Chapter 168

 

CHAPTER 168

 

I feel my world shake

Like an earthquake

Hard to see clear

Is it me? Is it fear?

I'm madly in anger with you

and I need my anger not to control

yeah, and I want my anger to be me

and I need to set my anger free

SET IT FREE!

(Metallica, St. Anger)

 

Alexander’s mood could hardly be worse during that banquet, and he easily lay the blame on that morning’s news. Spitamenes had become his constant headache, an ever-present nuisance, and the myriad of letters and messages all baring the same: the rebel won this, the rebel attacked that, the rebel took possession of, the rebel defeated this or that officer; were threatening to drive him crazy. Why was so difficult to end with him? The King’s first mistake had been to underestimate his opponent, that much was obvious, he thought Spitamenes would be like Bessus, his bad, he knew it and this also had him mad. He hated to be proven wrong.  

 

In what moment did I think to send Phai away? –he chided himself, paying no attention to the lively music resounding against the tall walls of the hall. The empty seat at his side was a sad reminder that his beloved was far away and he had no one to share his problems and most intimate thoughts.

 

A King had to be strong, infallible and wise, almost like a God, then, with whom could he possible talk about his problems? With whom could he cease to be a King to be a man? With whom could he share his concerns regarding the conflict between the Macedonian officers and the Persian nobles?… With Leonnatos? Would he understand how much it affected the young conqueror of 28 years old the daily reports of fights, brawls, bad words and frowns between his most veteran officers and the Persian nobles who accompanied him everywhere? Would Perdikkas or Ptolemy, who had just come back a week ago, understand? 

 

Certainly not.

 

For a long time now the King knew that many of his men did not approve his inclination to Persian customs or his treatment towards Asian nobles. It was something very simple but Alexander could not, or did not want, to understand that for most of the Macedonians his behavior was inconceivable. Why should they treat the conquered as equals if they were their slaves?! 

 

The King’s soldiers and Greek mercenaries had heard all their lives that Persians, and all the people who inhabited Asia, were nothing more than barbarians. Aristotle himself had taught this to Alexander and his companions when they were young men at Mieza, saying that barbarians were the same as animals. Isocrates, in his speeches in favor of a Greek war against Persia, had supported what many said about the barbarians, that they were unable to reason, that they were cowards, effeminate, luxurious, cruel, beasts that lived to satiate their appetites and absolutely unable to govern themselves.

 

Why, then, their King treated the Persian nobles in the same way he treated his Macedonian barons? Why did their King disgrace himself dressing like a barbarian? Achilles understood perfectly well the malcontent, not because he shared the men’s opinions, but because he knew it was impossible to change how men like this viewed the Persians in one military campaign. It would take years to achieve something like this, if that was what the King wanted, but truth be told the young Prince had no idea of what his adopted father really wanted.

 

Whatever the reason, the point was that Alexander was not in the mood to have his orders questioned, as Kyros had said, he was a control freak and hated when things did not turn out in the way he wanted…especially now when so many things were slipping away from his control.

 

Phai would understand, he always understands, without words, without anything… –he thought, looking at his guests and feeling everything but calm— With Phai among my somatophylakes I feel safe, but now…

 

The last night he was haunted again by the same nightmare that did not let his rest since more than a week ago. It was always the same, always! But he was unable to understand the meaning, was he in danger? Were the Gods trying to warn him? Every night the young conqueror saw Parmelio standing on the edge of a precipice. Everything was dark, no lights, no moon or stars in the sky, but somehow he could clearly see the old General’s face. In his dream Parmelio looked directly at him, holding his gaze, and smiled sadly, his lips moved but Alexander was unable to make out his words and before he could move closer or to ask something he woke up.

 

For nights he had had always the same dream, and at the end he could never hear what Parmelio was trying to tell him, so, a week later he had decided to ask Aristander about the meaning of this but the seer had gone pale and begged for time to fully understand the meaning of these strange nightmares. The King was sure something bad was going to happen to him, he could feel it.

 

Alexander was not a coward, people could accuse him of many things but not of this, nevertheless Philotas’ affair was still fresh in his mind: the treason, the plot to assassinate him. Every malcontent was easily seen as a potential conspirator and he went as far as to think that someone, among his officers, was truly planning to kill him. He was becoming paranoid, maybe not without reason, but this was starting change the way in which he treated the men near him. 

