The Persian Boy (16 page)

They were pretty well full of wounded from the Mardian war. The doctor put me in a corner, telling me not to walk among the others, in case my fever was catching. One thing it did for me, was break me in to Macedonian privies. My only thought was to get there fast enough.

I lay weak as a babe, keeping nothing down but water, hearing the men brag of the campaign, of women they had raped, or of Alexander. “They were stoning us from up the cliff, rocks that could ?break your arm through your shield. Up he comes, strolling through it. ‘Well, men, what are we waiting for, enough stones to build a sheep-pen? This way up.’ And he’s up the gully like a cat into a tree. We clawed up after him; they couldn’t hit us there, we took them in flank. Some of them jumped off the cliff, but we got the rest.”

There were some whom pain kept quiet. One man near me had an arrowhead in his shoulder. They had cut down for it in the field, but could not draw it out; the wound was festering, and was to be searched that day. He had been dead silent a long while, before the surgeon came with his tools and servant. The others called awkward words of cheer, and fell silent too.

He bore it well at first, but soon began to groan, then to cry out; before long he struggled, and the servant had to hold him down. Just then a shadow crossed the doorway; someone came in and knelt beside the bed. At once the man was quiet, but for a hissing of his breath between his teeth. “Hold on, Straton, it’ll be quicker then. Hold on.” I knew the voice; it was the King’s.

He stayed down there, taking the place of the doctor’s servant. The man never cried again, though the probe was deep in the wound. The arrowhead came out; he gave a deep sigh, between relief and triumph. The King said, “Look what you had in you. I never saw a man bear it better.” The wounded man said, “We’ve seen one, Alexander.” There was a murmur of assent around the tent.

He laid a hand on the good shoulder, and stood up, his fresh white tunic all dirtied with blood and matter which the wound had spurted. I thought he would go to make himself presentable, but he just said to the surgeon, who was dressing the wound, “Don’t trouble with me.” A tall hunting-dog, which had sat quiet by the entry, got up and padded at his heel. He looked about him, and came towards my corner. I saw great red fingerweals on his upper arm. The wounded man must have been clutching at him- the sacred person of a king!

There was a common, wooden stool, used by the wound-dressers. He picked it up, himself, with his own hand, and came to sit beside me. The dog started to nose me over. “Down, Peritas. Sit,” he said. “I hope dogs are not a pollution in your part of the world, as they are among the Jews?”

“No, my lord,” I said, trying to believe all this was happening. “We honor them in Persia. They neither break faith, we say, nor do they lie.”

“A good saying. You hear that, Peritas? But how are you, boy? You look clapped-out. Have you been drinking bad water?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

“Always ask about the water. Mostly, down in the plains, it’s better in wine. Worse water, more wine. I’ve had your trouble. Sicker than a dog, and then a flux. You, too, I can see from the way your eyes are sunken. How many times today?”

I recovered my speech and told him; he was fast making me proof against any shock. “That’s no joke,” he said. “Drink plenty, we’ve good water here. Nothing to eat but slops. I know a good infusion, but the herbs don’t grow here; I must find out what the natives use. Look after yourself, boy, I’m missing you at dinner.” He stood up, the dog doing so too. “I’ll be here awhile; take no notice if you want to go outside. None of your Persian formality. I know what it is to be kept about, when you’re doubled up for a crap.”

He strolled on to another bed with his wooden stool. I was so stunned that I had to go out almost at once.

When he had left, I slid my hand-mirror from the purse under my pillow, and peered at it behind the blanket. I look dreadful, I thought, and he said so too. Did he truly mean he was missing me at dinner? No, he had a good word for everyone. You look clapped-out, he said.

I became aware of a youngish veteran, tough and big-boned, growling at me. Had he seen the mirror? “Please speak Greek,” I said. “I don’t understand Macedonian.”

“Now, maybe, you know how he felt about the hospital at Issos.”

“Issos?” I must have been thirteen. “I know nothing about a hospital.”

