The Novels of Alexander the Great by Mary Renault
“Did she like it?” said Alexander, as eager as if he’d been her lover. I told him she had shown great pleasure in it. “King Poros gave it me. I’m glad that she thought it worthy of her. There is the Great King who would have led your people, if God had made her a man. Both of us know it. We understand each other.”
“It’s as well God made her a woman; or you’d have had to kill her.”
“Yes, there I was spared great grief. Did she look well? I’ve something important to say to her. I want to marry her granddaughter.”
Through my first amazement, he still read my face. “That pleases you better than last time?”
“Alexander, it will please all the Persians.” He had not set eyes on Stateira since she was a child at Issos, with her face in her mother’s lap. This was a real state marriage, to honor our people and breed a royal line; it would have Sisygambis’ blood, he’d remembered, as well as Darius’s. As for Roxane, as second wife she’d still be above her station; Darius would never have made her more than a concubine. Keeping all these thoughts to myself, I hastened to wish him joy.
“Ah, and that’s not all.” We were in the fountain court, a quiet retreat when the state rooms were full of envoys and officials. He cupped the fountain-fall in his palm and let it run out again. He was smiling.
“Now, Al’skander, tell me the secret. I’ve seen it in your face.”
“Oh, I knew that! I can tell you now. This won’t be only my wedding; it will be a marriage of both our peoples.”
“Truly, Al’skander, yes.”
“No, wait. All my own friends, my generals, and the best of my Companions, will be marrying Persian ladies. I shall dower them all; and we shall all share the one wedding feast. What do you think of that?”
“Al’skander, no one else could have conceived it.” Which was God’s truth.
“I conceived it on the march, but it had to wait till I’d met the army. Most of them were serving there.”
Well, I could see why he hadn’t told me. He could hardly announce to me Hephaistion’s wedding, before the bridegroom knew.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “how many couples would make a handsome feast, without crowding the pavilion. I decided eighty.” Getting back my breath, I said it sounded just right. “All my soldiers who’ve married Persian women will get dowries too. About ten thousand, I think.”
He played smiling with the sunlit fountain-stream, which fell from his hand like gold.
“We’ll make a new thing; two good wines blended to make a better, in a great loving-cup. Hephaistion will marry Stateira’s sister. I should like his children to be my kin.”
I suppose he felt my silence.
He looked in my face, came over and embraced me. “Dear one, forgive me. More than children are born of love. ‘The sons of dreams’—do you remember? All this you begot; from loving you, I first learned to love your people.”
After that, it was no pain to me to do my part; which was to call on the brides and their mothers, bring gifts, and tell them about procedure. I was well received in the harems; if they’d had plans of their own before Alexander had his, nobody said so. He had chosen, of course, for the greatest Macedonians the noblest brides; if these weren’t always the best-favored, one can’t have everything. The princesses, I did not see; but Drypetis would hardly disappoint Hephaistion; that was a handsome line. In all these years, I’d never heard he’d had a mistress; but if nephews and nieces were what Alexander asked him for, no doubt he would faithfully beget them.
Some silly man, whose name is not worth remembering, has written that Alexander slighted our people, because no Persian lord got a Macedonian wife. Where were these wives to come from? We were in Susa; there were only concubines or camp-followers. One can guess what the lady mothers of Macedon would have said, to dispatching their maiden daughters to the beds of unknown “barbarians.” But why waste words on such folly?
Alexander meant this to be the greatest festival since his reign began. Already, weeks ahead, every weaver and carver and goldsmith in Susa was working into the night. I did not go to see if my old master prospered. One does not return to the midden one was flung in.
Since the King’s return, artists in everything had been streaming over from Greece; news of the festival made them race. One of these, a flute-player of some fame called Evios, caused a trifling quarrel; or what should have been trifling, had the men concerned not been at odds already. So wars begin, with peoples as with men. So with Eumenes and Hephaistion.
Eumenes I knew only at a distance; but he’d been Chief Secretary all through Alexander’s reign, and to his father before him. He was a Greek, who had had time to do some soldiering in India, and with success. He was about forty-five, grizzled and shrewd. I don’t know why he and Hephaistion had always brushed up each other’s fur. By my guess, it went back to Hephaistion’s boyhood. Maybe Eumenes had envied him Alexander’s love; maybe he just disapproved, as he did of me. I never took notice, knowing he could not harm me. It was different with Hephaistion. Since he led back the army, Alexander had made him Chiliarch, which is Greek for our Grand Vizier; he ranked next the King. He was incorruptible in office; but touchy about his dignity, among other things.
It had grown on him since India, where he’d had a jaundice fever. Doctors say you should not drink for a long time after; but try telling that to a Macedonian. Also he had a very constant nature; in love, and in resentment.
He was always polite to Persians; for Alexander’s sake, and because our manners have civilized formality. It is impossible for Persians of decent breeding to brawl. We poison each other after consideration, or come to terms. Macedonians, who have no such restraints, are into it in a moment.