 

And Hephaistion was not there…

 

That night, during the lavishing banquet, held in the luxurious halls at the palace of Maracanda, one look was enough to testify that the King was in a foul mood, almost as if a dark cloud were parked over his head, with thunders, lightings and rain. Why, then, was there a banquet if the Great King was not in the mood to celebrate? Because Alexander had decided to name Kleitos son of Dropides, called Melas, as governor of Bactria, that was why. Artabazus was too old to hold this position and the King had granted his wish to retire.

 

Artabazus…Since he received the letter from the old satrap he thought again in someone he had almost forgotten: Barsine. How old was his son? Surprised he realized that Herakles should be around 4 or 5 years old. Had it been truly so long since the last time he saw her? Time flew, there was no doubt. It was curious but Alexander never felt the urge to meet his son, what kind of boy he was or something as simple as how did he look like.  

 

It is better this way –thought the King, with no trace of doubt in him.

 

He did not want to complicate Achilles’ life when his time came to sit on the throne he had forged with blood and steal, with the sweat and suffering of years of campaign. The Gods knew it had been difficult for his adopted son to be accepted by the most conservative factions of the army and Alexander did not wanted to give his most stubborn nobles any pretext to attack Achilles’ rightful claimed to be crowned King.

 

Alexander knew how difficult was to fight for a throne when you had competition, King Philip had been very closed to disown him and to name his baby son Caranus, and, if it hadn’t been for Hephaistion, who had sacrificed himself, becoming his father’s lover in order to keep him as the crowned Prince, maybe his story would have been very different.  

 

Achilles would not suffer this. Very few knew he had a bastard son named Herakles, only his most intimate friends and closest men, and Alexander planned to keep things like this. For him, his true son was, and would always be, Achilles. 

 

But this did not mean that he mistreated Barsine, on the contrary, last time he checked she still lived peacefully at Pergamum, like the noble woman she was, and her father had been always treated with the utmost respect in his court. The King was really grateful that Artabazus had never mentioned Herakles or that never attempted to ask him to recognize his son. He appreciated that, it had saved them both from a very uncomfortable discussion.

 

With the old satrap gone Alexander needed to find someone to replace him and the first person that came into his mind was his hipparch; after all, this way, Berenike could finally stop being a camp follower and have a good life as the respected wife of a satrap in the luxury of the city of Zariaspa. Hephaistion would be pleased, although he was not sure if Kleitos was. It was hard to know if the brother of his dear nurse Lanike was pleased or angry with his new appointment, but one thing was clear enough, he was not jumping and thanking Alexander with happy tears in this eyes. He had been rather serious when the King gave him the news.

 

A servant filled again Alexander’s cup. The King turned to his right and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. Achilles was at the banquet too. The Prince was dressed in a linen chiton, blue like the twilight sky, that made his cerulean eye look brighter and his amber eye look darker. He was on a couch all for himself, hearing the adults’ conversation but abstaining himself from taking part in it.

 

It may be not a place for such a young man, but the Prince had insisted to attend, it was in honor to his dear mentor and he had convinced the King that he was old enough to stay. Now Alexander sincerely smiled remembering what had happened earlier…

 

—You were only 2 years older than me when you killed your first man –had said the Prince with determination that afternoon—I am not a child anymore.

 

— You would stop being a child the day I see the head of your first man –had been the King’s answer but Achilles’ eyes were full of determination. Hephaistion had thought in 1 or 2 years his son would be taller than the King, but it had taken him just 8 months to be as tall as him. 

 

—Fine –said the Prince, taking Alexander’s sword from the table and heading to the door.

 

—What do you think you are doing? –asked the King.

 

— Killing my first man if that is what it takes for you to treat me like a man –Achilles was dead serious but Alexander burst out laughing.

 

For someone who had been in such a bad mood, to laugh was a great relief and, at the end, he allowed his Prince to join them, something that would not have made Hephaistion happy but he was too far away to complain. And so here was Achilles, happily feeling like an adult, sitting in a privilege position between his adopted father and his dear mentor. Kleitos was, not too far or too close of him, surrounded by his friends and companions, eating, drinking and joking in such a loud voice, that the walls appeared to tremble every time they laugh.

