CHAPTER 86

 

Between Kaeso Fabius Dorso and Titus Maccius Plautus

212 BC Rome

 

“I think I must have felt as men felt in the presence of Alexander the Great” said Kaeso.

 

Plautus gave him a sardonic look. “Madly in love with the fellow, you mean?”

 

Kaeso smiled crookedly “What an absurd idea!”

 

“Is so absurd?” said Plautus “Alexander’s men were all in love with him, and why not? They say there was never a man more beautiful or more full of fire –a divine fire, a spark from the gods. And Alexander loved at least one of them in return, his lifelong companion Hephaestion. They say he went mad with heartbreak after Hephaestion died and rushed to join his beloved in Hades. Who’s to say you couldn’t be Hephaestion to Scipio’s Alexander?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous! Hephaestion was Alexander’s equal as an athlete and a warrior, for one thing. Besides, Greeks are Greeks and Romans are Romans”(1)

 

-o-o-o-

 

The ship arrived at Croton 4 days after leaving Carthage for Hephaistion utterly delight. His trip to Italian coasts was very different from his first trip from Gaza; he was no longer confined in a small room, he could come and go at will, talk with the crew and spent sometime on the deck, which was a relief for him because the breeze helped him a lot with his seasickness, making him feel much better. 

 

He had an habit now of touching the locket, that Alexander had given him years ago, every time he felt sad or alone…Hanon’s men had tried to take it away from him, but he had fought like a wild cat and, at the end, the Carthaginian had decided that the lives of his guards were more precious than the mysterious locket. So, he now used to watch the blue sky remembering Alexander’s uneven eyes while pressing the locket in his hand, his talisman.

 

He would come back at his King’s side.

 

But, if Hephaistion could summarize all the differences in one, he would come with just one name: Scipio. He was the reason why this trip was so different. The Roman used to call him every day to talk to him, ask him questions about his now famous King, the army, the campaign, the Great King, the Persians, the people, their customs…everything. Scipio was like a sponge, absorbing every word that left the Macedonian’s mouth, and Hephaistion soon found that he liked talking to him. It was very easy, something that he had only experience with Alexander, his brother Nikandros or with Aristotle; the Roman was intelligent and knew what to say at the right moment.

 

- Does your King always lead from the front the charge in battles? –asked the Roman one afternoon, while Hephaistion recounted the battle of Issus.

 

- Yes, he always does that –the Macedonian smiled and, unconsciously, touched the locket hanging from his neck.

 

Scipio’s eyes settled on the drawing that Hephaistion had made on the wax tablet, watching the lines and the battle formation with interest, taking his time to assimilate every word he had heard. 

 

- This was a risky plan –said the Roman to himself tapping the edge of the wax tablet with his finger, imagining all these lines alive, the charge of the cavalry and the infantry troops engaged in battle at the river—I think that, this same plan with any other General in command, would have failed. 

 

- My thoughts exactly –said Hephaistion with all honesty, feeling very proud of his King.

 

- And Darius ran away? –the cracking sounds of the ship could be heard, along with the distant voices of the crew.

 

- Yes, he did –said the Macedonian, both arms on the table— He left behind his mother, wife and children.

 

- These eastern potentates…—Scipio shook his head, and lifted his eyes to see the Macedonian again—They are all about wealth but know nothing about honor –he leaned back against the chair—One day, Rome will fight against them too…do you know? –he asked in a conversational tone—We have never fought a battle outside Italy; we usually fight only against our neighbors. But one day we will also fight in distant lands…

 

You still haven’t guess who was this Roman? You have heard of Hannibal Barca, but, have you heard of the man who defeated him at Zama? He was a patrician Roman named: Publius Cornelius Scipio, later called the Africanus for his magnificent victory at the north of Africa. The Scipio who bought me at Carthage was his great great grandfather.