“Then I’ll tell you now. Yo?ur people cut in at Issos when the King had marched beyond it; he turned back there to fight the battle. Meantime, he’d left the sick there, in a tent like this. And your royal whore-master, who ran like a goat before Alexander’s spear, was so brave with men too weak to stand on their feet, he had them cut up in bed alive. They . . . well, I suppose you know all about such things. I was there when we found them. If they’d been only barbarians, it would still have made me sick. There were one or two left living; both hands off at the wrists and the stumps seared. I saw Alexander’s face. We all thought he’d do the same the first chance he had, and we’d all have helped. But no, he had too much pride. Now my anger’s cooled, I’m glad of it. So you can he there safe, snugged up with your bowl of gruel.”

I said, “I did not know. I am sorry.” Then I lay down, and pulled up the blanket. Your royal whore-master. Each time he had run away, I had thought,

Who am I to judge? But now I judged him. Had it been coward’s cruelty, or was he taking his ease, uncaring? Small odds. I was sad already with sickness; now this shame. I, who had given myself consequence because a king had chosen me! He had not done even that; some pander had done it for him. I covered myself like a corpse, and gave myself up to grief.

Through the blanket and my sobs, I heard someone saying, “See there what you’ve done. The boy’s half dead; now you’ve put him in a convulsion. They’re not made like us, you fool. You’ll be sorry if he dies of it. The King fancies that boy, I could see it with half an eye.”

The next thing I knew, a heavy hand grasped my shoulder, and the first man (who should never have left his bed) told me not to take it so much to heart, it was no fault of mine. He pressed a fig into my hand, which I had sense enough not to eat; but I pretended to. The fever rose and burned in me. It scorched up even my tears.

It was sharp, but short. Even after we had been carted on wagons to the next camp, I mended, though most of the wounded had setbacks. The man with the arrow wound died on the way. His shoulder mortified. In his delirium he called upon the King; the man beside me murmured that even Alexander had not yet conquered death.

The young heal quickly. Next time we moved camp, I was fit to ride.

There had been changes in my short absence. From a group of the Companion Cavalry, the cream of the highborn Macedonians, a voice called to me in Persian, “Here, Bagoas! Say something for me in Greek.” I could not credit my senses. It was Prince Oxathres, Darius’ brother.

Being one of the fair Persians, he did not look strange among Macedonians, though taller and handsomer than any of them. He was not with the Companions by chance. Alexander had enrolled him.

At Issos, they had fought hand to hand before the royal chariot. They had met too over Darius’ embassy, when Tyre had fallen. They had felt each other’s quality. And now that Bessos had put on the Hood, rather than see his brother’s murderer on his throne, Oxathres preferred Alexander, who would help him with his blood-feud.

Well might he be angry at that wretched death. It was only now that I learned all the story. Nabarzanes had told me only the truth he knew. They had stabbed Darius with their javelins, killed his two slaves, maimed the horses, left him for dead; but with Alexander hot on their heels they had struck clumsily. The cart dragged on, the wounded beasts sought water. The dying King heard them drink, while he lay covered with blood and flies, his mouth cracked dry. At last came a Macedonian soldier, puzzled that the horses should be slashed instead of stolen; pausing, he heard a groan. He was a decent man; so Darius got a drink before he died.

Alexander, coming too late, threw his own cloak over the body. He had sent it to Persepolis, to be buried with kingly honors; giving it to the Queen Mother first for tending.

I had now to think of my future. Since the King had no use for me in my calling, I must seek favor in other ways, if I was not to ?sink to a mere camp-follower. I could guess where that would end. So I looked for opportunity.

Since the capture of his old horse Oxhead, the King was displeased with his squires. His horses were their charge; they had been leading them through the forests, when the Mardians fell on them. They had reported themselves vastly outnumbered; but Alexander, who spoke Thracian, had had a word with the grooms. They, being unarmed, had had no face to save. He was still nursing Oxhead like a favorite child, taking him out each day in case he should be pining. He had pictured him, no doubt, ending his days as a half-starved beast of burden, beaten, and full of harness sores.

These youths, though wellborn, were new to courts, and were already tiresome to Alexander, coming after their well-trained elders. He had had patience with them at first, but now had less; and from ignorance, they did not know how to bear themselves under displeasure. Some were sullen, others nervous and clumsy.

