We marched on; and came to the sand.
Often in those two months I said to myself, If I live, I will wipe this time from my mind; I cannot even bear the memory. Yet now I turn to it. He is gone; and all times when he was there seem like lost riches. Yes, even that.
We marched by night. When the sun was high, no one could move and live for long. Scouts went ahead on camels, to find the next stream or water-hole, which we must reach wherever it was, or die. Sometimes we came to it before sunup; more and more often not, as our strength lessened and our horses failed.
The grim fretted rock we’d left seemed kindly, compared with the scalding sand. Even at night it held the heat of the day. Its hills were too long to skirt; going up one slid back one pace in two, going down the men would glide. We horsemen must walk both ways—as long as we had horses. They gave out before the men; the wretched scrub and parched grass did not give them strength to reach the water-stages. It was not for long that the kites got them; after the foragers began to come back with nothing, a dead horse was a feast.
My Lion dropped halfway up a sandhill. I tried to get him up, but he just lay down. As if sprung from the ground, a horde with swords and cleavers appeared. “Give him time to die!” I cried; I’d seen a mule carved up still breathing. They thought, when I showed my dagger, it was to keep the meat for myself. I made the sacrificer’s cut into the neck-vein. I don’t think it hurt him much. I took a share for myself and my servants; I gave them most of it. We in the King’s Household ate just like the King—the army ration, but at least nobody stole it.
Mules died whenever no officer was in sight; men would toss their own loot away, to get the beast of burden. The cavalry took to sleeping with their horses. I learned this trick too late; Oryx, who had held out well, vanished while I slept. I never asked Alexander for another; horses were for soldiers now.
Going on foot, I often came across Kalanos, making his way like some lean long-legged bird. He had refused to go with Krateros and leave Alexander, from whom he accepted a pair of sandals, when we came to the stones. In the sunset hour, when everyone clung to the last bit of rest before the march, I would see him cross-legged, meditating with his gaze on the setting sun. Alexander mastered or hid his weariness; Kalanos seemed to feel none.
“Guess his age,” Alexander said to me one day. I guessed fifty-odd. “You’re twenty years short. He says he’s never been ill all his life.”
“Wonderful,” I answered. He was happy in having only his god to think of, while Alexander was working like a woodcutter’s donkey, thinking about us all. I read his thoughts too well; that we were in this hell through his impatience, because he had not waited for winter to make the march.
About the third week out, when one no longer noticed whom one marched beside, but got along as one could, a soldier said to me, “Well, the King led us into this, but at least he sweats it out with us. Leading the column on foot, now.”
“What?” I said. I wished I could not believe it. It was true.
We made camp two hours after sunrise, by a stream with real water running. I hurried with his drinking-jug before fools fouled it with their feet. I never trusted the slaves to bring it clean.
He came into the tent, bolt upright. I had his cup filled ready. He stood still in the entry, the first moment he’d not been on view, and pressed both hands to his side. His eyes were closed. I put down the cup and ran; I thought he’d fall. For a moment he leaned on me; then he straightened up and went to his chair, and I gave him water.
“Al’skander, how could you do it?”
“One can always do what one must.” He took three breaths to that.
“Well, you did it. Promise me never again.”
“Don’t talk like a child. I must do it from now on. It is necessary.”
“Let’s see what the doctor says.” I took the cup from him; it was spilling on his clothes.
“No.” When he’d fetched more breath, he said, “It’s good for me. It loosens the muscles up. That’s enough, people are coming.”
They came with their troubles and questions; he dealt with everything. Then Hephaistion came, carrying his rations, to sup with him in the hot morning. I hated trusting anyone else to see he ate. Still, I found later he had, and had taken a drop of wine. He had even been put to bed; he only half woke when I smoothed the doctor’s oil on the red burning scar. I had hidden the oil, in case the slaves should eat it.
