The Persian Boy (19 page)

On the day of the games, I went early to his room, where a squire was dressing him. As soon as he saw me he said, “Oh,? Bagoas will see to it; you can go.” Some of the squires had improved and the King had warmed to them, but this one was awkward. He went out sulkily; the King said, “In all this time he can’t hang a cloak.” I put in the brooches properly, saying, “Next time, ask me.” He drew me by the hands and kissed me. “We shall see each other when you dance.”

In the morning were the athletic events, running, jumping, throwing the disk and javelin, boxing, jumping, wrestling. This being the first time I had seen Greek games, I daresay I felt some interest, though they have bored me ever since. After the noon break came the dancing.

For this and for the music, the army carpenters had run up a theater, with a stage and backdrop facing a gentle slope, benches for the important people, and a dais for the King’s chair. The backdrops were painted with real-looking columns and curtains. We have no such art in Persia. I had never seen such a place before, but had been over it, and found that the floor was good.

The slopes were filling, the generals were taking their seats upon the benches. I went where I was shown, and joined the other dancers, on the grass near to the stage. We glanced sideways at each other; three Greeks, two Macedonians, and one other Persian. The King came in to the sound of trumpets. The other dancers all looked at me with hatred, knowing who I was.

But I don’t think that, by the end, even they would have disputed my win. I knew it must be a good one, for his sake as well as mine. True enough, he never interfered with the judges; but judges are only human. Those at Tyre might have known he thought well of Thettalos; but this was not quite the same as being his lover. A near thing would not do.

At Susa, I had danced for favor, from the fear of being turned off, from conceit of myself. I danced now for the honor of our love.

Turns were settled by drawing lots; I came on fourth. And I was not halfway through my first quick dance with the hand-clappers, before the applause began. It was new to me. My biggest audience had been a handful of Darius’ guests, who offered praise as courtesy. This roar was different; it carried me on wings. When I came to my somersaults at the end, I could hardly hear the music.

The judges made their choice in no time at all. I was sent to get my crown.

With the din following me all the way, I went up to the dais, and set my knee on its edge. Someone passed him the glittering wreath. I looked up, and met his smile.

He put the crown on my head, his touch caressing me. If happiness could overfill one like food or drink, I should have burst asunder. Hephaistion never did that for him, I thought.

The next contest was for kitharists. If the Wise God had sent his angels down to play, I would never have known the difference.

I remember nothing, between this paradise and standing by his chair at the evening feast. It was a grand banquet, quite well done for Macedonians, in the great hall of the palace, blazing with lamps; too many guests to use Greek couches. He had asked more Persian lords than ever before. All through the meal I was busy with gifts and messages. They all had something to say about my dance. I said to myself, He is honoring my people for what he finds in them; but a little, too, for me. And I thought with ecstasy of the coming night.

I went up before him. Instead of the bath-robe and towels, there were fresh clothes laid out. If I had not been living in a dream, I would have expected it; this I saw, in time not to make a fool of myself.

He came up, embraced me-the attendant squire had withdrawn when he saw me coming-and said, “Today I was envied by all Zadrakarta, and not for being King.” I undid his cloak for him and helped him change. “Don’t wait up for me, my dear. It’s all old friends, we shall be drinking until daylight. Go to bed and keep warm, or you’ll be stiff tomorrow.”

A Macedonian night, I thought as I laid his purple cloak away. Well, he has given me warning. Never mind; however drunk he is, it shall be I who’ll put him? to bed, not that loutish squire. It’s little enough to do for him.

I took a spare blanket from the chest, and rolled myself up in a corner. The hard floor did not keep me long awake.

I heard his voice. The birds were astir, but dawn had not yet broken.

“Every step on my feet. It took four of them to shift Philotas.”

“And they won’t get far,” said Hephaistion. “Now, can you get to bed?”

“Yes, but come in.” A pause. “Oh, come in. No one is here.”

I felt very stiff. He’d been right about keeping warm. I drew up my blanket, lest my face should catch the light.

Hephaistion had Alexander’s arm across his shoulders, not quite carrying him. He sat him down, took off his sandals and girdle, pulled his chiton over his head and eased him into bed. He placed the table, set there the water-pitcher and the cup, looked about for the chamber-pot and put it in easy reach. He wrung out a towel from the ewer, and wiped Alexander’s forehead. Though unsteady on his feet, he did all this quite neatly. Alexander sighed, and said, “That’s good.”

“You’d better sleep it well off. Look, here’s the water and there’s the pot.”

“I’ll sleep it off. Ah, that’s good. You always think of everything.”

“I ought, by now.” He bent and kissed Alexander’s forehead. “Sleep well, my love.” He went, closing the door softly.

