CHAPTER 63

 

A few moments later, the crowd inside the tent, the guards, servants, concubines, nobles, eunuchs, guests and other curious people who had nothing better to do, along with the Great King where outside the enormous tent, in an area ready for the fight. For what Hephaistion saw, Darius had everything ready, even before knowing his answer. 

 

In other words, he was sure I was going to accept, or I never really have a choice here –thought the General, watching the crowd taking their seats as if they were going to the theater. That bothered him. He couldn’t stand that people treated him as an exotic animal, one that you look with admiration and fear, but always knowing that the creature is still an animal and the viewer is the superior being.

 

- I don’t like that guy, son –said grandfather Demetrios to Hephaistion, his eyes on Kingu at the other side of the improvised arena—I have never seen a man like him.

 

- Me neither, grandpa –said the General, tying bandages on his hands, covering up his arms to the elbow, to avoid that the hilt of the sword would hurt his skin—But if I don’t defeat him; I won’t be able to gather much information. 

 

- Be careful, he is the kind of man that can’t be read, the silent type –said Demetrios frowning—He won’t give anything away, and if he doesn’t boast, then, be sure that he is good. Good warriors don’t boast –Hephaistion nodded— Here –his grandfather gave him his own swords.

 

- What are you doing? –the General didn’t understand.

 

- I won’t let you fight with those pots you call swords, so take mine –Demetrios took his hands and gave him Castor and Pollux, not accepting a “no” for an answer. 

 

It took him a moment to understand what was happening, then, Hephaistion smiled. He had always wanted to use his grandfather’s swords, it was his childhood dream and now it was true. Even if his situation was so difficult and, even if he was about to face the deadliest opponent he had met in his life, he allowed himself that moment of childishness.

 

- Thank you –he said, unable to say more.

 

- Daddy, are you going to fight against that man? –asked Achilles with apprehension, hiding behind Hephaistion’s long legs, while his father tied his breastplate.

 

- Yes, son, I am –Demetrios helped his grandson with the breastplate.

 

- I don’t like him –Achilles frowned, his small hands on the General’s thighs.

 

- Me neither, Aki, but I have no choice –said Hephaistion, watching Kingu with attention.

 

Take up and read the tables of your destiny

they hang around the neck of Kingu

Prepare the war between gods deep inside your soul

You are the one to fight in this war!

(Therion, The Blood of Kingu)

 

Everything was ready. Hephaistion combed his hair in a ponytail, so his hair wouldn’t bother him during the fight; only a few long rebellious strands covered his face on the sides. He carried a sword on his back and the other one on his belt, while he walked towards his opponent as if he were the Great King himself; calmly, without paying attention to anything else than his opponent. His grandfather saw he was using all his training to stay calm and kept his mind clear, he had to, if he wanted to win and not only that, win without suffering major injures.

 

Kingu was the opposite of Dardanos, he never talked, just stayed there, arms crossed over his chest, watching the Macedonian and studying him with those unnerving, almost white, eyes. Hephaistion couldn’t hold his gaze. Kingu had the eyes of a man that had seen too much dead, too much suffering, too much evilness; the eyes of a man who had lost all kind of sensibility, all kind of compassion because he had seen the worst of the mankind and, had spit in the face of the devil many time to still care about life and death. 

 

Hephaistion’s eyes were the complete opposite; his dark gray eyes were warm, they reflected the profound love he felt for Alexander, his were the eyes of a man who had loved too much, care too much because he had experience that rare event known as true love, who had seen the best of the mankind and for whom life was beautiful and precious. He was fighting for his soul mate, his other half, and that made him different not only from his opponent, but from all the people present there. 

 

Darius watched both men with great interest, licking his lips in anticipation of what promised to be a great battle; he loved good fencing battles and considered himself a great swordsman; in fact, he had fought against Kingu once, and of course, the Great King had won. Not even Kingu was bold enough as to insult his divinity defeating him in a humiliating way, besides, since Darius was his admirer, he paid him very handsomely.