From then on, he led each day’s march on foot and set the pace; long or short, sand or stones. He was in pain every step, in torture before morning. He lived on will.
The men knew it; the marks were stamped on him. They knew his pride; but they knew too that he was punishing himself for what he had made them suffer. They forgave him; their spirits fed on his.
When in the rising heat I got him out of his clothes, I found myself thinking, Will he ever win back all the life this is bleeding out of him? I suppose that already I knew the answer.
He was distressed for the fleet off this cruel coast. Even now he sent another food-store. The officer in charge came back to say the men had unsealed it on the way, and eaten it. Sitting up straight in his folding chair, Alexander said, “Tell them I reprimand their disobedience, and pardon their hunger. And if the mules have gone too, don’t tell me. From now on”—he paused to get his breath—“missing mules are presumed foundered. Men can take so much; one must know when to hold one’s hand.”
Men had begun to die. A trifling sickness was mortal. They would fall out, in the dark of night, sometimes in silence, sometimes crying their own names, in hope that a friend would hear. There was much deafness in the night. What could anyone do, who was barely on his own feet? You would see a soldier with his child on his back, and know his woman had died; but the children mostly died first. I remember I heard one crying in the dark—perhaps it had been left for dead—but I just trudged on. I had one thing to do, there was no room for any other.
One day we came to a broad watercourse, with a fair stream in it, fresh and cold, good mountain water. It had been a shortish march; we were there before dawn, to make camp in the cool. Alexander had his tent pitched on the sands, where he could hear the stream. He had just come in, half dead on his feet as usual, and I was sponging his face before people arrived; when a strange sound approached, between a rush and a roar. We listened, for an instant; Alexander leaped to his feet, cried “Run!” and dragged me out by the wrist. Then we ran indeed. A great surge of brown water was bursting down the river-bed. The roar we had heard was the grinding of the boulders.
Alexander shouted a warning. People were scrambling everywhere. As we reached higher ground, I saw the tent tilt like a drunkard’s hat, sink and go swirling off in the wrack of flood. I thought, “The oil’s still in my wallet,” and felt for it. Alexander caught his breath from the run. Then, the screaming.
Others too had camped upon the shore. The soldiers’ women had put up their little awnings, and started to make supper, while the children paddled. They were swept away in hundreds, only a few score left.
That was the most dreadful day of that dreadful march; men searching for the bodies, mostly in vain; everyone else, dead tired already, making good under the glaring sun. Alexander’s tent was washed up somewhere, and spread to dry. All his things were lost. After hours on his feet, he slept in Hephaistion’s tent. Meantime I’d gone begging among his friends; he’d not a change of clothes to his name. Some of the things I got were better than his own; he had traveled light. The squires, who had his arms in keeping, had saved them at least.
We made no march that night, from weariness, and to give rites to the dead. Though if one had to die in Gedrosia, it was something to die by water.
Young as I was, and lightly made, with a dancer’s muscles, I felt my strength ebbing now from night to night. I lost count of time, just set foot before foot, my mouth full of dust from the feet around me; the nights began when I wanted only to lie down forever. Then I would remember I had the oil
, which helped him a little; and that if I dropped out, the terrible sun would rise and find me shelterless. So I flogged myself on, between love and fear.
All the marches were longer now; our pace was slower. Still he led, all night and in the heat of morning. At bedtime we scarcely spoke; it was our understanding he need waste no breath on me. Sometimes I had to stop him from lying down just as he was; he’d curse me, I would snap like a cross nurse at a child; it meant nothing, it rested him from keeping up a face; when he was refreshed he’d thank me.
According to the survey men, we had long passed the halfway of the march. He sent out the camel-scouts, to seek the first fertile land and find supplies. We heard no more of them; each march stretched longer into the heat of day, before we came to water. Once it was so long, Alexander called a halt even in the sun, to let the stragglers catch up. It was by an old stony watercourse, dried up. In last night’s well there had been so little, none was left to carry along. He was sitting on a boulder, in his sun-hat of plaited grass. Ptolemy was by him, I expect asking how he felt, for he looked dreadful, drained and drawn and dripping with sweat. I could see him panting, even from where I was.