Errands would often take me to his tent. I would take notice of any small service he was about to need -his wants were simple enough-and do it without fuss. Soon he would employ me for this or that; before long, he would keep me there to be at hand. I would hear him say to the squires, impatiently, “Oh, leave it; Bagoas will see to it.”

Sometimes when I was there Persians came for audience. I would admit them with the right degree of respect for each man’s rank; now and then I saw that he took a hint from me.

He was curt with the squires, as an officer to raw cadets. To me he was always civil, even when I showed ignorance. Indeed, I thought it his misfortune to have been born among barbarians. Such a man deserved to have been a Persian.

It seemed to me I might well be better where I was, than where Nabarzanes had meant for me. Who knows how long a king’s fancy will endure? But a useful servant is not put away so lightly.

Yet he never called me to attend to his bath or bedtime. I didn’t doubt it was because of that first night; and whenever Hephaistion came, I was gone beforehand. I had warning from Peritas, who knew his step, and would thump the floor with his tail.

My preferment so displeased the squires, that only in the King’s presence was I safe from insults. I had been prepared for envy, but not for so much coarseness. I was not established enough to tell the King. Besides, he might have thought me soft.

Our next march was to the city of Zadrakarta, near the sea. It has a royal palace. I don’t know when a king had last put up there. Darius had meant to make for it; it was swept and garnished, though rude and quaintly antique, its moth-holed rugs replaced with crude stuff from Scythia. A band of old eunuchs flocked about me, asking how the King liked things done. Though they had been mildewing here for forty years, it was something to hear my native speech from my own kind. They begged to know if they should stock up the harem. I said it would be better to await the King’s commands. They looked at me slyly, and said no more.

He meant to rest his troops a half-month at Zadrakarta, give them games and shows, and sacrifice to his gods for victory. Meantime the men made holiday, and the streets were best left before dark.

The squires too had time on their hands, as I learned the very first day.

I was looking about the palace, doing no harm to anyone, and had come out among old courtyards, when I heard spears thudding on wood. They saw me, and ran out. “Come along, lily-boy. We’ll make a soldier of you.” There were eight or ten of them, and nobody else in sight. Their target was a great battered piece of planking, with a Scythian drawn life-size in the middle. They pulled out the javelins and made me throw. I had not handled a spear since my child’s toy one, and could not even hit point-first. They roared with laughter; one, from bravado, stood up before the Scythian, while another lodged a spear each side of him. “Your turn next!” someone shouted. “Over there, No-Balls, and don’t wet your pretty trousers.?”

I stood before the board; a spear struck on my left and on my right. I thought they had done; but they all yelled out that they had hardly started.

Just then a young cavalryman, one of the former squires, looked in and asked them what they were doing. They called out that they had no more need of nursemaids, and he went away.

This last hope gone, I gave myself up to death. I was sure they meant to kill me, and put it down to mischance. But first of all, they wanted to see the soft Persian eunuch crawling to their feet, entreating mercy. Oh, no, I thought. That’s one thing they shall not have. I will die as I was born, Bagoas, son of Artembares, son of Araxis. No one shall say that I died Darius’ boy.

So I held myself straight, while the best shot of them clowned about, pretending to be drunk, and threw his spear so close I could feel the whiffle. They had their backs to the courtyard gateway. Of a sudden I saw a movement there. A man had come in behind them; it was the King.

He opened his mouth; then saw one of them poised to throw, and waited, his breath drawn in, till the spear had landed safely. Then he shouted.

I had never before heard him use the uncouth tongue of Macedon. No one had yet told me it was a sign of danger. No one needed to tell me now.

Whatever he said caused them all to drop their javelins, and stand with crimsoning faces. Then he changed to Greek. “You ran fast enough from the Mardians. But I see you can all be warriors, against one boy untrained to arms. And I tell you this-as I see him now, he looks more like a man to me than any of you do. Once and for all, I expect to be served by gentlemen. You will refrain from insulting the members of my Household. Anyone disobeying this order will return his horse and join the column on foot. Second offense, twenty lashes. Have you heard me? Then get out.”

