Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy)

  Then he took a torch and lit the pyre. He waited until the flames took hold, crackling in the darkness, and then shouted, ‘Pezhetairoi, present arms!’

  The infantrymen raised their sarissae in salute while Peritas’s soul flew off on the wind, separated from his master for the very first time since Alexander of Epirus had given him to Alexander all those years ago.

  *

  Philip watched over the King all night, together with Roxane and Leptine. Only towards dawn did the Queen start dozing, exhausted after being without sleep for so long, but as she dozed she moaned continually, tormented by her anguish.

  As day broke Hephaestion and Ptolemy entered and it was clear they had had no rest either. ‘How is he?’ they asked.

  ‘He has made it through the night. I can’t tell you any more than that,’ replied Philip.

  ‘Should he die, we will burn those cities with all their inhabitants – this will be the funeral sacrifice in his honour,’ said Hephaestion darkly.

  ‘Let us wait and see,’ replied Philip, his voice hoarse with fatigue. ‘He is still alive.’

  Another two days passed, but the King’s condition seemed to be deteriorating beyond hope. His chest had swollen up despite the drain Philip had inserted, his fever was still burning, his breath came in fits and rattles, his skin was ashen, his eyes were circled with black and sinking into their sockets.

  His Companions kept vigil outside the tent so as not to disturb him. They took turns watching over him, getting a little sleep only when they were completely exhausted. The camp, usually so bustling and noisy, was immersed in an unreal silence, as though time itself had stopped.

  That evening, as Alexander’s fever was rising once more and his breath seemed to come with ever-greater difficulty and suffering, Philip suddenly got to his feet and left the tent.

  ‘Where is he going?’ asked Leonnatus.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Hephaestion. ‘I don’t know anything any more. There is nothing to know now . . .’

  Philip walked across the camp, taking a quick look at Aristander who had continued to sacrifice victims on his smoking altar during the night, and then he came to a place where a banyan tree rose majestically from the ground. He stood there before the skeletal figure of Kalanos who was lost in meditation.

  ‘Wake up,’ he said brusquely.

  Kalanos opened his eyes.

  ‘Our gods and our science have proved impotent. Save Alexander, if you can. Otherwise, leave us and never return.’

  Kalanos stood up agilely, lightly, almost as though weightless. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

  ‘In his tent. Come with me,’ replied Philip as he set off.

  Kalanos followed and entered the royal quarters, all lit up with burning lamps.

  ‘Extinguish them all,’ he ordered, his voice firm, ‘and leave us alone.’

  Everyone obeyed Kalanos. He squatted on his heels behind Alexander’s bed and simply stared through the darkness at the King’s head, his body tensing up until it was like a block of stone.

  They found him sitting there like that the following day, and the day after, and even on the following day. At dawn on the fourth day Philip entered to change the drain and pulled back a corner of the curtain that covered up the entrance to throw a little light on the scene. While he was washing his hands in a basin, before changing the dressings, he heard a weak voice calling out behind him, ‘Philip . . .’

  He turned sharply, ‘My King!’

  The fever had relented somewhat, his breathing was regular, his heartbeat was weak but constant. He listened to his chest and the gurgling had gone. He called Leptine. ‘Inform the Queen. Tell her the King is conscious. And make some broth immediately, we must feed him for he is more dead than alive.’

  Leptine set about her duties while Philip immediately poked his head out of the tent where Lysimachus and Hephaestion were waiting. ‘Tell the others,’ he said. ‘The King is awake.’

  How is he?’ asked Hephaestion anxiously.

  How do you think he is?’ replied the physician gruffly. ‘Like someone who’s had an iron bolt stuck in his shoulder.’

  He went back to take care of Alexander and only then did he see Kalanos lying motionless on the ground, as still and cold as a corpse.

  ‘Oh, by Zeus!’ he exclaimed. ‘Great Zeus!’

  He had Kalanos taken to his own tent by his assistants and ordered them to warm him in every way they could think of and to give him something to eat, even by force if necessary, and then he returned to Alexander. Roxane was with him now, staring incredulously while Leptine tried to get him to take some broth in the only way possible – dipping some cloth in it and then holding it to his lips so that he could suck.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Alexander as soon he saw Philip.