 

Funny how my destiny was intertwined with the Cornelii Scipiones. How? Well, The Africanus was the one who gave me the Roman citizenship years later when I was a vampire; his brother-in-law, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, later called Macedonicus, was the one who defeated Perseus, the last King of Macedonia. The Africanus’ adopted grandson, Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus, later called Africanus Numantinus, destroyed Carthage, the homeland of the man who had caused me and my King so much pain: Melkar…

 

And, as you can see, Diocles was right about Roman names. The longer the name, the more important the man.

 

- Well, this is our first campaign so far from home –said Hephaistion—Before Philip became King, Macedonia was a backwater kingdom threatened by the north and despised by the south. Illyria was our first enemy and the Greeks have always considered us barbarians.

 

- I heard something like that when I visited Athens –the Roman cocked his head and saw him for a moment, studying his expression—You don’t like your previous King, don’t you?

 

- Why do you say that? –asked the Macedonian, concealing all emotions from his face.

 

- There is something in your voice when you speak about King Philip…—Hephaistion said nothing; of course he didn’t like to talk about King Philip but he wasn’t going to explain why to a complete stranger. He brushed his hair behind his ear and after a few moments of silence, Scipio dismissed the subject—Never mind. The fact is, now Macedonia is becoming the capital of a new empire, don’t you agree? 

 

- So, you assume that Alexander is going to conquer all Persia? –asked the Macedonian amused, recovering quickly after that unpleasant moment.

 

- Of course he is going to do it! –Scipio smiled, looking like a naughty boy—Don’t you agree?

 

- I’m the first one who believes that Alexander can do everything he wants –for the Roman didn’t pass unnoticed the way in which he talked about the King, but he thought it was because he admired him; and who wouldn’t? Alexander was everything a young and ambitious man could wish to be. 

 

- I would like to meet a General like him –Scipio admitted. As all Romans he had to do military service if he wanted to have a political career, but contrary to many of his fellow citizens he had enjoyed his military service and one of his greatest dreams was to lead an army into battle.

 

Hephaistion smiled.

 

- Surely you also have good Generals in Rome. 

 

- You are just being polite; we don’t have a man who can be compared with your King, at least not yet… but we have some, yes –said Scipio, taking his empty cup and playing with it—One man that is a legend in my city is Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, for example.

 

- What did he accomplish? –the Macedonian was truly intrigued, he had never heard a thing about Rome and so far, his experience with Scipio had been really fascinating.

 

- A hundred years ago, the Aequians, Sabines and Volscians attacked the city. It was a crisis and the Senate, the group of 300 men that govern the city, called Cincinnatus to defend Rome and named him Dictator…you can say that a Dictator is the equivalent of a King, having absolute power –explained the Roman—Cincinnatus defeated the enemy armies and after that he resigned to all his powers as a Dictator, and went back to his farm, to work on it as if nothing had happened. My father likes to speak of him as a model of honor and virtue.

 

- It is truly is a remarkable story –and Hephaistion meant his words. Not any man gave up absolute power to work in a farm.

 

- There is also Marcus Furius Camillus –continued Scipio more animated, it was funny how, when he was happy, his dark blue eyes shone like the ones of a child watching a pile of candies—50 years ago he fought against the Etruscans, winning all the battles, but, despite all his victories, Camillus’ enemies accused him of embezzlement of the Etrurian loot, and Camillus went into exile. Time passed, and the Gauls came, they defeated the Roman army at Allia, and invaded the city. My grandfather still remembers that, he was among the people who sought refuge and garrisoned the Capitoline hill…

 

- The Capitoline hill? –asked Hephaistion confused.

 

- Rome is a city surrounded by seven hills: Aventine, Caelian, Capitoline, Esquiline, Palatine, Quirinal and Viminal –explained the Roman—All the hills are inhabited…for example, my house is on the Palatine.  

 

- So, your grandfather and other people garrisoned the Capitoline hill when the Gauls came? –the Macedonian recapitulated. 

