On his chest, over his darned red tunic, this barbarian warrior wore a strange glinting black panel. There was a furious face painted on it, and as he moved, it became a bird with pointed teeth and golden talons at the ends of its wings. He wore a helmet topped with an eagle’s head and adorned with long white feathers. He was riding bareback on a chestnut mare much smaller than Bucephalus but so nimble-footed she hovered round my stallion like a bee, avoiding his charges then coming back to brush past him, biting him, then fleeing.
The warrior’s sharp weapons flew and flashed around me. When they struck my sword, their sharp cries rang out like the anguished wails of a starving beast. The face painted on the black panel laughed derisively, trying to frighten me. The eagle-headed helmet hid his forehead and eyes, which appeared as two black flames dancing languidly and apparently talking to me of love.
In previous combat, when I looked my enemy in the eye I read death, not love. Was this stranger trying to bewitch me? His bludgeon suddenly broke my lance, and my rage exploded: I threw off the combination of sentimentality, pity, and admiration I had felt for the hardened and audacious young barbarian. My sword whistled through the air, and, unable to withstand my powerful blows, he retreated. As Bucephalus charged on the mare, my weapon touched the panel covering the warrior’s breast. Sparks flew. A furious noise like the roar of a wounded tiger almost deafened me and stunned the barbarian. When he recovered his composure, he turned his horse and fled.
I understood from what he was wearing and from the standing of his weapons that he was chief of this warrior tribe. All those who gave offense to Alexander had to choose between capitulation and death. I set off in pursuit of him.
Even though she was small, the chestnut mare sped across the steppe like a star. Aroused by the long mane that she shook vigorously, Bucephalus galloped behind. At first, arrows continued to whistle past: my soldiers and the barbarian warriors were still fighting as they tried to follow us. Then, silence. Then, the trembling speed. Then I was carried on the wind. I could hear nothing but its wailing.
THE SUN SET. A truce.
The warrior had set up camp a hundred paces or so away. He built a fire and ate. I nibbled on some dried bread from my pouch and lay down on the grass with my sword in my hand. I closed my eyes, but my ears remained open, alert to my rival’s movements.
Before dawn he set off again at a gallop. I whistled to Bucephalus, who launched into his frenetic pursuit once more. The sun rose and poured its orange light over the steppe, making millions of dewdrops roll and glisten on the grass. Birds frightened by the horses flew off in a beating of wings, leaving their calling, cooing, and trilling behind.
On the third day the warrior stopped fleeing, and we fought from morning till night. I did not know where he found his inexhaustible strength, but his attacks were not so aggressive. I returned this mark of courtesy, careful not to injure him. Night fell, and the crescent moon rose. I lay watching the stars with my hands behind my head. The last time I had looked closely at them had been fifteen years ago, when I was still a boy full of dreams who knew nothing of the hard combat and noisy conquests inscribed in my destiny. I had still been rich with my own loneliness, unfamiliar with the plots of generals, the banter of eunuchs, or the luxurious laughter of courtesans. My eyes had not been invaded by towns, roads, corpses, and lovers’ naked bodies; nor my ears sullied by rumors, accusations, arguments, and the clamor of war. That is why I could see the stars and understand their language. I had lost touch with the sky to delve into the world of men. Now, with the challenge laid down by this unknown warrior, I had left behind my soldiers, the last men who tied me to the tumultuous life of a king.
In the sky, dark eyes sparkled among the stars, talking of love, not death.
On the fourth day a group of nomadic horsemen appeared, like monsters uprooted from the depths of the ocean. They glided closer on the crests of those green waves. Without explanation, they plied toward us, screaming, weapons raised. The unknown warrior rode straight at these men, though they were much taller than him, like an intrepid young wolf throwing itself on a horde of starving hyenas. I fell in step with him, and together we forged a path for ourselves.
The screams of those once fierce horsemen faded and disappeared.
