Empire of Ashes: A Novel of Alexander the Great (35 page)

The latter, coming into her presence, was shocked and saddened by her wasted appearance. Kneeling at her side, he begged that she might live to see the shore of the great Eastern Ocean with him. At this, she laughed at him.

“You are a fool. Neither of us will live to see the Eastern Ocean!”

“Why not?”

“Because Asia is not little Europe, my dear boy! Its vastness exceeds your imagining, with kingdoms beyond India you cannot conquer in five lifetimes. For your happiness, be content with what you have accomplished. Make an heir with that half-wild woman of yours! That is my testament to you.”

And with that she allowed him to kiss her hand, and ordered him to leave her, for she wished to die with the survivors of her royal household around her, as she was attended in happier times. And when word came that she was gone, Alexander mourned, putting off eating and washing for three days. He sent her body home unburned, so that she might be buried whole, in accord with the Persian custom.

XVII.

Alexander forgot his grief by attacking a hostile tribe called the Cathaei. These people were under the influence of a priestly class called the Brahmins, who were known both for their wisdom and their pride. Alexander’s informants told him that these Brahmins had been fomenting resistance to the “unclean” Macedonians up and down the Indus Valley. The King was therefore keen to confront this enemy head on.

Hephaestion took it upon himself to go to Taxila to observe the Brahmins there. When he returned, he reported that they lived together in the woods like wild animals. The young ones went completely naked, letting their hair grow long. At the age of 37 were they allowed to shave their heads and wear linen robes. Despite their poverty the Brahmins were held in highest esteem by the people, for only they were permitted to make prayers, conduct sacrifices, or entreat the gods in any way. For this reason they had no need of material wealth: if they became hungry they went to the markets and received supplies from the merchants without needing to ask. But because the Brahmins believed it polluting for anyone of a lesser class to touch their food, their meals could only be prepared by other Brahmins. Similarly, when the unguent sellers saw one of these sages in the marketplace, they would do them conspicuous honor by covering them with expensive oils. To go about so anointed therefore became something of a badge of Brahmin virtue.

Hephaestion approached a beautiful young Brahmin who was standing by a stream. His hair was divided into two queues, one draped over each shoulder, and his skin was shining with oil as I have described. The young man was standing on one foot, arms outstretched, with logs two feet long in each hand. He kept this excruciating position, staring straight ahead, never wavering, for the entire time Hephaestion watched him.

As he did so an older Brahmin approached to ask about the philosophy of the Greeks. Hephaestion obliged by telling him something of the teachings of Pythagoras, Socrates, and Diogenes.

“You Greeks have some wisdom,” the old Brahmin finally said. “But all in all you concern yourselves too much with politics. There’s nothing less worth the time of a mature mind than the ways men contrive their social relations.”

“It surprises me to learn that,” replied Hephaestion, “because it is said that you Brahmins advise your kings on all matters of state.”

“The wise man must raise his children, but does not confine his thinking to childish questions. Would you like to learn the proper objects of serious thought…? Good! First, take off your clothes.”

Hephaestion declined.

“Then let that be your first lesson: if you cannot put off your clothes, you cannot lay aside the more profound burdens. Remember what I have told you.”

With that the old Brahmin walked away. The young one was still holding up his logs; as Hephaestion was conversing with the elder, he had slowly switched from standing on the left leg to the right, but had otherwise barely moved.

The capital of the Cathaei, Sangala, stood twenty parasangs beyond the river Acesines. The natives defended the place with a triple-line of wagons around the town. Although the Macedonians had the advantage of massive numbers, the Cathaei retreated in good order as their enemies took each line of defense. At length, after many casualties on both sides, the Cathaei were shut up inside the walls. Facing the unpleasant prospect of assault by Alexander’s siege engines, thousands of enemy fighters tried to sneak out of Sangala during the night. Peithon was waiting for them.

The prisoners were then given a choice: execution, or a place among Alexander’s auxiliaries. They all chose the latter. But it seemed a peculiarity of the men of Asia that such promises were taken lightly. The following night all of them tried to escape yet again. This time the Macedonians showed no mercy: by the time the work was done, they had hacked to death more than 7,000 of the deserters. Another 10,000 were killed in the siege. Upon seeing all these bodies littering the ground, I could not restrain myself from a reproving look at Alexander. To my surprise, he tossed his head with a smile.

“Don’t worry, Machon! I shall be gone soon enough!”

The King ordered Peithon to spare ten Brahmins from the general slaughter. Knowing their reputation for virtue, and still assuming they belonged to some Asiatic school of sophists, Alexander had these specimens brought before him. It was his intention to host a debate, and perhaps in this way revive the spirit of inquiry that had steadily been snuffed out by the brutality of the war.

But he was destined to be disappointed. When he posed a series of philosophical puzzles to them, believing he might learn how they think, none of the prisoners answered. On pain of death, he repeated his questions:

“Which are more numerous, those now alive or those who have died? Where do more creatures live, in the ocean or on the land? Which came first, day or night? How shall a man make others love him…?”

Yet even under the most dire threats the Brahmins stayed silent. In this way Alexander learned that they were not sages at all, but a class of haughty nobles who needed to learn humility.

“I had asked once for you to speak,” he said. “A god does not ask twice.”