Alexander turned on his side. I waited a good while, to be sure he was fast asleep, then put back the blanket stealthily. I stole off to my cold bed, as dawn came with the squalling of the gulls.

-14-

AT SIXTEEN, in Zadrakarta, my youth began. Before, I had passed from childhood into some middle state, where youth was permitted only to my body. Now for seven years of my life it was given me back. All that long wandering has the taste of it.

There are places stamped on my memory; and long months when the face of the earth swims past me, as the shipping does when one sits beside the Nile. Mountain passes, wastes of snow, springtime forests, black lakes in upland moors, flatlands of pebbles or parched grass; rocks eaten into shapes of dragons; heavenly valleys full of fruit-blossom; mountains without end, spearing the sky, white and deadly; foothills with banks of unknown flowers; and rain-rain streaming down as if the heavens were dissolving, turning earth to mud, rivers to torrents, weapons to rust, men into helpless children. And the red-hot sandhills, day after day, by the glaring sea.

So we marched east from Zadrakarta, when I was sixteen and mad with love. We skirted the mountains that stretched on from Hyrkania, and entered wide empty land. Yet we lived in a moving city.

The King’s train was now no less. He had crossed from Greece with a regent to rule his kingdom, free as a bird, just a general with the rank of King. Then the great cities fell, and Darius died. Now he was Great King in his own empire, and all its business traveled with him.

We were in a land without towns, like ancient Persis before Kyros’ day. Hundreds of miles apart were forts like my childhood home; bigger, because they had been seats of kings, but not really different; a strong house on a crag, a tribal village round it. They had passed from kings down to chiefs and satraps; but, ancient and rude as they were, were still called king-houses. For the rest, there were nomad herdsmen seeking pasture, or hamlets where there was water all year round. For league after league, our camp was the only town.

It held the army, and the second army that served it, of armorers, engineers, carpenters, tentmakers, sutlers, leather-workers, grooms; the womenfolk and children of all these; the slaves. There were a score of clerks by now. And these were only the army in Alexander’s pay. A third army followed us for trade; horse-copers, cloth-sellers, jewelers, actors, musicians, jugglers, panders and bawds, whores of each sex or none. For even troopers were rich; as for the great generals, they lived like minor kings.

They had households of their own in wagon trains, with chamberlains and stewards. Their courtesan?s lived as fine as Darius’ women. They themselves after exercise were rubbed down by masseurs with oil of myrrh. Alexander only laughed at them, as at the foibles of friends. I could not bear to see how he let them surpass him in state and pride. I knew what Persians would make of it.

He himself had no time for show; or, often, for me. At the end of every march there would be a day’s business waiting; envoys and scouts and engineers and petitioners,, and the common soldiers who brought him their troubles as of right. After all that, he wanted his bed only for sleep.

Darius, when he found desire to fail him, would feel wronged by nature, and send for someone, such as me, whose skill was to put things right. Alexander, his eyes upon tomorrow, thought nature meant him to get a good night’s rest.

There are things one can’t explain to a whole man. With people like me, sex is a pleasure but not a need. Much more I loved his body just to be near it, like a dog or a child. There was life in his warmth, and sweetness. But I never said to him, “Let me in, I’ll be no trouble.” Never be importunate, never, never. There were other things for which he needed me every day; and the nights of reward would come.

On one of these, he said to me, “Were you angry that I burned Persepolis?”

“No, my lord; I was never there. But why did you burn it down?”

“Up. We burned it up. The god inspired us.” By the night-lamp, I saw his face like a rapt singer’s. “Curtains of fire, hangings of fire; tables, spread with great feasts of fire. And the ceilings were all of cedarwood. When we had done throwing on the torches, and the heat drove us outside, it was going up like a torrent into the black sky, a great fire-fall pouring upward with sparks for spray; roaring and blazing right up to heaven. And I thought, No wonder they worship it. What is there on earth more godlike?”

He liked to be talked to after the act of love; there was still something in him that rebuked desire as weakness. At these times I would speak to him of serious things; laughter and play were for beforehand.

Once he said, “Here we lie like this, and still you call me My Lord. Why do you do it?”

“It is what you are; in my heart, in everything.”

“Keep it in your heart, my dear, before the Macedonians. I have seen some looks.”

“You will always be my lord, whatever I call you. What must it be?”

“Alexander, of course. Any Macedonian trooper can call me that.”

“Iskander,” I said. My Greek accent was not very good yet.

He laughed and told me to try again. “That’s better. When they hear you lording me, they think, ‘So he’s setting up as Great King.’”

He had given me my chance at last. “But my lord, my lord Iskander, you are the Great King of Persia. I know my people; they’re not like the Macedonians. I know the Greeks say that the gods envy great men, that they punish hu-” I had been working hard at my books, but the word escaped me.