Ahead of me, the warrior continued to gallop. I no longer had any reason to want his death or his submission. I was following him for the competition, curious to see which of us was the stronger, had the better endurance.
On the fifth night there was no moon and the wind stirred. I woke with a start: a pair of eyes shone in the darkness in front of me. The young man was standing in the tall grass, and we fought on foot. During this struggle I managed to hoist off his helmet, and my hand grasped his thick hair. I pulled with all my strength; the savage leapt at me and bit me ferociously on the neck. At dawn the next day he mounted his mare and set off again at a gallop. I chased after him without even wondering why. Our horses sped across the steppes, accompanied by flocks of birds fluttering out of the bushes.
I held in my hand a long hank of smooth black hair, floating on the wind. I would go to the very edge of this terrestrial world, I would go where this young barbarian could no longer flee. He would let me disarm him, I, Alexander, who wished only love for him, not hatred.
But love weakened me, and during the course of the day I was overwhelmed by sadness. Philip loomed in my thoughts, Philip in flesh and blood, holding me in his arms, against his phallus. Olympias stood on the edge of her terrace where the orange trees blossomed and gazed at the horizon over which I had left her forever. I saw Hephaestion as a youth, wanting to leave Macedonia with a medicine man to forget my disloyal heart. I had kept him there with my tears, abusing his gentleness but never promising him anything. Other boys came to mind, furtive loves met in taverns or loved for one night after the glories of battle. They were followed by Persian slaves who had offered me their bodies, and Bagoas, whose love for life I had castrated. I had conquered and raped everything. I had submitted men and women to the strength of my lance. Every city that bore my name and every soldier dead in my name had further fanned the flames of fury in me. Alexander, king of Asia, had driven out the other Alexander, the reader of stars who had loved a philosopher, his flaccid body, his considered words, his calm mind, and his world without wars.
That night as I gazed at the stars I started singing a Macedonian washerwoman tune that I had not thought of once through all the years of campaigning. My voice floated on the silence, burrowed through the rustling grasses, and reemerged, accompanied by a higher voice. In the distance the barbarian was singing a sad melody in his own language. Our two voices followed and outran each other, mingling together and rising toward the stars.
When I opened my eyes again, it was morning. I saw the face of a young boy, huge as he leaned right over me. He had two long black braids and the high cheekbones of the people of the steppes; the slanting line of his eyes reached his temples, and there was a scar on his chin.
I gave an involuntary cry:
“You’re a spirit!”
His eyes seemed to question the meaning of my words. I tried to use a word I had learned from the nomads:
“You’re a cheugoul!”
He smiled. He nicked the top of my chest with the tip of his sickle. I shuddered. This was not a dream! I recognized his scarlet tunic, his black eyes, and his mare grazing close by with Bucephalus. I slid my hand discreetly toward my sword but touched the sharpened spines of his bludgeon.
“What’s your name?” I asked in a friendly voice.
He did not seem to understand my accent, learned from a different tribe to his. He raised his weapon again and laid it over my throat. I was not afraid of death. I was used to the cold surface of a blade. I stared right into my tormentor’s eyes, challenging him. He moved closer to me abruptly and put his lips to mine. The instincts of a man accustomed to combat tensed my every muscle; I struggled and pushed him away. He stood back up and put two fingers into his
mouth to whistle for his mare; she came over, followed by Bucephalus. He mounted his horse; I got on my stallion. He threw himself into the limitless steppes; I galloped by his side toward the sky.
CLOUDS SCUDDED BY, gradually tinged with yellow, blue, pink, and orange, then brilliant red. Birds as swift as arrows sped noisily toward the sun, which had just dropped to the horizon. We galloped behind them, heading right into the sun blazing with flames and aglow with light. The vermilion hills wavered and turned to rivers, mountains, giant trees reaching their branches up to the burning red sky. The sun’s heart was a lake of boiling crimson lava. White creatures appeared and ripped away my past like a tattered old robe, then vanished in the incandescent waters.
