The Persian Boy (20 page)

“I remember this,” he said, “in the wall-reliefs at Persepolis. What do you think?” He moved sideways to the mirror. He was like a woman for dressing up, whenever he got a good excuse.

“It has great dignity,” I said. He could carry it off, though it really called for height. “But do you like it to move in?”

He paced about. “If one doesn’t need to do anything. Yes, I’ll have it made up. In white, with purple borders.”

So I found the best robe-maker (there were so many Persians in camp, that craftsmen followed them) and he made it with the real elaborate drapings. The King wore it, with a low open tiara, when entertaining Persians. I could see it increased respect. There are ways and ways of doing the prostration, which he did not see as I did. I had never told him, not wishing to betray my people; it hurt their pride, to see lower-born Macedonians make no reverence at all.

I told him now that they were well pleased with the robe. I did not say, though I longed to, that Philotas had looked down the length of the table and caught some crony’s eye.

As I expected, Alexander soon found the robe tiresome; he said one could not stride out in it. I could have told him no one strode out at a Persian court. He had another made, pretty much like a long Greek chiton, except that the top overhung the arms. He wore a broad Median sash with it; purple on white. It suited him; but as far as the Macedonians were concerned, it might as well have had sleeves. He was so sure he had struck a happy mean, I hadn’t the heart to tell him.

Hephaistion, as always, was on his side, and had taken to Persian horse-trappings. I heard murmurs about sycophancy as he passed; but I knew them mean. I had had time to consider Hephaistion. How easily he could have had me poisoned, or accused me through false witnesses, or had jewels hidden in my pack and charged me with their theft; something like that would have happened long ago at the Persian court, if I’d displeased a powerful favorite. He had a rough tongue among fellow soldiers, yet had never used it on me. If we had to meet, he would just speak to me as if to some wellborn page, civil and brisk. In return I offered respect without servility. Often I wished him dead, as, no doubt, so he did me; but we had reached an unspoken understanding. Neither of us would have robbed Alexa?nder of anything he valued; so we had no choice.

Marching east over bare dun upland, and through rich valleys on which we fed, we halted at the king-house of the Zarangians. It was a rude old castle, rambling about over massive rocks with crazy rough-hewn steps, the windows mostly arrow-slits. The local chief moved out of the tower rooms; they smelled of his horses which had been stabled below. Alexander moved in, knowing he would lose face with the tribesmen if he did not. The squires had a guardroom halfway up; above were the King’s chamber and an anteroom; a sort of closet, used by the squire who had the care of his weapons; and another closet for me. Outside of that, the other rooms, where his friends were lodged, were reached by going outdoors.

I had a brazier brought up for him to take his bath by; the place had a whistling draft, and after the march, he wanted a good clean-up before supper. The water was good and hot; I was rubbing down his back with ground pumice, when with a groaning creak the crude door flew open, and one of the squires burst in.

Alexander, sitting in the bath, said, “Whatever is it, Metron?”

The youth stood breathless. This one had made efforts, and shaped quite well; if only from respect for Alexander, he was civil even to me. But he now stood white as a bed-sheet, trying to find his voice. Alexander told him to take a hold of himself, and speak up. He swallowed.

“Alexander. There’s a man here says he knows of a plot to kill you.”

I rinsed the pumice off Alexander’s back. He stood up. “Where is he?”

“In the armory, Alexander. There was nowhere else to put him.”

“His name?”

“Kebalinos, sir. Leonnatos’ squadron. Sir, I brought your sword.”

“Good. You put a guard on him?”

“Yes, Alexander.”

“Good boy. Now tell me what he said.”

I was still drying and dressing him. Perceiving I was not to be sent out, Metron said, “He’s here for his brother, sir, young Nikomachos. He didn’t dare come himself, they’d have guessed why. That’s why he told Kebalinos.”

“Yes?” said Alexander, very patiently. “Told Kebalinos what?”

“About Dymnos, sir. He’s the one.”

Alexander’s brows went up a moment. Metron buckled his sword-belt on.

“He’s-well, a friend of young Nikomachos, sir. He wanted him to join in, but Nikomachos said no. Dymnos had counted on his saying yes to anything; so he lost his head, and told Nikomachos they’d kill him if he didn’t join. So then he pretended he would, and told his brother.”

