”

“Ajatashatru.”

Xerxes grinned. “I shall personally go to his wedding.”

“That would be a great honor for Magadha.”

“I’ll also attend his funeral, an even greater honor.”

The next day we left Susa in a hailstorm. After India, I was so used to bad weather that I was not in the least distressed, but Xerxes always regarded bad weather as a sign of heaven’s spite and he was forever trying to find some way of punishing the rain or the wind. “What is the point to being lord of the universe,” he used to say, “if you can’t go hunting because of a storm?”

I tried to teach him serenity, without much luck. Once I even went so far as to describe the Buddha to him. Xerxes laughed at the four noble truths.

I was irritated. I can’t think why. I had found the Buddha himself a chilling, even dangerous figure. But one could hardly fault those noble truths which are obvious. “Are they so amusing?”

“Your Buddha is. Doesn’t he know that wanting
not
to want is still wanting? His truths aren’t noble. They aren’t even true. He has no answer to anything. There is no way not to be human except through death.” Xerxes was of this world, entirely.

Southwest of the crumbling row of red sandstone hills that marks the natural end of Susa’s countryside, the weather became warm and mild; and Xerxes’ temper promptly improved. By the time we got to Babylon even he could not fault heaven’s arrangements.

Shortly before midnight we were at the city’s gates. Tactfully but inaccurately the guards hailed Xerxes as king of Babel. Then, with a roaring sound, the great cedarwood gates swung open and we entered the sleeping city. On either side of the broad avenue that leads to the new palace, the tiny thornfires of the poor shone like earthbound stars. Wherever one is on earth, they are there.

SINCE I HAD EXPLORED A WORLD THAT no one at court had ever heard of, much less seen, I felt that my return would cause a good deal of excitement and I was rather looking forward to being a center of attention. I should have known better. The court is all that matters to the court. My absence had not been noted, while my return was ignored.

On the other hand, Fan Ch’ih’s appearance made people laugh. Fortunately, he was not distressed. “They look very odd to me, too,” he said serenely. “They also smell very bad—like old ghee. I suppose that’s because they have so much hair on their bodies. They look like monkeys.” Since the bodies of the yellow men of Cathay are almost entirely hairless, their sweat has a most curious odor, like boiled oranges.

I reported to the first room of the chancellery. Nothing had changed there. I was sent to the second room, Where the same eunuchs sat at the same long tables, keeping accounts, writing letters in the Great King’s name, conducting the tedious business of the empire. The fact that I had been to India interested them not at all. An under-chamberlain told me that I might be received in private audience by the Great King quite soon. But then again ... The Persian court is eternal in its sameness.

Lais was also unchanged. “You look much older,” she said. Then we embraced. As usual, she asked me no questions about myself. She was not interested in India either. “You must go see your old friend Mardonius. Right away. He’s absolutely the most powerful man at court.” Lais responded to power in rather the same way that a water-diviner’s rod will bend if it detects the slightest moisture beneath the earth. “Darius dotes on him. Atossa is furious. But what can she do?”

“Poison him?” I suggested.

“She would if she thought she could get away with it. But as I keep telling her, Mardonius is no real threat. How can he be? He’s not the Great King’s son. ‘Nephews have inherited before,’ she says. She’s lost four teeth this year. They just fell out. But if you can’t understand what she’s saying,
don
’
t
let on. Pretend you’ve understood every word. She’s very self-conscious, and she hates to repeat herself. Do you like Xerxes’ palace?”

We were on the roof of Lais’ apartment in the new palace. To the north, just past the ziggurat, Xerxes’ building loomed in all its gold-glazed splendor.

“Yes, what I’ve seen of it. I’ve only been to the chancellery.”

“The interior is beautiful. And comfortable. Darius likes it so much that poor Xerxes has been obliged to move back here when the court’s at Babylon, which it is more and more.” Lais lowered her voice. “He’s aged.” Lais gave me her secret witch-look. In her world
nothing
is natural. If Darius had aged, it was not time’s usual work but a magical spell or potion.

With a rustling sound, Lais’ ancient eunuch appeared in the doorway. He looked at her. He looked at me. He looked at her again. He withdrew. They knew each other so well that they could communicate without words or signs.

“I have made a new friend.” Lais was nervous. “I hope you’ll like him as much as I do.”

“I’ve always liked your Greeks. Where is this one from? Sparta?”

Lais has never liked the fact that I can see through her in much the same way that she claims that she can see through others. After all, I am the grandson of the holiest man that ever lived, as well as the son of a sorceress. I have powers denied the ordinary.

Democritus has asked for a demonstration of these powers. I am giving you one. My memory.

The Greek was not much older than I. But then, my mother is not much older than I. He was tall. He had a pale face and Dorian-blue eyes. Except for sandals instead of shoes, he wore Persian dress, and looked most uncomfortable. I had guessed right. He was Spartan. How could I tell? The dark-red hair that fell to his shoulders had never been washed except by the rain.