 

- Yes; they resisted there for 7 months –Scipio continued, excited as if he were talking to one of his friends—Many people fled, but my grandfather and others stayed because they weren’t going to leave the city of our ancestors to a pack of savages. Many of the prominent men of the city stayed, sitting at the front of their houses waiting for the Gauls, and they remained there, immobile as statues even if the Gauls pulled their beards or mocked at them. Almost all of these men died horrible, decapitated or tortured just for fun –Hephaistion followed the story with all his attention—Then, 7 months after this, Camillus came back with an army and drove the Gauls out the city. 

 

- What a story! –exclaimed Hephaistion—Someone should write a play about that.

 

- Fat chance, we don’t even have a theater, let alone play writers –said Scipio.

 

- You don’t have a theater?

 

- No –the Roman shook his head—Each year the aedil of Rome, the man elected to take care of the city the public buildings and those kind of things, has to organize spectacles for the people, and they choose plays among other things. And each year a theater is constructed and, at the end of the games, it’s dismantled.

 

Hephaistion frowned.

 

- But that’s a waste.

 

- Of course it is, but that is how things are –said Scipio—Maybe one day we will have a theater like the ones you have in Greece. 

 

- Do you like theater? –asked the Macedonian, even if it was obvious that he liked it.

 

- I love it; I have my study full with Greek plays, even if my fellow patricians don’t approve of it.

 

- Why not?

 

- You can say that for Romans, Greeks are depraved –explained Scipio.

 

- Why? –that was new. Hephaistion had heard from Xsayarsa many things about the Greeks, especially described as “barbarians” but never as depraved.

 

The Roman said nothing, it was hard to say if the question had irritated him or made him uncomfortable, but he stood up, giving his back on Hephaistion and turned his attention to the half open window.

 

- Its late, you should go –he said, without giving him a further explanation.

 

Hephaistion blinked confused. What had he said? Had he offended the Roman?…This was the third time Scipio did this, at some point in their conversation he became distant, as if every time the Roman felt he was treating Hephaistion like a friend, he became cold and suddenly dismissed him. It was as if he were afraid to intimate too much with the Macedonian or to cross that boundary between master and slave.

 

Hephaistion didn’t understand him. He too had had slaves and he found no shame in treating them kindly, the best example was Kyros. Legally speaking the Theban was his slave, but he treated the teenager like his friend. Sometimes, while talking to the Roman, the Macedonian thought he could distinguish a very familiar glint in his dark blue eyes, a glint of lust, but it always disappeared so fast that Hephaistion thought he had imagine it.   

 

And finally, after 4 days, the ship landed in Bruttium territory. Scipio didn’t wanted to waste time in the small city of Croton and immediately requested horses to return to Rome as soon as possible. Everybody seemed to know the Roman, and Hephaistion thought that Scipio truly traveled a lot across the Mediterranean. As soon as they ate and rest, they headed to the north, leaving Croton behind in a couple of hours.

 

The Macedonian noticed they travel with a small escort of guards, who weren’t Greeks and who spoke the same strange language of the Roman; and 2 slaves who always referred to their master as domine, which means Lord. So far, Scipio hadn’t asked him to call him domine, but even if he asked, Hephaistion wouldn’t obey. No man was his master and, he was willing to face the consequences of his actions in case the so far nice Roman decided to punish him for his blatant behavior.

 

They had some hours riding, after resting and eating something, heading to the north in direction to Lucanian territory, when the Roman called the Macedonian at his side.

  

- You are a good rider –Scipio observed.

 

- Of course I am; I’m a hetairoi and a Somatophilax; besides, the Macedonian cavalry is the best of the world –the Roman smiled but said nothing. Technically, now Hephaistion was no longer any of those, he was just his slave, but Scipio didn’t want to humiliate him reminding him of his new status. He would have plenty of time for that.