This flautist, Evios, was an old guest-friend of his from before my time; so he took charge of his entertainment. Susa was filling up; the lodging Hephaistion found for Evios had been taken by people of Eumenes’ household; so Hephaistion turned them out.
Eumenes, a quiet man as a rule, went to him very angry. Whereas a Persian would have said it was all a dreadful mistake but too late for remedy, Hephaistion told Eumenes he must make room for guests of honor, like anyone else.
Eumenes, whose own rank was pretty high, went straight to Alexander, who had trouble to keep the peace. I know he had the flautist lodged elsewhere; I saw to that for him. What he said to Hephaistion, I could have overheard if I’d taken care; but I remembered that morning in the desert, and went away.
If, as I suspect, Hephaistion was asked to beg Eumenes’ pardon, he thought it beneath him, and didn’t do it. The enmity smoldered on. A petty squabble; why trouble to record it? Only because the end was to mix my lord’s bitter grief with poison, and send him mad.
Meantime, being spared foreknowledge, I thought no more of it; nor I daresay did Alexander, who was busier still. He saw a good deal of the Queen Mother, and was shown his bride. He told me she had her mother’s looks, and was a gentle modest maid. There was none of that kindling with which he had seen Roxane. I dared not ask him how she had taken the news.
The feast-day came. Darius the Great may have seen such splendors; no one living had. The whole Palace square was turned into a vast pavilion; in the center, the bridegrooms’ tent, of fine cloth with bullion tassels, propped by gilt columns; all round it, awnings for the guests. The wedding would be by Persian rite; the bridal tent had gold chairs in couples. Our women being bred to modesty, the brides would only enter after the healths were drunk, when the grooms would take their hands, sit by them for the bridal song, and then retire.
Their fathers of course were present. Alexander asked me to help in their entertainment, because he wanted me to see the rite.
He wore the Mitra, and the royal robe of Persia, long sleeves and all. To tell the truth, his half-Greek dress suited him better; this called for Darius’ height to set it off. But if there was one thing we’d learned in Persia, it was that a king is as tall as his soul.
For the crowd of lesser gues
It all went perfectly. In the presence of the fathers-in-law, men of the noblest blood in Persia, the bridegrooms kept down their drinking, and did not even shout across the tent.
There were no prostrations. Alexander had given all the fathers the rank of Royal Kindred, which allowed them to kiss his cheek. There being no father-in-law for him, Oxathres took that place, and made a very fine figure, though he had to stoop for the kiss.
The King gave the bridal toast; the bridegrooms drank to the fathers, the fathers returned the honor, everyone drank to the King. The trumpets flourished for the entry of the brides. The fathers met them, took them by the hand and led them to the grooms.
Peasants apart, you seldom see the men and women of Persia walking together. Whatever Greeks may say, you won’t find more beauty anywhere on earth than you do among our nobility, who have bred for it so choicely and so long. Handsomest of all was the foremost couple, Oxathres and his niece hand in hand. Alexander rose to meet them, and receive his bride. Yes, Darius had passed his good looks on to his children. Also his stature. She topped Alexander by a good half-foot.
He led her to her chair of honor by his throne; and the difference disappeared. He’d met her in the Queen Mother’s rooms; and Alexander was nothing if not resourceful. He had had the legs of her chair cut down.
Of course they had to walk out together, when the bridal couples retired. I could almost hear his voice saying, “It is necessary.” (Days later, I found pushed into some dark corner his wedding shoes. The soles had an inch of felt in them. He’d taken no such trouble when host to seven-foot Poros.)
Hephaistion and Drypetis matched up well. She was his height to an inch.
The feasting went on all night. I met old friends, and needed no pretense, to share the merriment. Years had gone by, since he spared Susa and first rode in there. He had gone far away and become a legend, while wrong was done in his name. Now they knew him. In that city Kyros is remembered; how he did not profane the sanctuaries of the conquered Medes, nor dishonor their nobility, nor enslave their peasants, but was a just King to us all. That a westerner should prove to be such another, was a wonder everywhere. I saved up all I heard, to tell him later. He had done what he meant to do.
No doubt he did no less in the marriage bed. Stateira was installed in her royal rooms; but his visits turned to mere calls of courtesy, much sooner than with Roxane. A few days later, indeed, he visited the Sogdian. It may have been just to heal her wounded feelings; but I’m not so sure. Stateira was, as he’d said, a gentle modest girl; and he was a lover of fire. Roxane had it, even if it smoked. He soon had enough of her; yet from time to time she always drew him back. Olympias his mother, that royal termagant, was still berating his regent by every post. He would throw down her letter in anger; yet with his answer would go a gift, lovingly chosen. Perhaps there is something in the proverb about how men choose their wives.
He had done what he meant to do. Yes—among my people.
I was too happy. Once or twice, going about, I got hard looks from Macedonians; but those whom kings love are always envied; so was Hephaistion, and in higher places than I. I never thought that all Persians were more hated, till I saw Peukestas ride by in our native dress. Our people, who’d already learned his worth, saluted him; then, when he’d passed, I overheard some Macedonians. He had gone barbarian, it was disgusting, how could the King encourage it? For that matter, what was the King coming to himself?
