God of War: The Epic Story of Alexander the Great (18 page)

I was not doing very well, those weeks after Pater died.

But I liked her for trying, and all of a sudden, in less than a week, I was following her around the house while she did her work. She was the only person I really wanted to see. I’d never been in love before, so the whole thing rather took me by surprise.

I don’t remember how long into the week it was, but I remember standing on the terrace behind the kitchen. She had on a good chiton – good linen – with a zone of braided silk. She always looked like a lady – but the lines were not as clear, then, and her people were not peasants.

She had an apron on, and a scarf in her hair, and a heavy bronze knife in her fist. And what I remember is the moment she turned on me, knife in hand. ‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ she asked. ‘Your father worked all day on these estates.’

I didn’t know what to say, and so, in the best tradition of seventeen-year-old boys, I stammered a great deal.

She laughed – I remember watching her laugh, and there and then, I understood. I
wanted
her. Up to that moment, somehow I had thought I wanted us to be friends. Or just sought her good opinion.

‘I’ll go and work,’ I muttered – or something like it.

‘Good.’ She nodded. Then, almost sly, out of the corner of her mouth, with the slightest glance out of the corner of her eye – ‘I like to ride – when the work is done.’

A woman who liked to ride? Clearly the gods had made her for me.

We rode out every evening until I left for Pella. I was no blushing virgin, and she burned hot enough that I assume she was not, either. But we had more than lust. The son of Lagus was not going to marry a servant girl, but I went to her father, paid her bride price and when I left for Pella, she and a slave-maid rode with me. And Nike she surely was.

Somehow, I also found time to read Isocrates end to end. It was, after all, a royal command. I read it, and I caught fire. We could do this thing. It was the Thracian campaign writ large – the biggest challenge of men and logistics since the dawn of the world. I read and reread the philosopher’s words, and began to dream of a new world, where we younger men conquered Persia. I could see it.

The first night back in Pella, Alexander came to my rooms unannounced. This required explanation, too. In the last year, as we were promoted – first by experience, and then by decree – to the ranks of manhood and made royal companions rather than just pages, some of us received apartments in the palace. Other men stayed in the pages’ barracks, and others still bought houses in Pella or rented rooms – remember, some of our number were as poor as peasants.

I had two rooms in the palace. I kept them – they were close to the king and very useful when I was on duty, or when we were awake all night.

But after Pater died and I had Nike, I bought a house in town. I bought a big house – in fact, I bought the house that Aristotle vacated. I moved Nike in as my mistress – in effect, as my wife – and I enlarged the stables to hold twenty horses and invited Cleitus, Philip and my two other best friends among the pages – Nearchus and young Cleomenes – to come and live with me. None of them had any money, and all of them were, in effect, my men. Oh, that’s not fair – Cleitus had his own relationship with Alexander, and Philip the Red was never really
mine
, but we were all close, we shared loyalties, tastes and friends.

I set up housekeeping in a few hours, or, rather, my new chief of staff, Nike, did – she bought furniture, won over my useless slaves, bought food, bought a cook, found all my friends and moved all their kit into our house, assigned them rooms – all while I was on duty with Antipater.

We were deeply in love, but that love was aided by events and by the fact that we were good allies, too – she wanted to run a household, and I needed a household manager. And by the will of the gods, I got one. A brilliant one. She could find chicken stock in a desert – enough for as many guests as she wanted to have. She was delighted by my body every hour I wanted her – scars and all. She was happy enough to occupy herself when I was busy. She never fawned, and she could read.

I still don’t know what she saw in me.

I get ahead of myself. I was in my rooms at the palace, unbuckling my breastplate and contemplating the short walk ‘home’. In fact, I’d been there once and expected a shambles.

Alexander walked in without warning and started helping me with the buckles under my arms.

‘Did you read Isocrates?’ he asked. As if he’d been waiting for three weeks just to hear my opinion. Which, in a way, was probably true.

‘Every word,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’

He stopped fumbling with my buckles. ‘You mean it?’

I remember that moment. It was a week of changes for me, and any astrologer would have been able to tell me, I suspect. ‘We can conquer Asia,’ I said. ‘Your friends. Your team, if you like.’