 

How am I going to explain this to my father? –thought the Roman for the first time since they left Carthage. Scipio wasn’t married, and since his father was still alive, he was still the pater familias, in other words the head of the family, and he had to explain his actions to him. And he was sure that father Scipio was going to be furious with capital letters when he found out how much money he had spent buying Hephaistion. But, one look at the Macedonian assured him that he had done the right thing.

 

Hephaistion really didn’t know what was the Roman thinking. Usually, as Alexander liked to remind him, he was good reading other people, but Scipio was a mystery to him. Would all the Romans be like this one? 

 

- How far is Rome from here? –asked Hephaistion.

 

- Its at least a15 days journey –the Macedonian opened his eyes surprised. 

 

- Then, why didn’t we travel by sea?

 

The Roman smiled.

 

- I’m in no hurry to go back to Rome. You see, Italy is divided in zones, now we are leaving Bruttium and entering Lucania, we have to cross Campania and then entered Roman territory in Latium. But I like to explore these lands –explained Scipio; he was still talking when an arrow whizzed at his side.

 

A man cried and fell from his horse and a group of armed men rushed to attack them.

 

If Hephaistion was waiting to see Scipio running or hiding behind his guards, he was greatly surprised when he saw the Roman drawing his short sword ready to attack that group of bloodthirsty men brandishing swords and spears against them.

 

As a slave, the Macedonian wasn’t allowed to carry weapons but he didn’t need them to claim the life of the first man who tried to kill him. Hephaistion crashed the man with the horse and then, leaned on his back to dodge another arrow. He moved before thinking, that was what years of combat had taught him, and reacted before his brain could process what was happening.

 

Hephaistion took 2 short swords from the dead guards, and rushed to attack the enemy. It was the first time he felt like himself since that dreadful night in which Melkar had kidnapped Alexander and Achilles; the heat of the fight was something that made his blood burn with intensity, and it was in those moments, when the line between life and death thinned, that he felt alive. He had never thought about this, but now he realized that 2 things that could make his heart beat faster and sharpened each one of his senses, were: to fight and to make love to his dear King.

 

The enemy recognized Hephaistion as the deadly machine he was, and started to open a path in front of him, too scare to approach that bringer of death. It was his chance to escape, and he was about to kick the sides of his horse when his sense of honor made him turn and look for Scipio. The Roman had been good to him, and it was a bad idea to run away in the middle of a hostile land that was completely unknown to him. He was going to escape, he had never doubted that, but not now, it wasn’t the right moment. 

 

He found the Roman not far from him, and even if he wasn’t as good as the Macedonian, Hephaistion had to admit he was a fine soldier. Hephaistion swung both swords in his hands and pressed the horse’s sides with his thighs to come to his aid. Before someone could react, the Macedonian half cut one of the enemies’ head and the splash of blood bathed Scipio, the Roman blinked and, in those scarce moments, Hephaistion killed a second man, piercing his chest and twisting his blade inside; a mortal blow.

 

- Come! –shouted Hephaistion and Scipio didn’t stop to think that a slave was giving him orders, he just obeyed.

 

They rode for hours, until their horses looked about to drop dead and then, they stopped and dismounted under a big tree. They were breathing heavily, and Hephaistion could still feel his heart beating fast, the adrenaline at his maximum level; he felt light-headed and dizzy when the last thing he could have expected happened: Scipio kissed him.

 

His brain didn’t process what was happening until seconds later. He could taste the warm lips of the Roman and the metallic flavor of the blood, that covered part of his face, it was a strange sensation and for the Macedonian discomfiture he found this very arousing. Hephaistion reacted, dizzy because of that whirlwind of emotions, and pushed Scipio by the shoulders. He held his gaze breathing heavily, with long locks of his hair covering his eyes.

 

- What are you doing? –the question seem to wake the Roman up, he turned his back on Hephaistion and surveyed his surroundings, extending an uncomfortable silence between them.

 

- It’s late –said Scipio at last, as if nothing had happened, brushing his hair back—We should camp here.

 

The Macedonian hated when the Roman did that but, for the moment, he didn’t say a word.