Someone said, “Where’s the King?” I pointed; a Macedonian pushed past, followed by two Thracians, one of whom held a helmet upside down. It had water in it, not much, just enough to fill the crown. They must have scooped it from some crevice in the stream-bed, hidden by stones. God be thanked, I thought. I craved for it, but not so much as I craved to see him drink.
The tattooed Thracians shouldered along, guarding their treasure with drawn swords. Savage as they looked with their wild red hair, no troops had been more faithful. He’d had to wean them from bringing him severed heads and asking for a bounty; but they had not touched the water. They put up their weapons and ran to him; the first knelt down, with a grin all across his dusty blue-stained face, and held up the helmet.
Alexander took it. For a moment he looked inside. I don’t think many felt envy, parched though we were. They could see his state for themselves.
He leaned forward, laid a hand on the Thracian’s shoulder, said something in their language, and shook his head. Then he stood up, and, lifting the helmet, poured out the water, as Greeks do when they make libation to a god.
There was a deep hum, all along the column, as word went from man to man. As for me, sitting on a boulder in the empty channel, I put my face in my hands and wept. I expect people thought it was at the waste of water. Presently, finding my tears on my hands, I put out my tongue and licked them.
We no longer camped close to water when we reached it. The crush was too great; men would rush in and muddy it, or bloat themselves and die. It was good that morning. I made him lie on his bed while I sponged him over. He looked like a cheerful corpse. “Al’skander,” I said, “there has never been anyone like you.”
“Oh, that was necessary.” He smiled at me. I saw it would still have been worth the price to him, if it had killed him.
“You needed it just as much,” he said. “You look tired today.”
Perhaps he saw more than I knew myself. For a few nights later, in the hour before dawn, I thought, as if another were speaking for me, “I can go no further.”
After the hours of night, the sand had a little coolness. I stumbled along to a bit of scrub, which would shelter my head when the sun came up. Don’t ask why I wished to spin out my death; it seems the nature of man. To rest was wonderful. I watched the long column dragging past. I did not call, as I had heard those others calling. I could only have said, Forgive me.
I lay there taking my ease, till a glimmer showed in the east. By then I had felt some good from resting, and began to think, What am I doing here? Was I mad? I could have gone on.
I got to my feet, and found the track of the column. For a while I felt almost fresh, and was sure I could catch up. I tipped my water-flask, in case a drop was left, though I knew I’d finished it. The sand was heavy and deep; it stank from the ordure of men and horses, buzzing with flies, which flew from it to drink my sweat. From the crest of a dune I saw the dust far ahead. The sun rose higher. My strength was done.
There was a piece of rock, baked red mud, eaten with weather. While the sun still slanted, it gave a patch of shade. My whole body was dry heat, my feet failed. I crawled there and lay face downward. This is my tomb, I thought. I have failed him. I have earned this death.
All was silent. The shadow began to shrink. I heard a horse’s labored breathing, and thought, Madness comes first. A voice said, “Bagoas.”
I turned over. Hephaistion stood looking down.
His face was white with dust, haggard with weariness. He looked like the dead. I said, “Why have you come for my soul? I did not kill you.” But my throat was too dry to sound. He knelt and gave me water. “Not too much yet. More later.”
“Your water,” I whispered, ashamed. “No, I’ve come from camp,” he said, “I’ve plenty. Get up, we haven’t all day.”
He heaved me to my feet, and onto his horse. “I’ll walk him. He can’t carry two, he’ll die.” I could feel the beast’s bones through the saddlecloth; and it had had the day’s march already. So had he. He dragged it along, hitting it when it stopped. My head was clearer. I said, “You came yourself.”