The penalty was severe: for their silence, Alexander had their mouths sewn shut. The Brahmins were then left to languish in full view of the camp. For the most part they did so bravely, except for three who somehow managed to drink through their noses. These were killed as the army decamped to cross the next river to the east, the Hyphasis.

This was another muddy, roiling torrent that was bigger than any river in Greece. Faced with another laborious crossing, and the prospect of crossing it again on the way home, a change abruptly came over the hearts of the rank-and-file soldiers. Where before everyone simply went along with the rest of the mass, it suddenly became thinkable to demand an end to the misery. In the tents, around the cook fires, in the latrines, the talk was quite open about it. Their immediate superiors, moreover, stopped punishing such chatter.

Alexander’s position on this was far less clear than Aeschines represents. Idle curiosity to see what lay on the other side of the next hill was part of his nature, to be sure. The prospect of returning to Babylon to become a mere administrator, or worse yet to Pella and inevitable assassination, held little attraction. Better to die in battle, spear leveled against the elephants of the Great King of India! But on the other hand, without Arridaeus or Parmenion the prospect of victory against superior forces was remote. As resigned to death as Alexander was, he still preferred to die as the victor than as the vanquished. Nor was he blind to the suffering of his men.

You have heard the prosecution relate the substance of a speech the King gave on the shores of the Hyphasis. In this speech, Alexander is supposed to have argued for a continuation of the war to the farthest shores of Asia. When this wish was defied by his men, he railed against the cowards around him, and stripped off his clothes to show his scars. Then he supposedly retreated to his tent, to sulk like Achilles.

That speech did occur. What my opponent misses, though, is everything the speaker really meant. The simpleminded heroism of Aeschines’ version serves the purpose of
 
Ptolemy and Antipater, to burnish the legend of the god-hero who assures their authority. The real story is a great deal more interesting—it was the subtlest speech Alexander ever produced. For at the same time, he had to encourage his men to fight on, but also to make sure that his appeal was denied. And once it was denied, he had to convince everyone that he was disappointed! It was a short, shrewd performance from a man more used to giving orders than working persuasion.

He gathered his officers irrespective of rank in a field outside the camp. Just as the setting sun broke through under the storm clouds, he mounted a wagon and raised his hands for quiet. The late sunshine cast a golden light on him that made him seem like his own commemorative bronze.

“My friends, I have been knocked about a fair amount these last years. My ears have been rung as much as yours, but rest assured I am not deaf yet. It comes to my attention that some of you want to go home. And I must say I understand, for we know why there are so many big rivers in India—Zeus never stops the rain!”

It was a well-timed joke, but drew only grimaces. Rain in India is not a laughing matter.

“It is still only a short time since we met the Pauravas in battle. We fought that morning as the superior force, overmatching our enemy in men and horses and, in the end, in valor. Even so, a thousand of our companions will not see home after that test. A thousand more have claimed their rest in the time since, of wounds and sickness. You are wrong if you believe I have not noticed these losses.

“Now we march toward the lands of the Great King of India, whose domains encompass the balance of Asia. I have been as immersed in rumors of what will find there as I have been in this fetid air, and I must say they are just as unhealthy! So if you want to know what you will find at the Ganges, don’t ask your tent mate—ask me! Go ahead, ask!”

There was a pause before the officers took his invitation. “What will we find, O King?” they cried.

“Death,” Alexander said. “And victory. Exactly what you found everywhere else. For have we not learned that the butt of a sword feels the same in every land? Or its edge, for that matter? Whence this morbid curiosity, my friends? Have we not found the same reward everywhere—death to some, victory for the rest, and another river to cross? Comrades deserve the truth from comrades. From me you should expect no fairy tales, no rosy scenarios. To civilize the world is hard work.

“But here’s another dose of honesty, boys: I won’t go on without you. I’ve got more treasure than Croesus, and I could hire ten times your number in mercenaries, but I won’t. We’ve come this far together, and on the strength of your loyalty this campaign will live or die. I want to go east; some of you want to go home, the job only half-done. Some of you say ‘leave something of the world for our sons to conquer.’ I say leave our sons a world at peace, under the rule of a king who knows how much you bled to win it.

“You all have misgivings, I know. You have questions I haven’t begun to answer. Where does Asia end? Are the elephants in India twice as large as those of Porus? Will we all stray so far from home that we will return more barbarian than Greek? Of these matters, I can only tell you I don’t know yet. But I want us to find the answers together. I await your reply.”

As you recall, the response came from Coenus son of Polemocrates. This man was a competent infantry commander—his role in defeating Spitamenes and pressing the Indians at the Hydaspes were decisive—but as an orator his talents were decidedly modest. I was there when delivered his rambling argument for withdrawal, and it is a wonder how it has been built up into the tearjerker it has been by Ptolemy and his followers. But the reason is simple enough: given that Alexander’s professed wish to go on was defied, only a brilliant oration would motivate the retreat without diminishing the King.

Coming forward, Coenus said, “I address you reluctantly, as the humble must naturally be in the face of the Lord of Asia. For who would dispute that you already bear that title, now ruling lands greater in extent than the Great King himself? My king, hear the words of a man who has been with you since before the Granicus. Hear one who was there before the Hellespont, the Danube, or Thebes. Hear one who first rode during the first campaign against the Triballians, and yes, who shed his share of tears at the funeral of your father.