He kissed me – he never kissed anyone, our golden-haired boy, but he kissed my cheek and pressed me to his chest. ‘Yes!’ he breathed in my ear. ‘I knew you would understand.’

I got out of my armour, stripped, wiped myself down and put on an old chiton and a warm chlamys for the walk home, while he babbled plans. Good plans – it wasn’t that he was babbling nonsense, but that human speech was too slow for the efficient transfer of everything he had to say.

But I
had
read Isocrates, so I could keep up with him, and nod or cut him short. I won’t bore you with this, but conversation often sounded like this, to an outsider:

Alexander: We need a navy.

Me (or Hephaestion or Philotas or anyone in the inner circle who could keep up): Ports. We have the wood.

Alexander: Oarsmen.

Me: Amphilopolis. But Athens!

Alexander (sometimes with a chorus of all of us together): It all comes down to Athens.

Me: Isocrates might help.

Alexander: A gift. But we can’t be seen—

Me: We need to find a way to bribe from strength.

Alexander: Good phrase. (So in the next conversation, we’d say ‘Bribe from strength’ without explanation – just as we didn’t need an explanation for the words ‘oarsmen’ because everyone in the inner circle knew that was a code for our complete lack of trained sailors, oarsmen, shipwrights – you get the picture.)

On that day, though, we weren’t with the others. Hephaestion – who knew where he was? He was always Alexander’s right hand, but he had begun to branch out himself – serving maids, boys with nice hair – basically anyone who was alive and wanted to fuck. Alexander was tolerant – amused. And not very interested.

And for whatever reason, Hephaestion never bothered to read Isocrates.

I’m taking my time telling this, because while it was the culmination of my career as a courtier, and in some ways the logical development of my career, it was also the moment at which the knucklebones were cast. For good or ill.

So – I had changed into plain clothes, arranged my armour on its stand, buffed a few flecks of dust off the bronze – I was waiting for Alexander to lose interest so I could go home. That doesn’t mean I wanted him to lose interest – I was a courtier as well as a friend – merely that in the normal run of things, my time would expire and he’d go back to Hephaestion or go to sit with Antipater or go and read letters from his father – listen to court cases, dine with ambassadors, what have you. I’d been back for three days and on duty the whole time, and while I loved having his attention – his entirely favourable attention – I was really looking forward to putting my mouth over Nike’s and feeling her breath in my chest.

Alexander was arguing both sides of the notion of starting the Hellenic conquest of Asia in Aegypt when he looked up. He was a little shorter than I, with tousled, leonine blond hair and darting eyes. My blond hair was darker, with some brown in it, but curly enough – I was taller, and had the big nose. Hah! Still do.

He grinned. ‘I’m hungry. Let’s go and steal some food in the kitchen.’

I didn’t even think. ‘Come to my house,’ I said. ‘I’m sure there’s food. Better than stealing from the companions’ cook!’ I shrugged. ‘It’s not one of Aristotle’s foolish exercises.’

Alexander’s eyes flicked away and then back. ‘You have a house?’ he asked.

‘Aristotle’s house,’ I said. ‘I bought it. My pater – well, I’m a rich man now.’

Alexander laughed. ‘Wait for me,’ he said.

A minute later, he appeared in a companion’s dun-coloured cloak. ‘Let’s go. I hope you didn’t buy Aristotle’s cook?’

‘I didn’t. But to be honest, I haven’t been home since I bought the place. It’ll be chaos. I invited Cleitus to come and live with me – but he’s on watch tonight. And Philip and Nearchus, I think . . .’ I remember yawning. Alexander walked along next to me – for a few minutes, we were two young men at large in Pella. And woe betide the bodyguard who was supposed to be on duty.

We walked the three streets in no time. We didn’t talk about anything that I remember, until he said, ‘Well, it’s lit up. That’s something. Your slaves knew you were coming.’

In fact, there were two slaves in the door yard – Nichomachus and another I didn’t know. Nichomachus saw me, saw Alexander and darted inside. The new boy just kept cutting apples.

‘I think we’re in luck,’ I said. The smell coming into the courtyard was excellent – lamb, fresh bread, something with herbs in it.

Alexander paused. ‘You are married,’ he said.

‘I have a housekeeper,’ I admitted. ‘I like her a lot.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘This I need to see.’