 

Yes, I know what you are thinking; I have always thought that Darius would have been very happy in Rome, watching Gladiators’ fights. But since he didn’t knew about Gladiators, the second best thing he did was to call, every now and then, worthy swordsmen and made them fight. The very best of all the swordsmen in Asia was this man: Kingu. I knew this fight was going to be tough, but I had to win and not to be left unconscious for 3 days, like what happened with Dardanos, I didn’t have the time to be lying for days on a bed… 

 

Hephaistion stood ready to attack, his hands on the hilts of the swords but he didn’t drawn them, his gray eyes on his peculiar opponent, waiting for the right moment to strike. He knew he couldn’t attack Kingu without being completely sure of what he was going to do, a blow in vain could be fatal and the slightest mistake would decide this fight. As far as the General could see, Kingu had only one curved sword hanging from his belt, but his inner cricket told him this wasn’t his only weapon.

 

An insect flew and landed on Hephaistion’s fingers, but he didn’t notice, all his senses were focused on the man in front of him.

 

- Why don’t they move? –asked Achilles whispering, since nobody was talking he felt the urge of whispering.

 

- They are waiting –answered grandfather Demetrios, in a low voice.

 

- For what? –insisted the small boy.

 

- For the right moment to attack.

 

And then, when the tension reached its limits, both moved at the same time, releasing all the energy and tension they had been accumulating.

 

Hephaistion drew one of his swords stopping Kingu’s attack, and then he drew his second sword, the one on his back trying to pierce him on the side, but before he could touch his opponent, Kingu kicked him on the stomach, to keep the General away from him and leaving him without air. The Persian drew his curve sword ready to cut his head, but the Macedonian was agile enough to dodge the attack of his opponent, kneeling on the floor. The General heard the hiss of his opponent’s blade over his head, and then, Hephaistion kicked Kingu’s legs, almost knocking him down.

 

They both were very fast, and they both gave an impressive display of fencing, leaving their audience with their mouths open. Grandfather Demetrios kept talking the entire fight, giving instructions to his grandson, but Hephaistion was to concentrate to pay him any attention. The General threw Kingu’s sword away with a strong blow and struck his face with his elbow. The Macedonian took both swords and moved them as propellers in front of him, ready to cut his opponent to pieces, but Kingu rolled on the floor, ducked him and took his sword in time to defend himself.

 

Kingu buried his blade in Hephaistion’s left thigh, making him rest on one knee, and threw 3 small and sharp knives to him; Hephaistion moved his sword in front of him blocking the knives with a precision that made his audience gasp. His grandfather’s swords were amazing; they were light, resistant and so sharp that they appeared to cut the air itself. This has been one of his weak points in his fight against Dardanos, the Hell Hound had broken his swords, but that was a mistake he wouldn’t do twice, not with these swords. Blood was sliding down the Macedonian’s leg, but it wasn’t a deep wound, and he stood up again.  

 

Admirable –thought Darius and Kingu smiled satisfy; he had never before fought a man like the Macedonian. 

 

Hephaistion hit his opponent several times, feeling his wound burn and hurt at every movement, but he forced himself to cast away the pain, and kept attacking and pushing his opponent. But Kingu recovered quickly, and when he fought back he threw the Macedonian on the floor with a criminal force, that made the bones of his back crack. Hephaistion was very pale, but was determined not to lose; he would not lose.

 

I didn’t come here to be humiliated –he thought panting, he spat blood at his side and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand.

 

Hephaistion forced himself to summon all his remaining strength and took his two swords to attack Kingu. His opponent threw several small knives against him, but he blocked all of them with his 2 swords. When Kingu ran to charge against him, he jumped back, rolled on the floor to one side, and taking the Persian by surprise, he cut one of his arms at the elbow. Kingu screamed, the only sound he had made so far, and fell back on the floor among a splash of blood. The Macedonian ran and placed the edge of his swords against his neck. He didn’t want to kill him.

 

The audience cheered and applauded, including the Great King, but the General felt his knees trembling, the pain of this wounded thigh was terrible but it was also a reminder that he was still alive…the only thing he wanted to do now was rest, he didn’t care for rewards or praises, he only wanted to rest.