“Hubris,” he said. “And they are watching me for that already.”

“Not the Persians, my lord. In a great man they look for grandeur. If he seems to hold himself cheap, they withhold respect.”

“Cheap?” he said from the bottom of his chest. It was too late to go back.

“My lord, courage and victory we honor. But the King … he must be apart; great satraps must approach him like a god. For him they make the prostration, which only peasants would make for them.”

He was silent. I waited fearfully. At last he said, “Darius’ brother wanted to tell me that. But he did not dare.”

“Now my lord is angry?”

“Never, at counsel given in love.” He pulled me closer to prove it. “But remember, Darius lost, and I’ll tell you why. One can rule satraps that way; but never soldiers. They don’t want to follow some royal image they have to approach on their bellies. They want to know you remember them in some action a year ago, and whether they’ve a brother serving; they like a word if he dies. If they’re snowed on, they like to see the general snowed on too. And if rations are short, or water, and you? keep ahead of the column, they want to know you’re doing it on the army issue; then they’ll follow you. And they like to laugh. I learned what they laugh at in my father’s guardhouse when I was six years old. They made me Great King of Persia, remember. . . . No, I’m not angry; you were right to speak. You know, I have the blood both of Greeks and Trojans in me.”

I knew nothing of it, but devoutly kissed his shoulder.

“Never mind. Say I like your people; or find something of myself in them. Why say yours or mine? They should all be ours. Kyros did not rest till he had achieved it. Now it’s time to make a new thing again. The god does not lead us all this way for nothing.”

I said, “I have talked too much. Now you are wide awake again.”

Last time I’d said this, he had replied, “Why not?” Tonight he said, “Yes,” and went on thinking. I fell asleep beside his open eyes.

We were coming into Baktria, over huge rough uplands already touched with autumn, cut by harsh winds from the freezing mountains. I bought myself a coat of scarlet cloth lined with marten-skins, having lost my lynx-skin one at the Kaspian Gates. Camp-followers and soldiers bundled on extra warmth with sheep and goat skins; the officers had cloaks of good woolen cloth; but it was only the sleeved and trousered Persians who looked really warm. Sometimes Macedonians gave me a glance of envy; but they would have died before they put on the garb of the defeated, the soft and rotten Mede. They’d as soon have eaten their mothers.

The first rains fell; the wet ground made heavy going, streams were in spate; we seemed now to move as cumbrously as Darius’ train. I learned the difference, when news came in that Satibarzanes, satrap of Areia, had rebelled behind us. He had given himself up freely at Zadrakarta; Alexander had offered him his right hand, asked him to dine, confirmed his satrapy, and given him a guard of forty Macedonians to help man his strongpoint. All these he’d murdered, once Alexander was gone; and was calling his tribesmen out to fight for Bessos.

Over our vast straggling horde, a trumpet sounded. The horse-train trampled and whinnied; orders barked in the snapping air; in less time than one could believe, the cavalry came out in column. Alexander mounted his war-horse; they plunged off into the weather, the ground shuddering under them. It was as if a slow giant had opened his cloak, and hurled a javelin.

We made camp and waited among all the winds of heaven; men and women were scratching the plain for firewood. I went to my Greek lessons with Philostratos, a grave young Ephesian, who did not despair of me. (To him I owe it that King Ptolemy lets me use his library, and I have read most Greek authors worth mentioning, though I cannot to this day make out the simplest inscription in my native tongue.)

The clerks kept up the records, so I got the news. The tribesmen had fled at the mere rumor of Alexander; the satrap had escaped to Bessos. Alexander had marked him down for death; he could never abide treachery. Nonetheless, the new satrap he had appointed for Areia was another Persian. He rode back in a snowstorm, and settled to his load of business.

The returning troops made a great rush for women, or whatever their fancy was. I knew better than to await any such summons. When he poured out his strength in war, he kept nothing back; and there was a half-month’s work of government saved up for him. He got through it in five days. Then he asked in some friends, and they sat up all night drinking. He grew talkative, and fought over the whole war again. Then he slept all day, and on through the next night.

It was not the wine, though he had had a lot of it; he could have slept that off in half the time. Wine was what he used, to bring his mind to a stop when it had forgotten rest. Drunk as he was, he managed to take a bath, which he liked at bedtime. He never laid a hand on me, except to steady his steps. Wine brings out hidden things, and it did with him; but coarseness in the bedchamber was never one of them?.

The day after, he woke as fresh as a foal; got through another mountain of work; and said to me at bedtime, “How can it have been so long?”