 

A new melody started to play and the King’s mood improved a little when he saw that Bagoas was about to dance. During those months Alexander had found out that his eunuch was not only a great housekeeper, he could also dance, and truth to be told, he was extremely good at it. Achilles was especially interested in the eunuch’s performance and straightened himself on his couch to have a better look, the same as many of the guests.

 

XXX

 

—Who is that? –asked Perdikkas, pointing at Bagoas with his chin, raising his voice to be heard above the music.

 

—I don’t remember seeing him before –said Ptolemy with Thais, was as always, at his side—And trust me, I would remember a face like that.

 

—She is Alexander’s eunuch –Leonnatos explained, with the same sour expression of someone who had sucked a lemon. He had always disliked eunuchs, since he was not much older than Achilles, and he failed to see what they had of attractive. How could a mutilated man being pretty? He felt sick just thinking about it and did not consider that eunuchs were men, they were low creatures, reason why he always talked about them as females.   

 

So curious –thought Thais, curling one long lock of blond-orange hair around her finger—Between Leonnatos and Kleitos one may think that Leonnatos is more understanding and tolerant, but he is even more conservative and closed-minded than the hipparch. Especially regarding women…

 

—Alexander has a eunuch? –asked the hetaira, casting aside her thoughts—I had no idea. I thought he never took another lover besides of Hephaistion.

 

—She was a gift from Nabarzanes –said Leonnatos, taking a piece of meat from his plate.

 

—Who is Nabarzanes? –asked Perdikkas.

 

—“Who is Nabarzanes?” Are you an idiot? The one who murdered Darius along with Bessus –said Ptolemy laughing.

 

—I’m sorry, but all these Persians have strange names –the taxiarch shook his head—Nabarzanes, Spitamenes…What kind of name is “Spitamenes” anyway? It sounds like “Spittle” –that made his friends laughed, even Thais.  

 

The hetaira took a moment to watch Bagoas, his graceful and fluid movements and how he appeared to float in the music, almost as if he did not have weight, like a feather at the wind’s mercy.

 

—He is pretty good –said Thais, at her 25 years old she was a striking woman, no one could say that the rough life of the military camp had diminished her beauty, but she certainly was not the same girl that had left Athens years ago. She had matured and was also a tougher women—And good looking. Has Alexander bedded him?

 

—Honestly I don’t know –Leonnatos shook his head, since he was the only one who had stayed at Alexander’s side, it was in his hands to keep his friends informed of what had happened during their absence.

 

—You are a terrible gossiper –Ptolemy scolded him—But I’m sure he has. I mean, Phai has been away for… How long? 7 or 9 months, right? Alexander would be an idiot if he hasn’t bedded that piece of meat.

 

Were you wondering how was that this rumor about Alexander “loving” Bagoas had started? Now you can have an idea. As Ptolemy said it was unthinkable for the men that their King could have at his side a beautiful eunuch just as Bagoas was, without bedding him every night. So, they all got their own ideas regarding this matter. 

 

—I do not know if Alexander had slept with her but I know that others had tried to –said Leonnatos, picking their curiosity—Meleager, for example, told me he tried to bed her but the eunuch refused.

 

—Why? –asked Perdikkas with interested. He hated to waste an opportunity to tease Meleager. 

 

—The eunuch said she is not a common whore, and that she would only sleep with a King –his friends laughed again. 

 

—Who would have thought the eunuch was so arrogant? –said Ptolemy, chuckling.

 

—They say she slept with Darius –Leonnatos shrugged.

 

—By the way, what happened to your father, Thais? –asked Perdikkas.

 

—He was left to garrison Babylon, and he is doing great –answered the hetaira smiling. A couple of days ago she had received a letter from Lykaon, he was well and happy having such a post at a wonderful city. Thais was happy for him but she missed her father, she had hopped Alexander would go back to Babylon soon but now…Now she wasn’t too sure. 

 

XXX

 

When Bagoas’ performance ended he was rewarded with applauses, whistles, lustful glances and rude compliments, a man even spanked him when he walked near him but the eunuch left with dignity ignoring this. He was pretty popular among the Macedonian soldiers for reasons he was incapable to understand, but he did not like it, especially when they spank him or tried to kiss him.

 

The eunuch left the hall with his head held high, thinking with naivety perhaps that the Macedonians would respect him more if the King took his as his lover. He would have to work harder in this, at least Alexander had liked his performance, he could tell by the look in his uneven eyes...even if it was not the look he had expected to see. 