 

XXX

 

After days in Tarsus, Alexander finally moved his army to rejoin Parmelio. In one day’s march he reached Anchialus a small town where the tomb of Sardanapalus, the legendary last King of Assyrian, was. It was a nice day and since the King wanted to spend some time alone, he walked near the tomb and ran his uneven eyes through the statue of Sardanapalus in the attitude of a man clapping his hands. This King had been the last of a line of 30 Kings, and, according to the legend, he was responsible for the destruction of Assyria. According to the scarce information available, the Medes besieged Sardanapalus in the city of Nineveh. The kingdom of Media had allied itself with the Babylonians and had declared war against the powerful kingdom of Assyria. The siege lasted for two years, and, at the end of that time, the King Sardanapalus set fire to his palace and burned himself, along with his court, to death.

 

Alexander took his uneven eyes to the inscription there, written in Assyrian characters, but he had heard from his guide that it said: “Sardanapalus, son of Anakyndaraxes, built in one day Tarsus and Anchialus. O stranger, eat, drink, and play, for everything else in the life of a man is not worth this”(1)

 

No, there is something else in this world that is worth living and dying for –thought Alexander, feeling the air hitting his skin, playing with the blond locks of his hair—Love is worth everything in the world. 

 

He lifted his head and saw a group of birds flying across the sky. He was surrounded by his army, his guards, he closest officers, so many people that were traveling with him, and yet, he felt so lonely without Hephaistion. He had no one to share his thoughts, to show something that had caught his attention, to talk about everything and nothing, just to be with without saying a word.

 

Alexander sighed. He should be happy, that morning he had received a letter from Ptolemy, he and Asander had defeated Orontobates, who had been holding the acropolis back in Halicarnassus, and they also had won the towns of Myndus, Caunus, Thera, Callipolis, Cos and Triopium; which meant that his adopted mother, Queen Ada was now safe and, that he had again, the control of that zone.

 

And, to make things even better, Philotas wasn’t there. He had giving the hipparch orders to march with the cavalry across the plain of Alea to the river Pyramus, even if he knew that the hetairoi cavalry would hate him for leaving them alone with Philotas.

 

Also, since he was still near the sea, he had enough supplies, there were no signs of an imminent battle against the Persian army and he was feeling completely recovered from his illness. Things were good indeed for him, but the King was extremely worried for his best friend, and that cast a shadow over his happiness. He would never be completely happy without Hephaistion.

 

He kneeled and pulled the grass, hearing the wind whistling and the rumor of the leaves of the trees. Then, he heard steps approaching him.

 

- Sire? –asked Lysanias, behind him.

 

- Did something happen? –asked the King without turning to see him.

 

- I…I want to talk to you about something…if I may, sire –the page was very nervous; he had been wanting to speak with the King since weeks ago, but he didn’t had the opportunity until now.

 

- Of course you can –Alexander stood up and cleaned his hands, watching the grass flying away, dragged by the wind’s force. He turned to see the boy—What do you want to tell me? 

 

Lysanias swallowed and clenched his fists to force himself to stop trembling; he had rehearsed this many times, and now, he had no idea of what to say; and feeling Alexander’s gaze over him didn’t help. 

 

- Sire, I was thinking that, in a few months I’ll be 14 years old, so I…I…wanted…I want to have an erastes –he said, trying his best not to stammer; he always stammered when he was nervous.

 

- Do you have any idea of whom or do you want me to choose one for you? –asked the King, not understanding what exactly was what his page wanted.

 

- I have…I want you to be my erastes, sire –said Lysanias gathering all his courage, and blushing savagely, his eyes on his sandals.

 

Alexander remained as if the page had said nothing, watching him as if this were the first time they met. Now, he started to understand many things about Lysanias behavior, why he was an extremely good page, always eager to please him.

 

- Why do you want me to be your erastes? –the King wanted to know. For someone this could be a foolish question, after all, he was the King, everybody would want to be his eromenos; but Alexander knew this wasn’t the case, that here were something else.

 

- Because I love you –the words left the page’s lips before he could think what he was saying, he had spoke from the bottom of his heart but was unable to look at the King’s face, he was too nervous besides, he couldn’t hold his gaze, not like Hephaistion did.