And he followed me into what proved to be my own house.

Philip and Nearchus and Cleomenes were standing by their couches – Nike was nowhere to be seen. There was furniture I’d never seen before, two Athenian vases of flowers at either end of the andron, and the empty niche in the entryway had statues of Aphrodite and Poseidon, flowers, a small spilled offering of wine. A brazier was burning to take the edge off the air, and it had something wonderful in it – myrrh.

‘My lord.’ Philip, as the eldest, bowed to welcome us. ‘We have had the fish course.’

‘Never eaten so well in my life!’ said Cleomenes, who was too young to be restrained, and always hungry.

Philip gave him a wry smile – the equivalent of tousling his hair and telling him to shut up.

Alexander sank on to the couch nearest the door and Myndas appeared and started taking his sandals. Myndas had never, in a year of serving me, helped me with my sandals.

But he did, when he was done with the prince.

Dinner sailed in and out like a well-ordered fleet – servants I’d never hired or paid for carrying dishes I’d eaten only at court or at home. In fact, it was plain enough – four removes, meat and bread and some eggs, but plenty of it, and everything with some little touch of culinary genius – saffron on the eggs, pepper on the lamb with sweet raisins.

Alexander ate sparingly like the ascetic he was, but he relished the bread, and when the sweets came in – nuts in honey – he ate himself to sticky excess. And he drank, too. It was all local wines – Macedon has no need to import wine, really, and our heavy reds are as good as any in the world. Off in the next room, someone was keeping the wine watered three or four to one, but Nearchus was bright red and the prince was loud.

He put his feet on the floor suddenly, and barked his laugh. ‘I want to see her!’ he said.

We all fell silent.

Alexander had a wine bowl. ‘To the mistress of this house, whosoever she might be. I haven’t eaten like this in my life.’

I said something about being at his service.

‘Then let’s see her!’ Alexander said.

I rose to my feet.

‘In my court we have many factions,’ Alexander said, his eyes a little wild. ‘Attalus believes all men are pigs. Parmenio wants us to make war for ever so he can keep his place – Antipater craves peace so he can keep his. Hephaestion would make love to the world.’ He grinned. ‘But you, my friend, are the only advocate of women. You
like
women. And now you’ve brought one home, and you are ashamed to show her to me?’ He beamed around. ‘Do you gentlemen know that he put a girl in my bed? Eh?’ he asked.

‘I’ll fetch her, by your leave, my prince.’ I headed for the door.

‘Don’t you find . . . Ptolemy, I’m asking you. Don’t you find that she makes you weaker? After you put that lady in my bed – I thought of nothing else for ten days. I could accomplish nothing. I was worth nothing. Are you a better man than I?’

Knock me over with a feather – he’d never shown a sign of being besotted. Of course, we’d ridden to rescue his father – for nothing, as it turned out.

I shrugged and went to the kitchen.

Nike wasn’t there. There was a cook, a big African I’d never seen before, with a gold earring and a faintly military air. Clearly a freeman – the earring was worth ten days’ wages. ‘Lady Nike?’

‘Changing clothes,’ he said, with one hand on a bronze pan and the other on some eggs. ‘Don’t bother me right now, lord.’

By the time I went back into the hallway, she was there, wearing a fine blue wool chiton in the old Ionian manner, pinned with some very plain bronze pins which I determined on the spot to replace with gold. I snatched a kiss, with spectacular success. Isn’t there something almost miraculous to kissing someone who wants to kiss you? Then she pulled free.

‘Don’t muss my hair,’ she said, and ignoring my attempts to stop her and give her advice, she walked into the andron.

Alexander was drinking again. Nearchus looked . . . frightened. Cleomenes was laughing and Philip was laughing with him. But they all straightened up when Nike came in. She was that kind of girl.

She made a low curtsy to Alexander – just the sort of curtsy she’d have made at one of the shrines.

He looked her over with an air that made me angry – as if she were unfit for human consumption.

‘The food is excellent,’ he said.

‘Thank you, lord,’ she answered.

‘You are a freewoman, I think,’ he said.

She nodded.

‘You can cook and weave, then? How about . . .’ He drawled the question – he meant to offend. ‘How about reading?’

‘I’ve read Isocrates,’ she said.