“I couldn’t have sent a man.” Of course not, at the end of such a march. No one went back for stragglers. If you fell out, you fell out.
From the next dune we plodded up, I saw the growing stuff that fringed a stream, and the dark scatter of the camp. He shared more water between us, then handed me back the flask. “Finish it, it won’t hurt you now.”
Once more I strove for speech. At Susa, I had learned to express thanks gracefully. But all I could bring out was, “Now I understand.”
“Keep up with the column, then,” he said. “And look after him. I can’t, I’ve my work to do.”
Thanks to me, neither one of us had, that morning. The squires had done their best, but before them he always kept a face up. He was concerned for me, feeling my head to see if I had sunstroke. I said of my rescuer what was required by honor. He only answered, “That is Hephaistion; it always has been”; and it was as if he closed again the curtain guarding a shrine. It was my punishment. He had meant none; but I knew its fitness.
It was at the next day’s halt, that the wind came.
We’d had none before, and now it brought no coolness; only sand, and sand, and sand; blowing under the tents, piling against them till each had its sloping sandhill. Grooms with muffled faces ran to muffle the horses’ eyes. It was in our mouths and ears and clothes and hair. It lulled; we slept; and at evening, all shapes were changed, all the landmarks gone, which the scouts had plotted to lead us to next day’s water. The waves of sand had swallowed a dead tree whole.
Our water-hole was nearly silted up. I thought this must truly be the end. At least this time, I thought, I shall be somewhere near him, even though it’s with Hephaistion he will want to die.
I should have known it was not in him, to sit and wait for death. In the Mallian citadel, when he was lying with the arrow in him, he’d killed with his sword an Indian who came up to take his armor. So, now, he held a war council in his tent. “The guides have given up,” he said. “We’ll have to find our own landmark. There’s only one we know which way to bear for, and that’s the sea. We can steer for that by the sun. That’s what we’ll do.”
In the hour before dawn, he set off with thirty horsemen; they had found just so many horses fit for the work. To see their course, they had to go by day. They vanished beyond the dunes, carrying all our lives.
A score returned that night. Alexander had sent them back when he saw their horses failing. He himself had gone on with ten.
At next day’s sunset, red in the sand-haze, we saw them black on the skyline. As they neared, Alexander looked leaner than ever, and the pain-lines were in his face; but he was smiling. We all drank his smile like life.
Five of the ten had fallen b
ehind; with five he had pushed on. They crested a rise; there was the sea, and by the sea what no scouts had found before; green things growing which do not grow in brack. They jumped down and fell to digging, with daggers and bare hands, the thirsty horses nosing at their shoulders. Alexander was the first to strike water; and it was fresh.
The night after that we marched, Alexander leading to guide us. In sight of safety, he allowed himself to ride.
The sea was like polished iron; but it was wet, its mere sight refreshed us. Between it and the reeded dunes, was the strip of green where hidden streams seeped to the ocean.
For five days we followed it, cooled by sea breezes so that we marched by day; digging our wells, and drinking. At evening, we bathed in the sea. It was so delightful, that I forsook all my Persian modesty, and did not even care who saw what a eunuch looks like. We were all like children at play. The guides knew by the green that soon we should reach the road.
Then food began to arrive. The scouts had not died; they had reached the Gedrosian city to the northwest, and from there word had been sent round. The first camel-train came, well laden. It would have given us one spare meal all round, when the march began; now, fair shares made a feast. We were fewer now.
Going by easy stages, we felt strength return; and already faces looked less gaunt, when we came through the passes to the city of Gedrosia.
Here plenty welcomed us; corn and meat and fruit and wine, sent in from Karmania, the pleasant land ahead. We rested, ate and drank; our very skins seemed to drink in health from the green around us. Even Alexander began to gain some flesh, and have blood in his cheeks again. “They look fit now to enjoy themselves a little,” he said, and led us on into Karmania, at strolling-pace.