Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (5 page)

‘It’s safe here,’ he said, turning to Eteocles. ‘If you want, you can cross.’

‘What do you mean?’ the boy asked him. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

The soldier shook his head. ‘No. My mission is accomplished and I must turn back now.’

‘Mission?’ asked the boy, increasingly bewildered.

‘That’s right. Alexander gave us orders to escort you to the border and to make sure nothing happened to you. Another companion has been following us at a distance.’

Eteocles lowered his head, humiliated by such odious consideration on Alexander’s part: ‘Return to your master and tell him that this will not stop me killing him if I ever meet him on a battlefield.’ He guided his charger into the ford.

The soldier, sitting upright on his mount, stood there watching until he saw the boy riding up the opposite bank and setting off along the plain into Persian territory. Then he turned and headed back to meet his companion who was probably waiting not far away. The moonlight was increasingly strong and things were well illuminated, helped by the chalky colour of the desert, but there was no sign of the other
hetairos
. And the next day, by sunlight, there was no trace of him either, nor was there any the day after that; the desert had swallowed him up.

‘Y
OUR SON
E
TEOCLES
has crossed the border into Persia safe and sound,’ said Alexander as he entered Barsine’s room, ‘but one of the men I sent to follow him and protect him has not returned.’

‘I am sorry,’ replied Barsine. ‘I know how close you are to your men.’

‘They are like my children. But this is the price I pay for your peace of mind. And how is your youngest son?’

‘He remains close to me, he loves me, and perhaps he understands me. And then nature helps protect the young – they soon forget and forgetting comes more easily to them.’

‘And you? How do you feel?’

‘I am most grateful to you for all you have done, but my life is no longer the same. A woman who is also a mother can perhaps never be a real lover – her heart is always pulled in another direction by other feelings.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you no longer wish to see me?’

Barsine lowered her head, somewhat upset now, ‘Please don’t make things any harder for me; you well know that I wish to see you every day, every instant, that your remoteness and your coldness hurt me so much. I beg you, please give me some time to recover, to build a small refuge in my heart for my memories and then . . . then I will know how to love you as you wish me to.’

She stood up and approached him, enveloping him in her beauty and her fragrance – Alexander took her face in his hands and kissed her.

‘Do not despair. You will see your son again and perhaps in some not so distant future we will all be able to live in peace together.’ He embraced her and left.

On the stairs he met Seleucus, who had been looking for him, ‘A ship has arrived from General Antipater with an urgent message. Here it is.’

Alexander opened it and read:

‘I hope the old man has sent you good news,’ said Seleucus.

‘Not quite. The Spartans are making a move and are preparing to attack us – we must remind the Athenians of their commitment. When is the audience with the delegation from their government?’

‘This evening. They have already handed Eumenes a note in which they request the return of the Athenian prisoners captured at the Granicus.’

‘They haven’t wasted any time. But I am afraid they will be disappointed. Is there anything else?’

‘Your physician Philip is attending to Darius’s wife during her pregnancy, but he is very worried and asked that you should be informed.’

‘I see. Tell the Athenians I will receive them after the theatre and ask Barsine to go to the Queen in her rooms. Perhaps she will be of some help.’

He set off down the stairs and met Philip just as he was leaving his quarters, followed by a couple of assistants, loaded down with medicines of all types.

‘How is the Queen?’ Alexander asked.

‘The situation is stable, but very serious.’

‘What is the problem?’

‘As far as I can make out, the child has turned and she cannot give birth to it.’

In the meantime Alexander had started walking and was heading now for the building in which Darius’s wives were lodged together with their court.

‘Can you do nothing to help?’

‘Perhaps I could do something, but I am afraid she would never let herself be examined by a man. I am trying to train her midwife, but I am not sure it’s of any use. She comes from the Queen’s ancestral tribe and it seems to me she is more expert in magic than in medicine.’

‘Wait, Barsine will come now and perhaps she will succeed in convincing her.’

‘I hope so,’ replied Philip, but the expression on his face made it clear he doubted it very much.

On reaching the building which had been set up as the royal harem, they saw that Barsine had already arrived and was anxiously waiting for them in front of the door. They were met by a eunuch and shown into the atrium. From the floor above came the sound of suffocated moaning.

‘She doesn’t even cry out when the labour pains come,’ said Philip, ‘decorum prevents her.’

The eunuch very respectfully gestured for them to follow and led them upstairs, where they met the midwife who was leaving the room just at that moment.

‘Please interpret for me,’ said the physician to Barsine. ‘I must convince her, do you understand?’ Barsine nodded and entered the Queen’s apartments. The eunuch in the meantime led Alexander to the threshold of another door and knocked.

A finely dressed Persian woman opened it and accompanied them first to an antechamber and then to a room in which Sisygambis, the Queen Mother, was sitting. She was near a window, on her knees was a roll of papyrus densely covered in script, and she was quietly whispering formulae to herself. The eunuch gestured to Alexander to explain that she was praying and the King stood respectfully in silence near the door, but Sisygambis immediately realized he was there, stood up and came to him, warmly greeting him in Persian. Her face clearly displayed her worry and concern, and pain too, but there was no sign of unease.

‘The Queen Mother greets you,’ came the interpreter’s translation, ‘and she begs you to accept her hospitality.’