They saluted, stacked their arms, and left. The King walked towards me. I would have prostrated myself. But the closest javelin had pierced my sleeve, pinning me to the target. He strode forward, looked to be sure it had not gone through flesh, wrenched it out and flung it away. I stepped from among the shafts, and again began the prostration.

“No, get up,” he said. “You need not keep doing that, it is not our custom. A good coat spoiled. You shall have the price of a new one.” He touched the rent with his fingers. “I am ashamed of what I have seen. They are raw; we have had no time to train them; but I am ashamed they are Macedonians. Nothing like that will ever happen again, that I can promise you.” He put his arm across my shoulders, patted me lightly, and, smiling into my eyes, said, “You behaved yourself very well.”

I don’t know what I had felt till then. Perhaps just awe of his splendid anger.

The living chick in the shell has known no other world. Through the wall comes a whiteness, but he does not know it is light. Yet he taps at the white wall, not knowing why. Lightning strikes his heart; the shell breaks open.

I thought, There goes my lord, whom I was born to follow. I have found a King.

And, I said to myself, looking after him as he walked away, I will have him, if I die for it.

-12-

THE ROYAL rooms were above the banquet hall, looking towards the sea. He was pleased with the sea, being used to it near in boyhood. Here I waited on him, as in his tent before; but, as before, never at nighttime.

In a half-month he would be at war again. It did not give me long.

I had thought myself skilled, at Susa, never having seen what my training lacked. I knew what to do when I was sent for. In all my life, I had never seduced anyone at all.

Not that he was indifferent. First love had not bereft me of all sense; something had been there when his eyes met mine. In his presence I felt more beautiful, a sign that one can’t mistake. It was his pride I feared. I was his dependent; he thought I could not say no. How right he was! Yet if I offered myself, having been what I had been, what would he think? I might lose even what I had. He did not? buy at market.

The squires were my unwilling friends. He kept me closer about him; to rebuke their spite, or so he let it seem. For my spoiled coat, he never even counted out the gold, just gave me a handful. I had something becoming made, and, you may be sure, put it on for his approval. He smiled; emboldened, I asked him to feel how fine the cloth was. For a moment, it seemed something might come of that. But no.

He was fond of reading, when he had the time. I knew when to be quiet; we all learned that at Susa. I would sit cross-legged by the wall, looking at the sky with its wheeling gulls that came for the palace offal, stealing a glance at him; one must not stare at a king. He did not read aloud to himself, like other people; one scarcely heard a murmur. But I knew when the murmur stopped.

He was aware of me. I felt it like a touch. I lifted my eyes, but he kept his on the book. I dared not come forward, or say, “My lord, here am I.”

On the third day was the victory sacrifice and procession. He lived so simply, I had never guessed he had a love of spectacle. He rode in the cavalcade, in Darius’ chariot (I found he had had the floor raised up a handspan), his gold hair crowned with gold laurel, his purple cloak clasped with jewels. He loved every moment; but I was nowhere near, and at night there was a feast at which he stayed till dawn. I lost half next day, too, for he did not rise till noon.

Yet Eros, whom I had not yet learned to worship, did not forsake me. The next day he said, “Bagoas, what did you think of the dancer last night at supper?”

“Excellent, my lord, for someone trained at Zadrakarta.”

He laughed. “He claims it was Babylon. But Oxathres says he’s nothing compared with you. Why have you never told me?”

I did not say I’d been racking my brains for a chance. “My lord, I have had no practice since I left Ekbatana. I would be ashamed you should see me now.”

“Why, you could have used the ball-court any day. There must be somewhere here.” He strode out, attended only by me, through the ancient maze of rooms, till we found one with space and a good floor, which he had cleared and scoured before nightfall.

I could have exercised without music, but I hired a piper, in case it should be forgotten where I was. I got out my spangled loincloth, and let my hair hang free.

After a while the piper faltered, and glanced towards the door; but I, of course, was too intent on my dance to see. I finished with my slow back-somersault off the hands. By the time I came right side up, no one was there.