  ‘Everything, my King,’ replied the physician, ‘but you are still alive and I have every hope you will remain so. You cannot believe how happy I am,’ he added, his voice trembling. ‘You cannot believe . . . but please stop talking now. It is a miracle you are alive, and I believe the miracle was worked by Kalanos.’

  ‘Peritas . . .’ Alexander managed to murmur.

  ‘Peritas did not survive, my King. Leonnatus tells me he died saving your life. Now you must not render his sacrifice vain – try to eat and then rest, please rest.’

  Alexander drank again from Leptine’s hands and then fell back, closing his eyes, but even through his closed eyelids the tears escaped and ran down his cheeks to dampen his pillow.

  57

  THE KING LAY IN his bed hovering between life and death for many days and all the efforts expended in bringing him back to life definitively seemed to be in vain. Although his body had moved beyond the moment of greatest danger, his general condition remained so serious and the improvements so slight that Philip no longer knew if he could save him or if Thanatos, momentarily fended off by Kalanos’s heroism, was about to attack again with the aim of taking possession of a soul he had already earmarked as his own. Only the Indian sage had no doubts whatsoever and he continued to say, ‘I have made a pact. He will get better.’ If anyone asked for details of this pact, he said nothing.

  It was a month before Alexander was able to sit up, leaning against the head of his bed, and another twenty days before he was able to drink soup with Leptine’s help as she spooned it into his mouth with Roxane looking on. He spoke very little and only with great difficulty, but every now and then he had Eumenes come to read him verses from Homer. With the unanimous approval of the Companions, the Secretary General had taken over the King’s political role. At other times Roxane would sing songs from her mountain home, her voice quiet and accompanied by her own playing on a stringed instrument with a simple and evocative timbre.

  After two months, Philip agreed to his getting up and taking a few steps inside the tent, supported by Craterus and Leonnatus, but it was clear that even this minimal effort cost him tremendous fatigue and afterwards, dripping with sweat, he fell into deep sleep once more.

  On one occasion Leonnatus entered together with Craterus and Hephaestion while Leptine struggled to have him swallow a decoction. The big man ran his hand through his ruffled hair and said, sincerely believing it was a good idea, ‘And if we were to give him some “Nestor’s Cup”?’

  Philip looked at him with pity in his eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. Honey, flour, wine and cheese – do you want to kill him?’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ said Leonnatus, hurt to the quick, ‘but do you have any idea what everyone out there is saying? The rumour is that the King is dead and that we are keeping him hidden so as to avoid creating panic’

  ‘How can they even think that?’ exclaimed Philip. ‘Everyone knows the King is alive.’

  ‘That’s not quite how things are,’ said Hephaestion. ‘We know it, but no one else does. I have given orders that not even the guards must see him in this state. The effect on the soldiers’ morale would be the same as knowing he was dead.’


  ‘Exactly,’ Eumenes agreed. ‘The truth is that the people have not seen him for months, while they see us coming and going continuously to and from his tent or meeting together, and a few people have seen me use the King’s seal on documents we have sent to the satrapies.’

  ‘That’s the way I feel as well,’ confirmed Craterus. ‘Some divisions are discussing the possibility of summoning the general assembly of the Macedonian army. Do you know what this means?’

  Eumenes nodded. ‘It means that they can force us to receive their delegation in the royal tent and show them Alexander in this state.’

  Philip turned. ‘As long as I am here, no one enters this tent without my permission: I am the King’s private physician and I bear responsibility for—’

  Craterus put a hand on his shoulder, ‘Should the King be absent, then a plenary assembly of the army is sovereign in his place – they can do this thing and they almost certainly will.’

  Seleucus and Lysimachus had entered to ask about the King’s health and they could feel the tension in the air: ‘What’s happening?’ Seleucus asked.

  ‘The fact is . . .’ began Craterus.

  No one had given any thought to Alexander’s presence since he had appeared to be fast asleep, but his voice suddenly shook them all: ‘Listen to me.’