“They? Who are the others?”

The youth strained his face. “Alexander, I’m sorry. He told me, but I can’t remember.”

“Honest at least. If you want to make a soldier, it’s when taken by surprise you have to keep your wits. Never mind; go and fetch me the Captain of the Guard.”

He started pacing the room. He looked stern-faced, but hardly shocked at all. I’d learned already that more kings had been murdered in Macedon even than in Persia. There, they used the dagger. It was said his father had been struck down before his eyes.

When the Captain of the Guard came in, he said, “Arrest Dymnos of Chalestra. He’s quartered in the camp, not the palace. Bring him here.” Then he went with Metron to the armory.

From the anteroom, I heard the man inside cry, “Oh, King! I thought I’d never get word to you in time.” Being scared he gabbled, so I missed some of his story. There was something about Dymnos feeling slighted by the King, then, “But that’s only what he told my brother. He couldn’t account to me for the others being in it”; and he gave their names, which like Metron I have forgotten, even though I saw them die.

Alexander let him run on, never checking him when he rambled; then said, “How long did your brother know this, before he told you?”

“Just till he could find me, Alexander. No time at all.”

“Today, then, while we were making camp, this happened.”

“Oh, no, Alexander. That’s why I came like this. It was two days ago.”

“Two days?” His voice had altered. “I’ve never been out of camp. How long were you in this, be?fore you changed your mind? Arrest him.”

They pulled him out, a young soldier, gaping with fright. “But Alexander,” he called, between a croak and a shout, “I went the moment I heard. I swear it, I went straight to your tent. Didn’t he tell you, then? He said he’d tell you as soon as you were free. And again next day. I swear it, King, by undying Zeus. Did he never tell you at all?”

There was a silence. Alexander searched the man with his deep eyes.

“Release him, but stand by. Now let me understand you. You are saying you told all this to someone at my headquarters, who undertook to report it?”

“Yes, Alexander!” He had nearly sunk down, when the soldiers let him go. “I swear it, only ask him, King. He said I’d done right, and he’d report it as soon as he had the chance. Then yesterday he said you’d had too much business, but he’d do it before night. And then today, when we could see Dymnos and the rest still going free, my brother said I must see you somehow myself.”

“It seems your brother’s no fool. To whom had you given this message?”

“To General Philotas, King. He-“

“What?”

The man repeated it, stammering in terror. But what I saw in Alexander’s face was not disbelief. It was recollection.

Presently he said, “Very well, Kebalinos. You and your brother will now be held as witnesses. You have nothing to fear if you speak the truth. So prepare your evidence, and be ready to give it clearly.”

The guards removed him. Alexander sent everyone else to summon men he needed. Meantime we were alone. I tidied the bath-things, stupidly concerned that all these people would be here before I could get hold of the slaves to carry the heavy bath away. I was not leaving him by himself till someone came.

Striding about the room, he came face to face with me. Words burst out of him. “He was with me an hour that day. The last part of it, he was talking horses. Too much business? . . . We have been friends, Bagoas, we’ve been friends since I was a child.” He took another turn, and came back. “He changed after I went to Siwah. He mocked it to my face, but he has always mocked the gods, and I forgave it him. I was warned of him in Egypt; but he was my friend; what was I, Ochos? Yet he has never been the same; he changed when I had the oracle.”

Before I could reply, the men he’d sent for began arriving, and I had to withdraw. The first was General Krateros, who had his lodging close by. As I went, I heard Alexander say, “Krateros, I want a guard put on every road out of here; every track and riding-path. No one at all, for any reason, is to leave this place. Do that, it can’t wait; then come back and I’ll tell you why.”

The other friends he’d sent for, Hephaistion and Ptolemy and Perdikkas and the rest, were shut with him in his room, and I could hear nothing. Then came trudging feet upon the stairs. Young Metron, running ahead, now over his fright and full of self-importance, scraped at the door. “Alexander, they’re bringing Dymnos. Sir, he resisted arrest.”

Four soldiers brought on an army stretcher a youngish, fair-bearded Macedonian, with blood over his side and trickling from his mouth. His breath was rattling. Alexander said, “Which of you did this?” and they all turned as white-faced as their burden. The leader, finding a voice of sorts, said, “He did, King. I’d not even arrested him. He did it as soon as he saw us coming.”