I made him welcome in every way I knew, and some I had only just thought of. It was a joke of his that I was making a Persian of him; the truth was that I was forgetting already how to please anyone else. A gentle subtlety was better for him than passion. Though I had the art to draw men into violent pleasures, and had done it also with him, it left a cloud on him; and for me it was only a taught skill. I should have obeyed my heart from the first; but no one before him had ever let me have one. Now I had shown him his way about the garden of delight, or as much of it as ever would delight him, he wanted a companion there, not an entertainer. He was never clumsy; it was his nature to be a giver, here as elsewhere. And, here as elsewhere, if he was vain it was never about nothing.

Prince Oxathres had been promoted into the King’s Bodyguard. Alexander liked handsome men there, and thought it due to his rank. He was within a thumb-breadth of Darius for height; Alexander said to me laughing that it was a change for Philotas, to have someone look down at him. I replied with constraint, which I hoped he noticed. This Philotas had been on my mind.

He was the grandest of the generals, Commander of the Companions, thought handsome, though too red for a Persian taste. Of all those who put on more state and luxury than the King, he was the chief. I swear he went hunting with more gear and attendance than Darius had, and the inside of his tent was like a palace. I had taken a message there, and he had looked at me with contempt. It did him no good with me, even that Hephaistion disliked him too.

When one knows the ways of courts, one knows what to look for. Sometimes I would post myself outside the audience room, as I’d done at Babylon, to watch faces as men came out. There would be the usual run of relief, disappointment, pleasure, familiar ease; but Philotas’ smile used to drop off his face too quickly, and once I could have sworn I saw a sneer.

I kept it in my heart. I dared say nothing. Alexander had known him all his life; with boyhood friends, he was loyal beyond sense. Not only that; the man’s father, Parmenion, outranked every other general, even Krateros who outranked all others here. Parmenion had been King Philip’s chief commander. I had never seen him, because his army was guarding the western roads behind us, a trust on which all our lives depended. So I held my peace; only praising Oxathres’ Nisaian chargers and their splendid trappings, and adding, “But of course, my lord, even at Darius’ court he was never as rich as Philotas.”

“No?” he said, and I could see it had made him think; so I clasped him laughing, and went on, “But now not you yourself are as rich as I.”

The only upshot of this, that I could see, was his looking at Oxathres’ horse-trappings, and liking them so much that he had them copied for old Oxhead. No Greek horse looks wonderful to a Persian; but now he was fed, tended and fresh, you could believe he had carried Alexander in battle for ten years and never once shown fear. Most horses would have been bothered by the new finery, the headstall with the cockade, the silver cheekpieces and the hanging plaques on the collar; but Oxhead thought very well of himself, and paced along making the most of them. There was a good deal in him of Alexander.

I was thinking this, as I sponged him down before dinner. He liked that as well as his bath at bedtime; he was the cleanest man I ever knew, when his wars allowed it. I used to wonder at first what faint pleasant scent he used, and would look about for the phial; but there was none, it was the gift of nature.

I praised the horse-trappings, and Oxhead’s looks in them, and he said he was having more made as gifts for his friends. I toweled him down; all muscle, not overbuilt as those clumsy Greek wrestlers are. I said, “How well, my lord, you would wear the clothes that match the trappi?ngs.”

He looked round quickly. “What put that in your head?”

“Only seeing you now.”

“Oh, no. You are a seer, I told you so. I have been thinking, in one’s own kingdom one should look less like a stranger.”

His words delighted me. The wind was whistling round the tent. “I can tell you, my lord, in this weather you’ll be much warmer in trousers.”

“Trousers?” he said, staring at me in horror, as if I had proposed he should paint himself blue all over. Then he laughed. “My dear boy, on you they are enchanting; on Oxathres, they decorate the Guard. But to a Macedonian, there is something about trousers . . . Don’t ask me why. I’m as bad as all the rest.”

“We’ll think of something, my lord. Something more like Persian court dress.” I longed to make him beautiful in the fashion of my people.

He sent for a bolt of fine wool, for me to drape on him. But I had hardly started, when it turned out that not only would he not wear trousers; he would not have long sleeves either. He said they would fidget him, but I could tell it was just a pretext. I told him it was Kyros himself who’d put the Persians into Median dress; what’s more, it was true; but even this magic name had no power upon him. So I had to resort to the antique Persian robe, so terribly old-fashioned that no one had worn it in a hundred years, except the King at festivals. If I’d not seen Darius being put into it, I’d never have known how it was made. It has a long skirt, stitched in folds on a waistband; a kind of cape, with a hole for the head to go through, covers the upper part and hangs over the arms to the wrists. I cut it all out and tacked the skirt together, put it on him, and moved the mirror about for him to see.