  The Companions turned in surprise and embarrassment. Eumenes, realizing that the King must have heard everything, attempted to explain: ‘Alexander, this is something we can easily resolve ourselves with—’

  The King lifted his head and his right hand with an unequivocal gesture and everyone stopped talking.

  ‘Seleucus

  ‘At your service, Sire,’ his friend replied instinctively, much moved to be receiving an order from Alexander after such a long time.

  ‘Have the army fall in, a full assembly, after sunset.’

  ‘Yes, Sire.’

  ‘Leonnatus . . .’

  At your service, Sire,’ replied Leonnatus, even more amazed than Seleucus.

  ‘Have my horse prepared – the bay . . .’

  ‘The Sarmatian bay, yes, yes. Of course, Sire.’

  ‘Of course nothing!’ exclaimed Philip. ‘What is happening in here . . . have you all gone mad? The King is in no state to be—’

  Alexander lifted his hand once more and Philip said nothing else out loud, but continued mumbling to himself.

  Hephaestion

  ‘I am listening, Alexandre.’

  ‘Prepare my armour. It must be shining bright.’

  ‘It shall be, Alexandre,’ replied Hephaestion with a lump in his throat. As bright and shining as the Argead star.’

  Everyone was convinced now that the King no longer had any intention of fading away in his bed, that he had chosen to die on horseback, and even Philip was sure of this. He sat in a corner grumbling away to himself. ‘Do whatever you want; if you want to kill him then go ahead. I’m having nothing to do with it . . .’ and he could say nothing more, so moved was he by the thought of losing his King.

  ‘Leonnatus,’ said the King. ‘I want the horse here, in the tent.’

  ‘I will bring him here,’ replied his friend, realizing that the King did not want his soldiers to see him being helped to mount the animal.

  ‘You may all go now.’

  They obeyed Alexander and as soon as they left he let himself go on his pillow and dozed. The voices of Hephaestion and Leonnatus woke him up. When he opened his eyes he found the tent full of the half-light of sunset.

  ‘We are ready,’ said Hephaestion.

  Alexander nodded, struggled to lift himself up, sat on the edge of the bed and asked his friends to lead him to the bath. Leptine washed him and perfumed his body and his hair, then she began to dress him.

  ‘Give me a bit of colour for my cheeks,’ he said, and the girl obeyed. While she used some cosmetics to liven up his cheeks and cover up the dark rings under his eyes, he caressed her face and said, ‘I will arrange a marriage for you with some great man of my empire and I will give you a dowry worthy of a Queen.’ He spoke sincerely and with a tone of great security in his voice. When Leptine had finished, he asked his friends, How do I look?’

  ‘Not bad,’ replied Leonnatus with a half smile. ‘You look like an actor.’

  And now for the armour.’

  Hephaestion laced up his breastplate and his greaves, hung his sword by his side and arranged the diadem in his hair.

  ‘Bring me the horse. Are the men lined up?’

  ‘They are all in formation,’ Hephaestion assured him.

  Leonnatus went out and then led the fully decked Sarmatian bay by its bridle into the tent through the back entrance; Hephaestion knelt down and joined his hands to form a step for Alexander. The King put his foot in it and his friends all helped him get up there astride the horse.

  Leonnatus approached with some straps in his hand, ‘We thought it might be an idea to tie you to the horse. None of it will show, it will all be covered by your cloak’

  Alexander did not reply and his silence was interpreted as consent. They placed a large belt round his waist, from which hung four straps – two to the front and two to the rear, all of which were then attached to the horse’s tack. Only then did they drape his purple cloak around him, so that it completely covered the improvised harness they had created.

  ‘Let’s go now,’ he ordered.

  Hephaestion looked out of the tent, Leonnatus nodded as though to say, ‘Now!’ and Hephaestion waved his hand – a prearranged signal. A dark rumble, like a far off thunderclap, broke the leaden silence of sunset. One blow, then another, and another again! Alexander put his hand to his ear, as though he could hardly believe what he was hearing and instinctively he straightened his back and touched the horse’s belly with his heels. The bay moved out of the tent, walked around it and set off calmly along the long line of the assembled army.