 

Then it was the turn of a Greek singer who entertained them with a very malicious, and witty, song lampooning the Macedonian officers who had been recently defeated by Spitamenes. His song made many laugh to tears, especially the younger officers, but the older ones, including Kleitos and his friends, were one step of wringing his neck for making fun of their companions’ disgrace.

 

Why did the King allow this? The answer escaped them.

 

It was late at night when the Greek ended his song, but Achilles did not fall asleep this time, as he had done during the banquet held in his honor during his seventh birthday, and watched with all his attention and eyes wide opened the beautiful and scarcely dressed women attending the King’s guests. It was a big and important party and everything was exquisite, from the food to the wine to the serving girls and boys.

 

At the other side of the hall Achilles caught a glance of Chrysaor, who had attended the banquet, for his utterly delight, to protect the Prince, or so he claimed. 

 

Achilles smiled. He knew perfectly well that anyone could kill him, cut his head and dance around his corpse right there and Chrysaor would do nothing to prevent it; he was too busy with the most voluptuous woman the Prince had ever seen. For a moment Achilles had no idea of what was his bodyguard doing, then he realized why the woman was jumping like that over his lap and he blushed, turning his head.

 

How he wished that his friend Cyrus had come with him to the banquet, but the Persian had refused. Cyrus, now 12 years old, had been very weird lately and Achilles hoped he was not unwell; maybe he should visit him as soon as the banquet ended. But soon, his thoughts left his friend and the Prince’s attention was caught by a brunette girl of no more than 15 years old; a beautiful creature of long curl hair, walking directly to him. He watched, almost in slow motion, how she bent to the front to serve him a cup of heavily watered wine. He was only allowed to have 3 cups and this was his second.

 

The girl noticed where were the Prince’s eyes and bent over even more so he could have an excellent view of her generous breasts. Achilles felt his face burning and his heart beating faster and the girl smiled sweetly, showing perfect teeth.

 

—Do you like me, your highness? –asked the girl, shyly lowering her long and dark eyelashes and the Prince only nodded stupidly.

 

She left the jar of wine on the floor and took one of Achilles’ hands, guiding it to her breasts. The Prince opened his eyes big and round, like an owl, feeling like a living teapot, as if smoke were coming out from his ears. He was no longer that naïve boy of 5 years old who had entered into his fathers’ room in the middle of their love making with no idea of what were they doing, he knew more things than a boy of that age should but he had no idea of what to do now; how could he? One moment he was only admiring a beautiful girl and now his hand was resting over that warm softness.

 

 What now? –thought the Prince, feeling as helpless as a mouse in the claws of a cat, and for a long moment he just remained there, with his hand trapped, his face burning and completely lost. 

 

XXX

 

—Satrap of Bactria –said one of Kleitos’ friends, whistling—I must say, is an honor, who would have thought that an old bastard like you would rise so high?

 

His friend laughed but the hipparch only smiled without humor. Yes, it was indeed an honor but he felt more like a condemned man in those moments. Satrap of Bactria, the words were like a stone inside his stomach…

 

—Satrap of Bactria?! –had exclaimed Berenike in shock when she heard the news a day before. She was not happy, the same as him, more like confused and disappointed and wishing with all her forces that this were only a joke—Why?

 

—Because Alexander says so and he is the King –said her husband in a bad mood, pacing around their bedroom.

 

—But…but, I thought that…This means we are not going back home –said Berenike, taking a seat on the bed. She had always imagined that, when the time came, they would go back to Pella and she would be again with her mother, Cadie and her friend Thessalonike. But this?—Can’t you refuse?

 

Kleitos puffed and stopped.

 

—No, I can’t! –he was angry but this was not Berenike’s fault. He took a moment to choose his words and to calm down—Listen Eni, this doesn’t make me happier than you, I don’t like this place and the last thing I want is to rot here. I want to go home, the same as you, but I can’t refuse…at least, not now.

 

—Why not? I’m sure that if you talk to Alex…

 

—He would be offended because he is granting me a great honor and I’m refusing –he answered—This is not that simple…

 

Berenike pouted.

 

Fuck the honor! And fuck Bactria! –said Kleitos to himself, when the laugh of one of his friends took him out of his thoughts.