Alexander stood by the stretcher. The man knew him, though his eyes were glazing. The King put a hand on his shoulder; meaning, I supposed, to shake out of him the names of his confederates while there was time. But he just said, “How have I wronged you, Dymnos? What was it?”

The man’s lips moved. I saw on his face a last shred of anger. His eyes rolled round and lighted on my Persian clothes; and his voice, half clotted, began to say “Barbar-” Then the blood came up, and his eyes fixed in his head.

Alexander said, “Cover him. Put him somewhere out of sight and set a guard.” The soldier of lowest rank spread, unwillingly, his cloak over the corpse.

Soon after, Krateros returned to say the guard-posts were being manned; then someone announced that the King’s supper was ready.

As they all passed my closet, to which I had withdrawn, Alexander said, “The outpost guards must still be on their way. He must know nothing, at all costs, till the roads are closed. We shall have to break bread with him, however little we like it.” Hephaistion answered, “He has broken it with you, without any shame.”

It was a Macedonian supper; I was not needed. I should have liked to watch the faces. People like me are blamed for curiosity; having lost part of our lives, we are apt to fill the gap from the lives of others. In this I am like the rest, and make no pretenses.

The royal hall was a stone barn, with a rock floor that stubbed one’s toes. Not much of a place for his life’s last feast; but I wished him nothing better.

I got rid of the bath, made the room fit for company, had supper, and came back to warm my hands at the brazier, and think about the closing of the roads. After a while it came to me. Philotas was son to Parmenion, the greatest man in Asia next the King. It was he who secured our rear. He was warden of the Ekbatana treasury; and had his own army, which from that hoard he could pay forever. Many were hired men, who had only fought under him. Philotas was his one son left living; two others had died upon campaign. I understood.

The King’s supper finished early. He came back with his friends, and sent for young Nikomachos to hear his story. He was young, girlish and scared; the King treated him gently. After that, at about midnight, the conspirators he had named were all arrested. Philotas was taken last.

He was led in stumbling and blinking; he had drunk hard at supper, and been fast asleep. Now everyone was secured, they did not trouble closing doors for secrecy. I heard it all. Till now, the King had been like iron; now, for a moment, I seemed to hear the voice of a hurt angry boy, to an elder he once looked up to. Why had he hidden Kebalinos’ warning? How could he do it? And, in the madness which, say the Greeks, the gods inspire in their chosen victims, Philotas answered the boy, and not the King.

With a blustering laugh, a little off the note, he said, “Why, I thought nothing of it, who would? My dear Alexander, you don’t want to hear of every spiteful little fancy-piece who has a tiff with his keeper.”

He was a great one for women, and boastful of it. The scorn in his voice was carelessness, and I daresay the drink. But it did his business. Fifteen years older in an instant, the King said, “Dymnos has killed himself, rather than face his trial. But you will stand yours tomorrow. Guard! Confined to quarters under close arrest.”

The trials were held next day, on the heath outside the camp. It was cold, with grey scudding clouds threatening rain, but the whole army turned out, more than could get in hearing; the Macedonians in front, as was their right. Amazing to tell, the King could put no Macedonian to death without their vote. At home, any common peasant could have come and voted.

There being no place for me, I watched from the tower the small figures stand in the open square.

Dymnos’ accomplices were tried first. They had already confessed and accused each other. (Wolves howl every night in Baktria, so I can’t be sure of the sounds I heard.) After each trial the Macedonians shouted, and the man was led away.

Last appeared Philotas, whom I knew by his height, and the King, whom I knew by everything. They seemed to stand a long time there; one could tell by their gestures which was speaking. Then witnesses testified, above a dozen. Then the King spoke again; the Macedonians shouted, louder than all the other times. Then it was over.

I was told the evidence later. Except for the brothers’, it had all been about Philotas’ pride and insolence, and his speaking against the King. He would call him The Boy, and credit all his victories to Parmenion and himself; used to say he’d been vain from a child, and would rath?er be King of fawning barbarians than a decent Macedonian. Now he had swallowed whole the politic flatteries of Egyptian priests, and would be content with no less than deity; God help the people ruled by a man who thought himself more than mortal.