Night fell, and we lit a fire. The boy eyed me through the flames.
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
“I am Alestria,” he told me, “and you?”
I hesitated.
“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked me.
His question amused me.
“I’m a man, and you?”
“You, a man? I don’t believe you.”
Amazed by his reply, I repeated myself to remove any possibility of misunderstanding:
“I am a man, a man!”
He leaped up and jumped over the fire, pushing me to the ground and putting his hand between my legs.
“Zougoul!” he cried in horror and fled toward his horse.
I was astonished, watching him leave in the darkness but unable to react. It was a dark night, and the grasshoppers wept softly. Shadows had engulfed the steppes, for the young warrior had disappeared and taken all my joy with him. I vaulted onto Bucephalus and set off to find him.
I drifted across the steppe, calling Alestria. Wolves answered my calls, and their solitary howls pierced right through my heart. Why did you run from me, Alestria? Were you deceived by my curly hair, my fine features that have lent their beauty to sculptors in every country? Are you looking for a wife, Alestria? I would be as gentle as a girl, I, Alexander, who was Olympias’s daughter and Philip’s wife!
Come back, Alestria!
A BLACK SILHOUETTE outlined against a wide ribbon of silver. Alestria had stopped before a river: it blocked his way so he could not escape me. Such was the will of the gods and the cheugouls. I went over to him and took him in my arms. We threw down our weapons and fell to the ground, rolling in the grass, lips against lips, breast against breast, our legs intertwined…but Alestria was a woman!
A woman who knew how to fight!
A woman who had taken Alexander from his men!
A woman who had fled me but been returned to me by the will of the gods!
Tears spilled from my eyes, though I could not have said why. Soon my own body gave me the explanation: it had found the other half lost when it fell from the skies. My hands, arms, hips, stomach, the backs of my knees, the tips of my toes…all slotted into the contours that had been waiting to make a whole with them. They embraced and knotted together, becoming a tree with roots spreading over the steppe, plunging into rivers, and climbing up to the sky.
I WAS WOKEN the following morning by birdsong, and found myself lying naked surrounded by hundreds of wildflowers. The sun was peeping over the horizon, pouring a layer of red light over the steppes. My eyes searched for Alestria: she had gone again! My head swam, and I leaped to my feet. Standing beside the river, I could make out a dark shape in the water. I called to her. She turned and waved to me from a distance, then vanished among the blinding sparkles and reappeared below me, shaking her head and sending out a shower of droplets.
“Talas!” she cried.
I knew neither how to swim nor how to tell her I could not.
“Talas, come!”
She climbed out of the water and came over to me. Her body was that of a warrior: her breasts, hips, and thighs gleamed and were marked with long scars and deep wounds like trophies. Her black braids shone in the sunlight and hung down to her navel. Her wet face was like a child’s, with full lips and cheeks tanned by the sun. She threw her arms around me and held me to her till I shivered at the touch of her icy skin.
“Talas!” she cried, running toward the river.
I did not know how to swim. But I had no choice but to follow her. I ran into the water and sank like a stone. The waves surrounded me. The river was a bed of flowers: magnolias, dahlias, carnations, roses, and violets bloomed around me. I moved forward and reached out to pick them. My body felt light and rose up from the riverbed, flying toward the sky: yes, I was flying, beating my hands, which had turned into wings. I slid among silvery fish and avenues of undulating weeds. At the far end of the path the sun was no longer an incandescent ball of fire but a face floating over a vault of shadows and reflections. All of a sudden it became wrinkled, and its expression changed. I saw Alestria moving back and forth: she was looking for me! I wanted to swim toward her, but the current stopped me reaching her, and I was carried farther away. I wanted to call her name, but water poured into my mouth. I lost sight of her silhouette, and the sun disappeared. My eyes were filled with beams of yellow, orange, pink, purple, and crimson, which turned into a rainbow.