 

It did not took long for the hipparch, of one half of the hetairoi cavalry, to see that his friends were laughing to tears watching what was happening between his young student and the brunette. He smiled, recovering his good mood in an instant, and started to whistle like a wolf, shouting all kind of encouragement that only served to embarrass the Prince even more and to make his friends laughed out loud.

 

—I bet you the girl thinks he is 14 or something –said one of the hipparch’s companions, smiling with an almost naked woman at his side—These whores! She must think this is her lucky day if she beds the Crown Prince.

 

—Good luck with that! –exclaimed another one, raising his cup—She would be one hell of a whore if she manages to arouse a boy of…How old is the Prince?

 

—He is not that young, he is 12.

 

—10 –Kleitos corrected them and up went the group’s eyebrows. The Prince looked older– Achilles! Do you want me also to teach you how to mount a girl? –he shouted. His friends celebrated his joke and Achilles blushed so intently that he matched the red of his couch.

 

—…after me nobody would remember my father’s name –Alexander’s voice floated to them, over the laughs, and the group fell silent, paying attention to what was their sovereign saying—Take the battle of Chaeronea for example –the King kept talking— Who was the one who defeated the Sacred Band of Thebes? It was I! And I was only 18 at that time. I doubt that we could have won that battle without me, and it was only due my father’s envy and ill-will that I was never recognized as the true victor.

 

At first, the group did not understand what was he saying, for a moment they even considered the possibility that Alexander was joking, but there was something in his voice that told them the King was serious.

 

So, now we won at Chaeronea because our Prince was already a brilliant conqueror at the age of 18 and King Philip was nothing more than an illiterate brute? –thought Kleitos clenching his jaw, and the indignation on his face was matched by that burning anger inside the men around him, men who had fought all their lives at King Philip’s side, who had witnessed how the late King had transformed their kingdom into a powerful force worth fearing—Where would Alexander be if King Philip hadn’t created first a professional Macedonian army?

 

—Do you remember that time when a fight started between the Macedonian soldiers and the Greek mercs? –Alexander said, not bothering to lower his voice—My father had fallen because of a wound and was laying helplessly on the ground until I came to protect him –he smiled with lazy arrogance—I saved his life but my father was so stubborn that he never admitted that he owned his life to his son! (1) And the Gods know he owned me more than that! –he drank again from his cup—I have surpassed him, and not only him, but all Macedonian Kings before him.

 

Kleitos raised one eyebrow and exchange a glance with his friends.

 

No kidding! –thought the hipparch in shock.

 

—Sire, there is no man who can claim to be your equal, we all know that. Your deeds can’t be compared even to those of Herakles –said one man, eager to please his King—And I say this with sincerity, it is a shame that only envy deprive the living of due honor from their friends. (2)

 

—No man has ever achieved what you have done, sire –said one man sitting near to the King, and several voices joined him to acclaim their sovereign.

 

—Of course not! –exclaimed a very tipsy Alexander as if this were as obvious as the fact that the sky was blue—I have defeated armies 10 times the size of mine –he exaggerated while a servant filled his cup again—And I have proved more than once that the, so-called inexpugnable cities, are nothing more than whores opening for me –many voices rose in agreement—In years to come people will still talk about me and my victories, generations of future Generals and conquerors would pale in comparison to me…

 

The King took another gulp of wine, while Kleitos’ eye started to twitch.

 

—There is no one who can claim to have achieved what I have done, and if it hadn’t been because of me this army would be still rotting under the sun of Pella or wasting time in Cilicia –Alexander laughed without noise—If my father had lived he would have settled just with the territories from Cilicia to Sinope. He never saw beyond his nose! By Zeus! My own men did not believe they could achieve greatness. How many times did I have to hear them complaining like old women? Eh? And Parmelio was the worst of all, saying it was impossible to take Tyre, impossible to take Gaza, impossible to defeat Darius at Gaugamela. I piss on the impossible!

 

More voices agreed with him and Kleitos felt as if someone were pulling all his hair at once. Perdikkas, Leonnatos, Ptolemy and Thais had fell silent when Alexander started declaiming his many exploits, the hetaira had even laughed discretely, thinking that he was too drunk to actually meant what was he saying. Perdikkas and Leonnatos did not pay especial attention to his words and kept eating, but Ptolemy was serious. He, the same as Achilles, who had managed to recover his hand and was alone again on his couch, watched Kleitos’ face closely.