  The slow, solemn rumble continued, giving rhythm to the majestic pace of the powerful steed and Alexander struggled to hold back the tears that welled up as he felt the air vibrate to the deep, thunderous voice of the drum of Chaeronaea!

  The soldiers, motionless in their ranks, their hands tightly gripping the shafts of their sarissae, looked on in amazement as their King moved forwards, his gaze proud and firm and severe as he inspected them. As he approached each division, the officer in command stepped forward from the line, unsheathed his sword and shouted, ‘Hail, Sire!’ and Alexander responded with a slight bow of the head.

  When he reached the end of the line the ‘Thunder of Chaeronaea’ fell silent. The most senior officer of the hetairoi front line pushed his horse forwards and exclaimed, At your service, Sire!’

  ‘Sound the fall out,’ said Alexander and while the trumpets sounded the order, he pulled on the reins of the bay and set off at a trot towards his tent.

  ‘He’s mad,’ murmured Philip as he looked on from far away. ‘Any one of those jolts could make him fall and—’

  He won’t fall,’ replied Seleucus, clapping the physician on the shoulder. He won’t fall.’

  Ptolemy could not take his eyes off him. ‘So this is what he wanted; now they’ve all seen him, they know he’s alive and that he’s in command again.’

  Alexander entered the tent still astride the horse and his friends unstrapped him and helped him dismount, then they began untying his cloak, his breastplate and greaves, together with his sword.

  ‘Get him straight into his bed,’ ordered Philip.

  Alexander shook his head, walked slightly uncertainly towards his field chair, and put his hands on the table.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘Would anyone like to eat something with me?’

  Everyone looked at him in amazement and even Leonnatus stopped what he was doing and stood there holding the horse by its bridle.

  ‘Leptine,’ called the King. ‘Clear this stuff off the table and bring me some “Nestor’s Cup”!’

  ‘“Nestor’s Cup”?’ replied Philip. ‘So you really w
ant to die? You’ll never digest that concoction, you’ll be ill and you’ll vomit and your wounds will open up again and—’

  ‘ “Nestor’s Cup”’ Alexander repeated. Everyone stared at him with their mouths open – he seemed to have been reborn, to have been transfigured.

  ‘It was the sound of that drum and the sight of his soldiers,’ Craterus whispered to the doctor. ‘Let him eat. He’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

  Leptine brought ‘the cup’ and Alexander began eating. The only sign of fatigue was a slight band of perspiration that crowned his forehead. Philip was still stupefied as he watched, moving his own jaws as though seeking to help the King chew, and the others as well, all standing up around the table, could not believe what they were witnessing.

  When Alexander had finished he cleaned his mouth and turned his gaze upwards towards the eyes of his amazed audience.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Haven’t you ever seen me eat before?’

  58

  IN ANOTHER MONTH the King was back on his feet completely and was even running and going for horse rides and wrestling with Leonnatus. At the end of the summer he gave orders for the camp to be struck and for them to embark once more on the vessels.

  They went downstream for two days until they came to the border with the region called Sindh and there Alexander asked Nearchus to moor the fleet. The guides explained that this was the starting point for the path that led to the mountain pass, through which they would be able to reach Alexandria of Arachosia.

  He summoned his Companions to his tent for supper and showed them the map that the marching officers had drawn with the help of the local guides, both Indians and Persians. Then he spoke to Craterus: ‘You will set off tomorrow with one half of the army; you will cross Arachosia and Drangiana and you will re-establish order wherever you find rebellions or any disorder. The Indian mariners have told us that the Indus is not a tributary river and it flows directly into the Ocean at Pattala. My plan then is that at Pattala Nearchus and Onesicritus will set off with the fleet along the southern coast of the Empire, while I will take the rest of the army across land, guaranteeing supplies for the ships at each landing point following each day of navigation. We will all meet up on the plain of Hormuz, a city that dominates the straits between the Ocean and the Persian Gulf