 

- Lys, I’m honor –said the King after a long and difficult moment of silence; what he said was true, he felt honor to be the object of his page affection, he would never make fun of his feelings, because he took these things very seriously, but…– But you must know that I love your brother –those words hurt Lysanias more than he had imagined—I can not take you as my eromenos because that will dishonor your family and it would be an insult to you –he walked to him and put a hand on the page’s shoulder—You deserve a better erastes.

 

And with that he left Lysanias. The wind blew, making the fabric of the page’s cloth’s dance and the grass to bow at its mercy. But he didn’t cry, he would not cry…

 

XXX

 

- Phai, that was the best fight I have ever seen –said grandfather Demetrios extremely happy and shining with pride.

 

They were back at Hephaistion tent. The General was extremely tired and pale, he had no idea how he had managed to stand on his feet after that fight, listening to Darius’ excited words, he couldn’t remember what had the Great King said, and he didn’t know how he got back here. He was so tired…he would give anything to sleep and eat…or eat and sleep? It didn’t matter. He was sitting on the magnificent chair that grandfather Demetrios had made his own, and Kyros was cleaning his master’s wounds, kneeled in front of him, with a bucket of water and a clothe.

 

- Thank you –the General’s voice trembled, Demetrios thought it was because of his tiredness, but his voice trembled with emotion. He didn’t know how to say to his grandfather how much those words meant to him. Many people had praised his fighting skills, but, to listen from his grandfather’s lips that he, the once called “the Barbarian”, consider his fight the best he had even seen, meant the world for him. 

 

- You are great, daddy! –exclaimed Achilles, jumping, as excited as grandfather Demetrios—You are my hero! You are stronger than Achilles and Herakles!

 

Hephaistion smiled, it was foolish but hearing those words, said with so much innocence and pure admiration, made him felt as if he were indeed the strongest man in the history of the world. 

 

- Can I come in? –asked a man, standing at the threshold.

 

The group turned and saw an old man with a long white beard, richly dressed, carrying a large leather bag. He was Persian but his Greek was perfect.

 

- Who are you? –asked Hephaistion, narrowing his eyes.

 

- My name, commander, is Bahman –said the man in a placid and tranquil voice—I’m a Magus, sent here to treat your wounds by the direct order of the Great King.

 

- Come in, please –Bahman made a slightly bow and approached the Macedonian. The Magus left his bag on a table near to where Hephaistion was sitting and asked Kyros for fresh water and clean clothes.

 

Grandfather Demetrios saw him with distrust but said nothing. Bahman took a small bench, and sat down in front of the Macedonian, taking a look at his wounds, specially the one on his thigh.

 

Alex is going to kill me when he sees this wound –thought Hephaistion, remembering how much his King liked his thighs. 

 

- Your wounds aren’t serious, commander –said Bahman, cleaning his thigh with the clothe, rubbing the redden skin with forced, and making the Macedonian clench his jaw. It hurt—I’m going to apply you an ointment, so the wound won’t leave a scar, and I’ll do the same to your old wound, the one on your side.  

 

- Why? I don’t care about the scars –said Hephaistion, while Achilles saw everything Bahman was doing with great interest, his jaw resting on the chair arm.

 

- But his majesty does care –said the Magus.

 

- Right…

 

Just what I needed –he thought in dismay.

 

- You said you were a Magus, what is a Magus? –asked Hephaistion with curiosity. 

 

- A Magus, is a scholar, part of the group known as the Magi –answered Bahman, sewing the wound—We are men of science, commander. And we also devote our lives to the knowledge of herbs and stones, and their medical uses. We are like your Greek philosophers, and we also teach the Great King’s children. 

 

- Then, I’m honor that a man like you is treating my wounds –said Hephaistion with honesty.

 

Now, that is why he remembers me a lot of Aristotle –thought the Macedonian.

 

- The honor is mine, commander –said the Magus, he was a nice person, the kind that never gets mad and saw everything in the world as fascinating, feeling great respect for everything created. He saw Achilles watching him with curiosity and smiled at the boy—Your son?