 

Many few times the hipparch had been this angry, but somehow, he managed to keep his exterior calm, and reclined again on his couch, turning to his friends and companions.

 

—So, now we resort to blasphemous talk to indulge the King? –he asked in his booming voice so everyone was able to hear him—It is intolerable to offer such an insult to divine beings –now he had the attention of Alexander and the group surrounding him. The hipparch turned to look at his sovereign’s sycophants—And I would not stay here doing nothing hearing how you snakes pay Alexander a compliment at the expense of the mighty ones. In any case, you are grossly exaggerating the marvelous nature of Alexander’s earthly achievements –he sat upright so everyone could see him—None of them are his personal triumphs! He speaks as if he had defeated the Persian armies barehanded! On the contrary, most of his victories were the work of the Macedonians as a whole. (3)

 

—Your words pained me, Kleitos –answered the King, the smiled had abandoned his face and saw his hipparch in the same way medusa should have seen her enemies. Kleitos snorted. 

 

—You don’t like the truth? 

 

—What truth? The truth that I have achieved more than my father ever dared to even imagine? –Alexander shouted back, and he knew how to shout, it was the first requisite for the job of commander: to have a booming voice—What my father did was quite common and ordinary compared to my deeds.

 

—You would be nothing if it weren’t for your father –roared Kleitos, another one who knew how to be heard at distance. Every word that left Alexander’s mouth only served to kindle the fire inside him, increasing his anger and indignation—King Philip created this army, it is thanks to him that you are where you are now, and just because of this, all your father’s victories count more than yours. You would have achieved nothing if it weren’t for your father and his officers.

 

Kleitos could see some frowning and others smiling or nodding, silently supporting him.

 

—Parmelio was the best General I have ever known –he continued— And it was thanks to his experience that the Persians did not send your sorry ass back home after the first battle. It was Parmelio with your father’s veterans, men King Philip trained, that you are here now, boasting about how great you are –now he had Perdikkas’ and Leonnatos’ complete attention— A commander is nothing without an army and this army existed long before you were born, winning battles when you were still sucking from your mother’s tits.

 

Many voices rose at the same time, some supporting the hipparch, others cursing him; younger soldiers shouting to the veteran ones, hardcore Macedonian nationalist against the most liberal ones, and those who did not know what was happening but still join the commotion, too drunk and too eager to start a fight. The King said something but Kleitos was unable to hear him over the uproar.

 

Achilles, at the right side of Alexander, felt as if he had gone deaf for a moment. The Prince saw how both, his adopted father and his teacher, moved their mouths to say something but he was unable to make out the words. All the tension that had been accumulated during those months of inactivity in Maracanda, after the defeats at the hands of Spitamenes’ men, the resentment some men feel against their King who consorted and dressed like a barbarian. Everything! Exploded in a moment. 

 

—…You invited a Greek to make fun of brave Macedonian soldiers! –Kleitos’ strong voice silenced the rest. He was now on his feet, pointing at the King with an expression that gave Achilles the creeps—It is despicable “to insult Macedonians who are far better men than those who laugh at them, even though they had met with misfortune” (4)

 

—“To call cowardice ‘misfortune’ sounds like special pleading” (5) –answered the King, looking as scary as his hipparch, his uneven eyes shining with anger. He was still sitting but straight and rigid, reminding Leonnatos the magnificent statue of Zeus at Olympia.

 

Many voices rose in protest but no one was louder and stronger than Kleitos’, he could hardly believe what his King was saying, it was utterly nonsense! Had Alexander lost his mind?

 

—Then, I suppose “it was my cowardice, as you call it, that saved your life at the Granicus” –the hipparch shouted, beyond fury and indignation. It had been years since that and the mentioned of that episode far from touching Alexander, it annoyed him—“It is by the blood of the Macedonians, and these wounds of ours” –he hit his chest—“That you have risen so high” You even disowned Philip, claiming that now Zeus-Ammon is your father. (6) And as if that weren’t enough, you even murdered your father’s best Generals, Parmelio and Attalus, men who did nothing more than to serve King Philip faithfully to the end –a little voice inside Kleitos told him he was going too far, that he should close his mouth, but the rage inside him was stronger and the wine did not let him restrain his tongue.