I noted their faces and their regiment. I should not have been sorry to do them harm with Alexander. But it would only wound him, without doing him service. It was hearts, not words, he had hoped to change.
Soon after this, he got to know that Macedonian troops were waist-deep in debt, with creditors closing in. With the loot they’d had, they should have been as rich as princes; but they had no notion of bargaining, as we Persians understand it; they’d pay double the going price for all they bought, ate, drank or lay with. Hearing of their distress, as if he’d not spent enough upon their marriage dowers, Alexander gave out that he’d settle up for them. Few came forward; and at last the officers broke the truth to him; the men were saying he just wanted to know who was living beyond his pay.
It hurt him more than anything since that day in India, that they thought he’d lie to them. He could not understand it. I could have told him. He was growing foreign to them, as he came closer to us.
So he had banking-tables set up in the camp, and told his paymasters to sit there without writing things. Any soldier who showed up a debtor’s bond had it paid off, and no record made. It cost close on ten thousand talents, that piece of magnanimity. I thought that should shut their mouths awhile.
Spring was just breaking; along by the river one smelled the rising sap. The lilies would not be long. As I rode there one morning with Alexander, he looked at the hills and said, “Where was your home?”
“There, by that crag. The grey there, that looks like rock, that is the watchtower.”
“A good place for a stronghold. Shall we ride up and see it?”
“Al’skander, I would see too much.”
“Don’t see it now. Listen to some news I’ve kept for you. Do you remember, five years ago, I said I was starting an army of Persian boys?”
“Yes. We were in Baktria. Is it only five years since then?”
“It does seem longer. We’ve put a good deal into it.” Indeed, in thirty years he had filled three men’s full lifetimes. “Well, five years is up. They’re ready, and on their way here.”
“That is wonderful, Al’skander.” Six years since I came to him; thirteen since I left those walls, riding with my father’s head.
“Yes, their instructors are very pleased with them. Race me to the trees.” The gallop shook off my sadness, as he’d meant. As we breathed our horses, he said, “Thirty thousand, all eighteen years old. We’ll see something, I think.”
They reached Susa seven days later. He had a dais set up on the Palace terrace, for him and his generals to see the new corps parade. Presently, from their camp beyond the walls, came the Macedonian bugle-call, “Cavalry, march.”
They came in squadrons, Macedonian-armed, but on good Persian horses, not Greek scrubs. The Persians of Persis rode up first.
Macedonian dress or not, Persians are Persians. Their officers had not denied them those little touches that give an air; an embroidered saddlecloth, a cuirass with a device, a pennant on the Macedonian lance, a glittering bridle, a flower stuck in the helmet. And they had the Persian face.
I don’t suppose they had all been recruited willingly; but they had pride in their training now. Each squadron pranced up to the square with lances poised; slowed down, pacing to music; wheeled before the royal dais, saluting with their spears; then did their show-tricks, saluted again, and cantered off while the next rode in.
All Susa watched, from the walls and rooftops. The sides of the square were crowded with Macedonians. No one denies they were the best-trained army the world has seen. All that these young men did, they could have done as briskly. But we do have more sense of style. So had Alexander.
When the long review was over, he came away glowing, and talking to the Persians of his bodyguard, Oxathres, and Roxane’s brother, and one of Artabazos’ sons. Right across the Great Hall, he caught my eye and smiled. He was late to bed, having sat up talking and drinking, as he did when he was pleased. “I never saw so much beauty in one day; but still I have picked the best.” He pulled softly at my hair. “You know what I call these boys? I call them my Successors.”
“Al’skander,” I said lifting off his chiton, “did you call them that to the Macedonians?”
“Why not? They’ll breed me successors too. What is it?”
“I don’t know. You have taken nothing from them. But they don’t like us to show excellence.”
“Yes. We are an ancient race. We understand such things.”
“Those things and others,” he said, leaving off his oration, and stretching out his arms.
The Greeks have written that at this time he grew short-tempered. I don’t wonder. He wanted to be Great King in fact as well as name; and all he did for it, his own people hated. A few friends understood—Hephaistion did, I allow—for the rest, they’d sooner have seen him master of a race of slaves, with themselves as lesser masters. They didn’t hide what they felt about the new cadets. And then, though the wound in his side had healed, he still tired more quickly than he used to do, though he’d have died sooner than own it.
They said we’d spoiled him with servility; maybe to such uncouth folk it seemed really so. We knew we’d made him used to decent manners, and a civilized court. He knew that it was necessary. Persians who were allowed to upbraid a king would think him a low barbarian without breeding or self-respect, whom it degraded them to serve. Any fool in Persia knows that. I set it down for the ignorant.
What did they lose through us? He’d given all those marriage dowers; he’d paid their debts; he’d held a parade of honor, with hosts of gifts and prizes for bravery and good service. Yet afterwards, when he took into the Companions some Persians of real distinction, it was resented. If his temper was sometimes harsh, they asked for it. It never was with me.