 

XXX

 

- That man is a savage –said Cyrus Ochus, Darius’ only son, to Achilles.

 

They were sitting among the bushes, hiding while eating the lunch that the Persian servants had prepared for Cyrus. The young Persian Prince had seen the way Kleitos treated Achilles and he was outraged; how could the King allow a simple soldier to ill-treat the Crown Prince? In the Persian court such a thing would have been unthinkable, and for Cyrus Kleitos deserved to be beheaded...at least. 

 

They still took classes with Bahman and, thanks to this, Achilles was learning to speak Persian better than many of the interpreters in the camp. The first day Cyrus had seen the Macedonian entering the classroom dressed like a beggar and, with arms and legs covered in bruises, his dark eyes had double their size. Bahman had tried to explain him that Greek customs were very different than their, but for Cyrus Kleitos training had no sense. 

 

Achilles didn’t answer immediately; he was eating everything in front of him eagerly, as if he feared the food could disappear at any moment. For days Cyrus had been giving him food, not caring one bit of what Kleitos would say if he found out. Thanks to Alexander, the Persian Prince and his family lived with all the luxury and comfort they had enjoyed with the Great King himself and, Cyrus and his family always ate splendidly. It was a curious sight, to watch the Persian dressed in silk, jewels and gold, and Achilles in a dirty chiton after his training.

 

- Your father should stop this –said the Persian with all the seriousness of a boy of six years old.    

 

- My father was the one who asked Kleitos to train me –explained Achilles, devouring a piece of honey bread. Lately his “Father” was the King, and his “Daddy” was Hephaistion. Cyrus had found this extremely weird but he said nothing; who was he to criticize foreign customs after his own father had been the one who sold Hephaistion into slavery.

 

Achilles had told him not because he wanted to reproach him anything, but because Alexander had told him that best friends share everything and Cyrus had insisted that he wanted to know. The Persian Prince reaction had been peculiar, he was very ashamed because his father’s behavior had caused Achilles so much pain, but the fact that the Macedonian didn’t hold a grudge against him, helped Cyrus to feel better. 

 

- Yes, but I’m sure that he didn’t meant this –the Persian extended his hands to point at his friend’s sorry state.

 

- Well…—Achilles swallowed—I think this was exactly what he wanted.

 

The Persian frowned.

 

- Why?

 

- He told me that, when he was a boy, his father asked a man named Leonidas to train him –the Macedonian explained—And his master was very hard on him.

 

- I don’t know…but I still don’t like this man Kleitos –Cyrus was still talking when they heard the sound of alarm coming from the camp.

 

They peered over the bushes and saw 8 vessels crammed with archers, slingers and light catapults approaching the thousands of men working at the mole. Both of them saw how chaos spread through the ranks of men when the ships attacked, shooting fire arrows and heavy rocks directly to them. The first screams reached the boys’ ears, the men working at the mole wore no armor and they were an easy prey; orders were shouted as soon as the mole began to burn in several places, the officers were desperate trying to restore some order, calling for reinforcements and trying to safe the mole.

 

Krateros were one of the first to react; he called for men with shields to cover the retreat of the workers at the same time he shouted to bring the archers. His first concern was to avoid casualties, his second one was to protect the mole even if that seemed a little impossible to accomplish without a fleet.  

 

- What’s happening? –asked Cyrus in a whisper, as if his voice could cause more damage, watching everything with eyes wide open.

 

- I think the Tyrians are trying to destroy the mole –answered Achilles, watching how the men ran away from the rain of arrows and missiles, leaving behind a great number of dead and wounded.

 

The boys stayed where they were, among the bushes, until the attack was over and then, they headed back to the camp. Cyrus was still talking about the attack, but his friend’s mind was already thinking how were the Macedonians going to finish the mole if the Tyrians continue with their attacks. He left Cyrus near his family tent and he walked around before heading back to the King’s tent.