I OPENED MY eyes and saw Alestria’s chin and chest. My head was resting in her hands on her lap. Her melancholic gaze fixed the horizon. Although she was naked, she seemed to be wrapped in a magnificent veil made neither of fabric nor fur but of a corner of sky pierced with flashes of lightning. She looked down and stared into my eyes. Her dark eyes seemed to be questioning me: “Will you dare to lay down your weapons and love a little savage? Will you dare take a vagabond with you on your noble Bucephalus? You, Alexander, son of Philip, king of kings, conqueror of the Greeks, and of Olympias, daughter of Achilles and Zeus, will you dare to make this child your queen, this child abandoned by men and by the gods?”
I said nothing, but met her gaze.
No, I would not hesitate.
The king of conquerors was not afraid of a warrior woman. He recognized in her someone who had been banished from those kingdoms with ten thousand palaces and one hundred thousand downy cushions; she was a brother living in a stranger’s body, a spiritual sister carved from the same block of diamond.
No, I would not hesitate. My pride would be disarmed, the invincible warrior would be vanquished. Wait a little longer! Let me gather my strength in silence and prepare to welcome in the love about to strike my life like a thunderbolt.
She was my queen! Without any doubt. Her melancholy calm, her spontaneous joy, and her black eyes reflecting all the mysteries of Asia displayed more majesty than those capricious princesses who were never exposed to the sun. My eye slid down her neck to her naked breasts, and on the inside of her left breast, I discovered a large scar, a terrifying emblem. I could not tell whether her flesh had been deeply scored by a dagger or marked by a white-hot iron. The crimson skin that had grown over the wound was marked with lines and calluses, and I imagined that she positioned the bound rope of her bow there.
I laid my hand on the scar. She sat up with a start and wanted to flee, but I rolled on top of her and pinned her down with the weight of my body. I rested my face on her injured breast and heard her heart beating.
Alestria, your origins do not matter: whether you are a free warrior or a fighting slave, I shall take you from your tribe and free you from servitude.
Alestria, child of the steppes, you have conquered the invincible Alexander! For you he will stop scouring conquered lands in search of a noblewoman worthy of being his queen.
Alestria, you who do not know my name, I who do not know your parents’ names, we shall found our own dynasty. Alexander and Alestria: from our two names combined a river will spring up and flow to the very ends of humanity.
What does it matter that you have neither clothes nor jewels nor a kingdom? All that is Alexander’s is yours: he offers you his army, his cities, his empire! You will lay down your arms, he will wage wars for you.
You will be my companion in my travels and
in my life. Together we shall ride to the ends of the earth. All my suffering will be relegated to the past. All your suffering will be erased.
Alestria, I love you! I offer you Alexander, whose beauty is nothing compared to his ability to love. I offer you diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and the most luxurious fabrics to make you the youngest, most beautiful, and most glorious queen on earth.
You were destined for me, Alestria! It is I, the most powerful of men, whom the gods have chosen for you to tear you from the shadows and make you shine in the zenith!
Oh, Alestria, give me your wounds and your weapons. All those who have possessed you and all those you have loved shall be exiled! I have come to take you, to take you away!
Come, Alestria, my love! I came onto this earth for you. Together we shall ride to the firmament. Do not refuse me!
A thousand years, ten thousand years, from now the birds on the steppe will still sing of our meeting: on a moonless night two stars collide, the sky burns and spews out a tempest of flames and lightning. Every legend already written shall be burned, and a new era shall rise up from their ashes!
CHAPTER 6
M y name is not Alestria, it is Talestria: the T represents the tribe of Amazons, the women who love horses.
I do not know when I was born.
I like red, the color of leaves burned by the sun, the color of blood.
I do not know who my parents were.
On the steppe countless men and women love each other for one night and then part without the promise of meeting again in another life.
On the steppe, every encounter has the intensity of a fleeting moment, for it is as easy to be born as it is to die. Life is as brief as one passing season, spanning one torrential rainstorm, the tiny moment it takes a bird to reach the clouds.