 

If Alexander was angry when this started now he was furious, a rain of fire would be less frightening than his expression in that moment. Attalus…How did Kleitos dare to even pronounce that name in front him? Men who had done nothing more than to serve his father? Attalus was a snake! His enemy! He tried to convince King Philip to disown him. Him! His oldest son and the one who had covered his father in glory with his victory at Chaeronea. How could Kleitos defend him? And what about Parmelio? He was conspiring to kill him along with his son! And now they were presented like the perfect Macedonians, brave and faithful, as if they had been martyrs instead of treacherous rats. 

 

—“That is how you talk about me the whole time, isn’t it?” This is what it is causing all this bad blood between Macedonians –said Alexander, the vein on his forehead popping out—You are to defend men whose guilt was proven; don’t you dare to think even for a moment that you are getting away with this. (7)

 

—To get away with it? –Kleitos snorted, he had to stop, to close his mouth and leave the hall, but it was too late now— With what? “We don’t get away with it, even now. What rewards have we for our labors? Those who died are the luckiest they never lived to see Macedonians thrashed with Median rods, or kow-towing to Persians before they could have an audience of their own King. (8)

 

—How dare you to speak to me like that?! –the King’s voice raised the hair of Perdikkas’ nape. If he were in the hipparch’s place, he would probably been crying now, nobody can say that Kleitos did not have balls.

 

—I’ll say whatever I want openly, or didn’t you invite to dine men who are free and spoke their minds? –Kleitos barked—But you don’t like this, do you? You don’t like to be told the truth; and you would rather consort with slaves and barbarians, creatures who would prostrate themselves before your white robe and Persian sash. (8)

 

XXX

 

—I don’t like this –whispered Thais, watching the King as angry as she had never seen him before. She was sure that, even if Alexander had been sober, he would have been unable to control himself.

 

—Me neither –muttered Ptolemy, tensed at her side like the cord of a bow, his eyes one moment on Alexander and then on Kleitos.

 

—I think someone has to do something and quickly –said Perdikkas, anxiously looking around the room. Leonnatos nodded sharing his thoughts when he caught the glint of Alexander’s sword, resting alone at one side of the couch.

 

He considered what to do. Was it a good idea to leave the weapon there? Alexander looked ready to kill, and he could very well skewer Kleitos like a pig, and what if the hipparch died? A little high-pitched evil voice inside him said that, if Kleitos died, he could go back with Berenike. He just needed to leave the sword there, and who would blame him later? He could always claim that he never saw the weapon, too drunk to notice.

 

The temptation was too great. He bit his thumb looking at the sword, but it appeared to talk to him saying: “ignore me”. Leonnatos shook his head.

 

This is not honorable –he thought, and, at the end, he stood up and hid the sword, under his own couch. He wanted to do things in the right way, and would not be responsible for Kleitos’ death or would never be able to face Berenike again. He would win his wife back, but not like this, one thing was to kill the hipparch on a duel another completely different to stay doing nothing while he was slaughtered. 

 

And Leonnatos congratulated himself when he saw that an enraged Alexander started to look around for his sword. When the King did not find it, then he took the closets thing to him, an apple, and threw him in the hipparch’s direction. He missed and when Kleitos laughed it was good-bye to sanity and welcome to killer rage. The King stood up, like a wild beast, seeing all red around him, and strode to his hipparch, with all the intentions of killing him with his bare hands.

 

Ptolemy and Perdikkas reacted then. In a second they went from being spectators of that drama to actors. They jumped to restrain their King, not without difficulty, taking him by the waist before he could do as much as to raise his arm.

 

Alexander felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

 

—Guards! –he shouted. Everything had happened very quickly, his sword was no-where to be found, his guards did not answer to his call and his friends restrained him like a vulgar criminal when they should be attacking Kleitos. He looked around and felt dizzy, alone, exposed, in danger, and he seriously started to think there was a plot against his life. He had been sure of it for so long but, why hadn’t he done something before?—“What? Have I nothing left of loyalty but the name?” –he shouted when his guards did not come— “Am I to be like Darius, dragged in chains by Bessus and his cronies?!”(9) Sound the alarm! Call the men to come here in arms!

 

Achilles watched everything with eyes wide opened, not knowing what to do in that confusion of shouts and men, every single person in that hall appeared to talk at the same time. The girls shouted in high-pitched screams and left the place, and he could see the brunette who had let him touch her breasts running to the closest exit. The servants were all gone, vanish when the trouble started, and the Persian nobles stayed behind, so silent and immobile as if they were statutes.

