Young, old, barely out of childhood, blond, brunette, white, black, women from every land on earth were represented here, living imprisoned in a vast room covered in carpets and decorated with pools and fountains. They slept, urinated, danced, embraced, sang, and ate in a hubbub of moans, cries, sighs, and laughter, all indifferent to onlookers or to the smell of putrefaction and excrement. Eunuchs circulated among them, some serving, others cracking a whip. I was informed that since Darius fled, the attendants in the City of Pleasure had stopped cleaning the gynaeceum and only fed the women once a day. Their eyes looked dull and empty for lack of air and freedom, like birds with clipped wings no longer dreaming of the sky. In all that dying flesh I found the king's favorite, the one painted on all the walls of his bedchamber. She was lying naked on a carpet, sobbing and weeping, her hair disheveled. Her body was covered with scars and scabs. I learned that after Darius's defeat the other women had scratched and bitten and trampled on her.
I gave orders for these women to be released, and handed each of them enough money to travel home. I myself washed and fed Jasmine, the woman whom the Great King had loved, and led her to my room. Although quite lucid now, she would not say anything. She was happy simply taking refuge in my arms. In my absence she stayed on the bed, motionless, occasionally sweeping her cold, joyless eyes over the frescoes depicting moments of happiness she no longer recognized. She had turned my room into another prison.
When I finally decided to give her freedom, she claimed she knew where her parents lived. She refused an escort, took the money I gave her, and left.
They say Jasmine drifted about the city. They say she went mad all over again. Babylonians, if on your travels through these sinuous streets you chance across a little girl with disheveled hair, walking barefoot and singing and muttering to herself, give her water, give her bread, do not throw stones at her! It is Jasmine, once cherished by Darius, the most powerful of kings, tended for a while by Alexander, the most intrepid warrior. Babylonians, step aside and let this girl pass, this girl who harbors the secret of her loves in her breast.
Giant sailing ships unfurled their sails and plied up and down the Euphrates. Smaller boats laden with goods, like fish teeming round marine monsters, tossed and jostled in their wake. Persia was the country of excess.
Every quarter of the city had its own libraries, vast palaces with rooms in which the erudite from all lands could come to eat, sleep, and work. A royal annuity allowed them to lead an intellectual life with no concern for the contingencies of their day-to-day existence. This decree attracted the wise from all over the world, and the Achemenides opened the gates of the City of the King to all, offering them positions in their countless ministries. Compared to the number of Persian officials, the Ecclesia in Athens and the Macedonian council were mere child's play, but the Persians had the intelligence to simplify complexity.
The Great Kings made no decisions without consulting the academies of arithmetics and of astrologers.
The Academy of Manners oversaw good relations between different peoples.
The Academy of Architects designed towns and palaces.
The Academy of Sports organized horse races.
The Academy of Agriculture sent its inspectors and specialists to the very limits of the empire.
The Academy of Water was responsible for wells, irrigation, and waterborne trade.
The Academy of Industry built roads and dams.
There were academies of painting, perfumes, lamps, ceramics, slave management, weaving, royal animals, and medicine, each gathering, classifying, devising, and making official its respective specialty.
The Academy of Poets was associated exclusively with royal life. Poets followed the king and, in beautiful calligraphy, had to write poems inspired by every situation: audiences, receptions, banquets, journeys. When men are long gone… poetry remains. It transforms everyday moments into historical fragments. The Great Kings of Persia knew how to make themselves immortal.
The Academy of Music inventoried fashionable tunes and composed official melodies. Wherever the king went, he heard music appropriate to the place and his activities.
Poetry and music are man's most beautiful adornments.
The center of Babylon was occupied by dignitaries and the rich; the poor lived around the outskirts of the city, in low-slung houses made of wood and beaten earth. They all had favorite taverns, be they luxurious or tumbledown, where men could meet and talk.
They drank infusions of leaves from the lands around the Indus, and they circulated a long pipe connected to a flask of water.
"Beyond Persian territories lie the lands of the Indus," announced the head of the Order of Merchants, who had invited me into a sumptuous tavern reserved for his personal use.
The merchants were not common stall keepers, I gathered from Mazee, Darius's former general who had become my most fervent servant. Throughout Persian lands, merchants were respected and stall keepers despised. The Persians considered that merchants transported the wonders of this world from one country to another, while stall keepers robbed their own neighbors in the market square.
I drank the infusion and pretended to enjoy his pipe. The smoke made me nauseous, and my head spun, but I decided to please Oibares, the most influential man in Babylon.
In this empire so avid for wealth and exoticism, merchants governed from behind the scenes, and extended their invisible power to the very limits of the earth. The richest of them owned as many as ten caravans, which came and went in rotation to ensure a constant stream of new goods. Supplying kings and satraps, selling weapons and working as spies, with an intimate knowledge of distant inaccessible lands, they knew how to manipulate tribal chiefs and corrupt armies. They brought messages of peace or delivered declarations of war. In order to protect their own best interests, they were affiliated with the Order of Merchants, which controlled the trading routes, set out the laws, and settled disagreements. Every ten lunar years the merchants held a great nocturnal ceremony during which they threw straws into a vase to elect a new leader.
Oibares was forty-five, with shining blue eyes, a fine proud nose, and thin lips. Like all rich Babylonians obsessed with their appearance, he wore a scarlet turban on his shaven head, and had a long beard in which his own hair was blended with extensions. He created magnificent arrangements with it, dying it chestnut brown, curling it with hot irons, and perfuming it with rosewater. Disappointed with such a weak, extravagant king, Oibares had plotted against Darius, who constantly raised taxes and closed his eyes when his troops plagued trading caravans.
The elegance of Oibares' appearance was a perfect camouflage for his thoughts. As it was impossible to guess what his intentions were, I disarmed him with my submissive-woman behavior. I let him talk without interrupting: encouraged by my complicit silence, intoxicated by my loving gaze, he took long drags on his pipe and exhaled lightheartedly. The smoke scrolled around us like drunken bacchantes dancing languidly to the rhythm of his voice.
"Have you heard tell, Great Alexander, of the lands of the Indus, lands of deepest valleys and darkest forests?" he asked. "The men who live there are wild and cruel. Their swamps are full of slithering snakes and birds that spit fetid venom. No one has conquered those kingdoms since time immemorial. But you, Alexander of Macedonia, son of Apollo, invincible warrior who was granted Ammon's benediction, you shall conquer the nine-headed monsters with tiger's teeth and serpent's tails. You, the man whom all the gods love, shall take the treasure defended by those tribes of men and apes."