‘Thank her for me, but tell her that I do not wish to disturb her – I have come only to try to provide assistance for Darius’s wife who is in some difficulty now. My physician,’ he continued, looking straight into her eyes, ‘says that he could perhaps help if she . . . if she were able to overcome her modesty and agree to have him examine her.’

Sisygambis thought deeply, looking back into Alexander’s eyes with her face displaying just how much she was moved, and they both felt how strong their feelings were and how distant they were from the formal language of the interpreter. At that moment the silence was invaded by the muffled sound of the mother-to-be moaning, trying to face her ordeal in solitude and pride. The Queen Mother flinched at the sound and her eyes filled with tears.

‘I doubt your physician would be able to help even if she did give permission.’

‘But why, Great Mother? My physician is most expert and—’ he cut himself short because he realized from the expression on her face that her thoughts were travelling in a different direction.

‘I believe,’ said Sisygambis, ‘that in truth my daughter-in-law does not want to give birth.’

‘I do not understand, Great Mother: Philip, my doctor, feels that the baby is perhaps not in the correct position for the birth and . . .’

Slowly, two tears ran down the Queen Mother’s cheeks; her face bore all the marks of her age and her pain and the words came from her mouth deliberately, like the words of a verdict: ‘My daughter-in-law does not want to give birth to a prisoner and no physician has the power to change her decision. She is holding the baby within her, so that she will die together with him.’

Alexander was truly bewildered and speechless and he lowered his head.

‘It is not your fault, my boy,’ continued Sisygambis, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Destiny created you to destroy the empire founded by Cyrus. You are like the wind that blows impetuously across the earth, and after the wind passes, nothing is as it was before. But men remain attached to their memories, just as ants hold on to leaves of grass while the storm rages around them.’

At that moment there came a much louder cry and then a doleful chorus of moaning from the rooms within the building.

‘It is done,’ Sisygambis said. ‘The last King of Kings is dead, before being born.’ Two handmaids entered and covered her face and shoulders with a black veil so that she could give vent to her grief without being seen.

Alexander would have liked to say something, but as he watched her she appeared to him to be like a statue, a simulacrum of the goddess of the night, and he dared not speak. He lowered his head for an instant and then left the room, setting off along the corridor in the midst of the crying and the wailing of Darius’s women. Philip came out of the dead queen’s antechamber, pale and dumbstruck.

*

The following day Alexander gave orders for the funeral to be celebrated, for the Queen to be buried in grand style, with all the honours befitting her rank, and for a great mound to be constructed, as was the custom in her native tribe. He could not help but cry as they placed her underground, thinking of just how beautiful and delicate she had been and thinking too of the baby who had never even seen the light of day.

The eunuch escaped that very evening and rode for days and nights until he reached the first Persian outposts near the River Tigris. There he asked to be taken to King Darius’s camp, which was on the other side of the river. A group of Median horsemen escorted him for ten parasangs across the desert and at sunset on the following day they brought him before the Great King.

Darius was at council with his generals, dressed like an ordinary soldier with rough linen trousers and an antelope-skin jacket. The only sign of his regal status was the rigid tiara and the solid gold dagger, the shining
akinake
that hung from his side.

The eunuch threw himself to the ground with his forehead in the dust and through his sobbing recounted what had happened at Tyre – the Queen’s long, painful labour, her death, the funeral. He even put in Alexander’s tears.

Darius was shocked by the news and ordered the eunuch to follow him into the interior section of the royal tent.

‘Forgive me, Great King, for having brought you such sad news, forgive me . . .’ the eunuch continued to say through his own tears.

‘Do not cry,’ said Darius, seeking to console him. ‘You have done your duty and I am grateful to you for this. Did my wife suffer much?’

‘She suffered a great deal, Your Majesty, but with a dignity and strength befitting a Persian queen.’

Darius looked at him without saying anything. It was clear from the deep furrows on his forehead and from the failing light in his bewildered gaze that his heart and mind were full of contrasting sentiments.

‘Are you sure,’ he asked after a moment’s silence, ‘that Alexander actually cried?’

Yes, my King. I was close enough to see the tears run down his cheeks.’

Darius sighed and sat down heavily on a chest, ‘But then this means . . . this means there was something going on between them; tears come when a person dear to us dies.’

Your Majesty, I do not believe that—’

‘Perhaps the child was his—’

‘No, no!’ protested the eunuch.

‘Silence!’ shouted Darius. ‘Or perhaps you dare contradict me?’

The eunuch fell to his knees, trembling and crying once more. ‘Your Majesty, I beg you, let me speak!’ he said.

‘You have already said too much. What else is there to add now?’

‘That Alexander never touched your wife. Indeed, he paid her every respect and concern; he never visited her without asking permission and always in the presence of her maids. He displayed the same regard, if not even more so, for your mother.’

‘And you are not lying to me?’

‘I would never lie to you, Great King. Everything I have told you is the truth. I swear it in the name of Ahura Mazda.’

‘Ahura Mazda . . .’ murmured Darius. He stood up, moved the curtain door of his tent to one side and lifted his gaze towards the sky. The celestial vault over the desert was teeming with stars and the Milky Way stretched out from one horizon to the other with its diaphanous light. The camp was dotted with thousands and thousands of campfires. ‘Ahura Mazda, Lord of the Celestial Flame, our god,’ he prayed, ‘make me victorious, let me save my ancestors’ empire. I promise that should I win, I will treat my opponent with clemency and with respect because if war had not placed us in this position I would have liked in all sincerity to have asked for his friendship and his affection.’