 

Achilles could smell the burnt wood and see the smoke at the distance. A group of men were still trying to extinguish the fire; he saw how the wounded were carried to the tent that served as infirmary among piteous groans and moans of pain; months ago that sight would had sent the shivers down the boy’s spine, but not now. Now, Achilles stood where he was, he didn’t even flinch watching the open wounds and the blood covering everything.

 

Instead of feeling fear or disgust he remembered his father, Hephaistion, the way in which he had been brutally whipped and even with his back torn and blood running down his sides, he never screamed, he didn’t do as much as moan. Achilles had that image burned in his mind and felt very proud while recalling that horrible memory; he promised himself that he would he a worthy son of his brave father. 

 

He turned to continue his way when he found a woman in front of him, carrying clean bandages. Achilles saw her with eyes wide open, he had never before seen a woman as beautiful as she. Thais saw the boy staring at her, and smiled.

 

- You shouldn’t be here, Prince –she said in that sweet loving voice that people used with small children. 

 

Achilles remember all the stories Alexander had told him about Gods appearing before mortals, and he wondered if he would be in the presence of Aphrodite. Thais smiled one last time and kept walking with Sophonisba behind her. The boy could still smell his perfume in the air, marking the exact place where she had been; he turned distractedly to leave and crashed against a post. 

 

- Ouch! –he rubbed his nose and ran back to the King’s tent, turning now and then hopping to see that Goddess again.

 

When Achilles reached the King’s tent he could hear the familiar voice of Kleitos coming from the meeting room, he was talking to the rest of the officers very quickly, and for what the Prince heard, he was angry and concerned. The boy turned both sides and, when he was sure that nobody was looking, he leaned closer to the door to hear what they were saying.

 

- We have many casualties –said the hipparch to his audience—Not to mention the fact that a good part of the mole is in flames and the men are still trying to extinguish the fire.

 

- What are we going to do now? –asked Hektor, Philotas’ younger brother.

 

- What else? Rebuilt the mole and continue with the original plan – intervened Krateros—I don’t even dare to imagine what Alexander would do to us if he comes back to find out that we gave up –many men went pale with the sole idea of facing the wrath of their King.

 

- We can build protective screens of hide and canvas, and place 2 tall wooden towers near the end of the mole (2) –said Ptolemy and many men around him nodded their agreement.

 

- It surely sounds like a plan –said Kleitos, scratching his chin—Our archers and artillery men can shoot the enemy from there, in case they come back, and protect our men.

 

- We have another problem –said Nikanor, sitting at Hektor’s side—Supplies and timber are not arriving as fast as they should.

 

- I know –Kleitos rubbed his face with both hands, he was extremely tired—We already exhausted our surroundings and the forest near here and I heard a report from one of our scouts that Arab marauders are attacking our men.

  

- So? What now? –asked Philotas just for ask, playing with his dagger, spinning it on its tip. He didn’t give a damn about what was happening and the truth was that his mind was in other place. He had been thinking in Hephaistion ever since Alexander told them about what had happened with Melkar. He truly had hopped that the King had sent a party to rescue the General; he would have gone happily, after all it was a perfect opportunity to gain Hephaistion’s favor.

 

Philotas sighed heavily. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the General out of his head; he had taken a mistress, Antigone, made Lysanias his eromenos and he still longed for Hephaistion. That night, when he had found the General drunk, when he had almost slept with him had been one of the happiest moments of his life, he would give anything to be again between Hephaistion’s thighs…

 

And my plan could have worked if that man, Melkar, hadn’t interfered. Now I have to wait –thought Philotas, still without paying attention to the meeting. 

 

- What now? Now we solve one problem at a time –said Krateros—First we protect our men at the construction site; we’ll follow Ptolemy’s plan and after that will see what to do about the supplies and timber.

 

How I wish Alexander were here –thought Ptolemy.

 

XXX

 

(1) Steven Saylor. Roma: The Novel of Ancient Rome, p 377

(2) Peter Green. Alexander of Macedon, p 252