 

- Yes.

 

- You look very much alike –observed Bahman—How old are you, young man? –he asked to Achilles.

 

- Three years old –answered the boy who didn’t knew he was already 4.

 

- You look older –Bahman smiled at Achilles— What do you want to be when you grow up?

 

- I want to be a hero –said Achilles without hesitation— I will rescue a princess, like Perseus did with Andromeda, and have my own constellation in the sky.

 

The Magus laughed without noise.

 

- So, you have everything decided, do you know what is a constellation? –he said amused.

 

- Yes, it’s a group of starts and daddy told me a star is a celestial object –said the boy quickly. He had good memory. Usually, Achilles wasn’t so friendly with people he didn’t know, but the Magus was a nice man.

 

Bahman turned to see Hephaistion.

 

- He is a very clever boy, I can tell. 

 

- Thank you –said the proud father.

 

- You know that his majesty’s elder son is a young boy like you? –asked Bahman and Achilles shook his head—Well, young Prince Cyrus is 6 years old. I’m his professor –the Magus covered Hephaistion’s thigh with dressings—Commander, if you want, I can teach your son while you are here. 

 

That offer took the Macedonian by surprise.

 

- I don’t know what to say, I mean, it’s an honor…

 

- It would be my pleasure, I like to teach and this young man seem very promising –said Bahman smiling, mumbling something about a constellation—Children like your son shouldn’t have a lot of free time, or they start learning bad habits, especially in a military camp.

 

- I couldn’t agree more –said Hephaistion with sincerity.

 

My son is going to take lessons with Darius’ son? Wow! –thought the Macedonian.

 

- You speak an excellent Greek –Hephaistion observed.

 

- Thank you commander, I can speak 12 languages –said the Magus, surprising his audience again—I never had the opportunity to learn Macedonian, but I think I should start soon.

 

- Why is that? –asked the Macedonian with interest.

 

- Well, now thanks to King Philip and King Alexander, Macedonia is the Hegemon in Greece, one must always know about the victors and, what better way to start that learning the language? –said the Magus, his gentle smile never left his face.

 

Hephaistion liked Bahman at once. He made the Macedonian remember his own teacher, but not only that, Bahman was a very nice man, like a loving grandfather with infinite patience and full with ancient wisdom, and he, the same as Achilles liked to learn. He would enjoy a lot talking more with this man.

 

XXX

 

Alexander moved his army quickly, at his used speed, and now he was at Myriandrus after passing the Gates two days ago, finally rejoining Parmelio’s troops. He was in a terrible mood. He had asked Eumenes to contact his last remaining spy among the Persians, a man that, until recently, he had thought it was dead, but at end it all appeared to be a misunderstanding.

 

- Any messages from Dolon? –Dolon wasn’t the real name of this man; it was his code name. Alexander had chosen it; Dolon was the name of a spy in the Iliad, a man who had served the Trojan. But sometimes, the King had regretted choosing this name, maybe it was bad luck, after all Dolon had been discovered and killed…

 

That was terrible night, they could heard the thunders at the distance, roaring with monstrous force over their heads. This was his 20th night he spent far from his dearest friend. Two weeks had passed, and the King had no news from his General. What if Darius had seen through his plan? What if Hephaistion was kept in a dungeon? What if they had tortured him? What if he was dead?…He shook his blond head; he had to calm down and hope for the best. The sky appeared to be in harmony with Alexander’s feelings, because it rain with overwhelming force and the thunders crossed the night sky bringing fear into the hearts of men.

 

- No, Alexander no news so far –said Eumenes, he didn’t like Hephaistion, but he definitely didn’t like the King without his dearest friend.   

 

That lad is going to be the ruin of us all –thought the secretary, not daring to imagine what would happen if the General died.

 

The King nodded and the secretary left him, Eumenes didn’t want to stay outside in, what promise to be the mother of all the storms. Alexander ran his hands through his hair and puffed out, he had to do something because the wait was killing him, but he still hadn’t thought what he could do. He cursed.

 

XXX

 

(1) Arrian. The Campaigns of Alexander, p 108