 

The Prince was lost, stunned, he did not know where to turn or what to do. He was right in the middle of the two men, closer to Alexander than to his mentor, so close that Ptolemy had struck his couch when he had ran to restrain the King before he could punch the hipparch. What was he suppose to do? Achilles never knew in what moment he stood up, but soon he was on his feet.

 

Seleucus and Chrysaor arrived at his side at the same time, but it was the officer who reacted first, taking his arm with force and shaking him until the Prince turned to see him. Seleucus was saying something but Achilles could not hear, the only thing he could hear were his adopted father’s shouts calling the guard, and Kleitos cursing in most vulgar Macedonian. 

 

When the Prince did not move Seleucus pulled him. They were too close to Alexander and the officer feared Achilles could get hurt, he could tell that something bad was about to happen, he had the same feeling he experienced that night at Persepolis when the King burned the palace complex.

 

So far, Seleucus had been pretty busy with his slave, Laios, who now was 15 years old, and a young woman of 17, until the moment in which it became impossible to ignore the discussion between the King and the hipparch, in other words, when they started to shout at the top of their voices. Things were starting to get out of control and his first concern had been to take Achilles out of the hall.

 

Laios arrived at his master’s side, scared, pale and confused, and the officer lifted his head until his unnerving eyes settled on Chrysaor, who was just standing there and watching the boy as if waiting for his instructions.

 

—You! –Seleucus shouted to the bodyguard who gave a start—Help me to take the Prince to his bedroom.

 

The bodyguard woke up and nodded, helping his superior to open a path among that mass of humanity that had gathered around the King. The officer had to drag the Prince, he was like a sleepwalker, but Seleucus could hardly blame him. Even he felt overwhelmed with all the things happening in that hall. The best was to leave this place as soon as possible and pray to the Gods to solve this mess. 

 

XXX

 

—Alexander please, you can solve this matter tomorrow when both of you are calm…and sober –asked Perdikkas, but the King did not hear.

 

—Take Kleitos out of here! –shouted Ptolemy with difficulty, it would been easier to restrain a bull than to hold Alexander. Ptolemy’s words were not necessary, in the same moment he spoke, the hipparch’s companions were already dragging him out the hall.

 

Many things happened in an instant as brief as the life of a moth. Kleitos released himself from his companions, still shouting and, at the top of his voice, he quoted for the King a line from Euripides: “Alas what evil government in Hellas!” and that was like pushing the bottom of self-destruction inside Alexander.

 

The King hit Perdikkas’ face with his elbow, breaking his nose, and making his friend loosed his grip. The taxiarch took both hands to his blooded face, and making it impossible for Ptolemy to restrain Alexander alone, and Ptolemy could do nothing more than shout while the King ran away, in the direction of one of his guards, a man who was so confused that he would be unable to tell his name in that moment.

 

Achilles saw everything before his group could reach the exit. How Alexander seized the guard’s spear before the man could do as much as to think “what the…?” and ran in Kleitos’ direction. Seleucus pulled the Prince, to force him to keep walking but Achilles’ feet appeared to be as heavy as if he were using lead shoes and he did not move.

 

He saw the hipparch heading to the opposite door, walking alone even if his friends were still near him; but he never reached it. Everything was so quickly and yet it appeared to move in slow motion before the uneven eyes of the Prince. Kleitos turned when he saw Alexander running in his direction, but he had no time to do something, he did not move, did not fight, did nothing more than turn and stayed where he was, and, in that moment, his King pierced his heart using the spear with alarming ease, killing him in the same amount of time it took Achilles to blink. 

 

—“Now go and join Philip, Parmelio and Attalos!” (10) –shouted the King, his mind clouded by a burning rage that had found its release in the blood that slid through Kleitos’ chest.

 

XXX

 

(1) Curtius. Book 8 # 1 19 to 52

(2) and (3) Arrian. The Campaigns of Alexander, p 214  

(4) (5) (6) Peter Green. Alexander of Macedon, p 362

(7) (8) Peter Green. Alexander of Macedon, p 362-363

(9) Arrian. The Campaigns of Alexander, p 215

(10) Curtius. Book 8 # 1 19 to 52