Later that day, I sat again in the King’s room, while he read his book. His soft voice ceased. There was a silence like a note of music. I said, “Your sandal-string is loose, my lord,” and knelt beside him.

I felt him look down; I would have looked up, in another instant. But then the dog Peritas thumped the floor with his tail.

Having undone the string, I had to do it up again; so Hephaistion was in the room before I could get away. I bowed; he greeted me cheerfully, patting the dog which had come to fawn on him. So ended the fifth day of fifteen. Next morning, the King went out fowling, in the marshlands beside the sea. I thought he’d be gone all day; but he was back well before sundown. When he came from the bath (where still he had never sent for me) he said, “Bagoas, I shan’t sit late at dinner. I want you to teach me a little Persian. Will you wait up?” I bathed, and put on my best suit, and tried to eat. He was dining with a few friends, and did not need me there. I went up and waited.

When he came, he paused at the door, making me fear he had forgotten to expect me. Then he smiled and came in. “Good; you are here.” (Where else? As a rule he never said such things.) “Bring up that chair to the table, while I find the book.”

These words dismayed me. “My lord King, could we do without a book?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“I am very sorry, my lord, but I cannot read. Not even Persian.”

“Oh, that’s no matter. I never thought you could. The book’s for ?me.” He fetched it, and said, “Come, sit here.” There was about a yard between us. The chairs quite put me out. There one is, trapped, and can get no nearer. I looked with regret at the divan.

“We’ll work like this,” he said, setting out tablet and stylos. “I shall read out a Greek word and write it down; you will tell me the Persian, and I shall write the sound as it seems to me. It’s what Xenophon did, the man who wrote this book.”

It was an old book, much used, the split edges patched with glue. He opened it tenderly. “I chose this for your sake; it’s the life of Kyros. Is it true you come from his tribe?”

“Yes, my lord. My father was Artembares, son of Araxis. He was killed when King Arses died.”

“I heard so,” he said, and looked at me with pity. Only Oxathres, I thought, could have told him that. He must have asked about me.

The big old lamp-cluster, a ring of lamplets, hung over the table, its many flames making double and treble shadows under his hands, the light touching his cheekbones but not his eyes. He was a little flushed, though I could tell he had drunk no more at dinner than they always did. I looked down at the book with its unknown markings, to let him look at me.

What can I do? I thought. Why ever did he get us into these stupid chairs, which is not at all what he wants, and how can I get us out of them? Things told me by Nabarzanes were coming back. I thought, Has he ever seduced anyone, either?

He said, “Since I was a boy, Kyros has seemed to me the pattern for all kings, as Achilles-whom you won’t know-is for all heroes. I have passed through your country, you know, and seen his tomb. When you were a child there, did you hear any tales of him?”

His arm rested quite near me. I wanted to grasp it, and say, “Won’t Kyros keep?” He is in two minds, I thought, or we would not be sitting like this. If I lose him now, perhaps it will be forever.

“My father told me,” I said, “that once upon a time there was a cruel king, called Astyages; and the Magi predicted that the son of his daughter would take his throne. So he gave the baby to a lord called Harpagos, to do away with. But the babe was beautiful and he could not kill it; so he gave it to a herdsman, to leave it on the mountain and be sure it died. The man went home first, and his wife’s own baby was dead, and she was crying, ‘We are growing old, and who will feed us?’ So the herdsman said, ‘Here is a son. But you must keep it secret forever.’ He gave her the child, and put the dead one on the mountain in the royal clothes; and when jackals had gnawed it so that no one could know it again, he brought it to Harpagos. And Kyros grew up the herdsman’s son; but he was brave as a lion and beautiful as morning, and the other boys made him their King. When he was about twelve, King Astyages came to hear of him, and sent to see him. By then he had the family looks; and Astyages made the herdsman tell. The King meant to kill the boy; but the Magi said that his being King in play had discharged the prophecy; so he was sent back to his parents. It was on Harpagos that the King took vengeance.” I dropped my voice to a whisper, just as my father had done. “He took and killed his son, and roasted his flesh, and gave it Harpagos to eat at dinner. When he had eaten, he showed him the boy’s head. It was in a basket.”