The soldiers cried out in protest, and Sopolis was tempted to throttle his own son. I calmed them with a firm wave of my hand, and invited Hermolaus to go on.
"We have endured too much of your cruelty as well as the humiliation you inflict on us by making us dress like barbarians! You love living like a Persian, but it is a Macedonian we want to fight for!"
Those names-Parmenion, Philotas, and Cleitos-echoed in my ears like so many thunderclaps. Those who had been father, lover, and friend to me had betrayed me and had all ended up in a bloodbath. But the evil they had sown lived on in men like Hermolaus. Even dead, they were still conspiring, urging soldiers to avenge their alleged innocence.
If Hermolaus were put to death, other conspirators would soon replace him. There would always be discontent, anger, rebel-lion-they go hand in hand with victory. For Alexander was not unique; there were as many different Alexanders as there were Macedonians, Persians, Greeks, soldiers, women, and children. Every people judged him according to their own culture and religion. Every man understood him according to his upbringing, his parentage, and his past. Those who had already met him judged him on just one word, one look, the color of his skin, what he was wearing, or his mood when they saw him. Those who had never seen him formed an opinion about him from rumors and legends that could inspire admiration or hatred. They all took what they needed from him and rejected him when that harmed their own interests.
Neither Plato nor Aristotle had ever pondered this phenomenon. No man had ever inspired such extreme passions. Loved and feared, desired and loathed, I had capitulated before this extension of myself. From East to West, I offered myself to the living and to those who would curse me or sing my praises after my death. I was their horrifying shade from the tenebrous depths, or a ray of sunlight awakening life and distributing poetry. I was their god and their sacrifice.
Soldiers of Macedonia, you have voted for Hermolaus to die! He and his accomplices will be stoned. But I have decided to spare members of their families, who, according to our law, should die along with the criminals.
"Alexander responds to violence with clemency! He is not afraid of betrayal, he knows how to live with conspirators, he feels no self-pity for his pain, he still trusts you.
"A king who has not survived betrayal is not a great man, he is not worthy of leading an army. To those who want to deflect me from the path of my fate, to those who want to stop my progress toward the Orient, I say, Show yourselves now! Alexander is waiting for you!
"Hermolaus accuses me of becoming a Persian. How could a Persian talk to you like this in Macedonian?
"What is a Macedonian? He is a man capable of marching for days on end without food or water, and who throws himself at enemies with ten times as many troops. He is a man who kills without batting an eye and who does not weep when his father and brothers fall.
"I am accused of exhausting you and dragging you into endless wars. I am accused of wanting to conquer the world. I am accused of spreading Macedonian glory to the very outposts of humanity. Soldiers, think of those who stayed in our native land and who are watching you! Aging men who envy you because you are marching with the greatest army in the world; children who dream of giving war cries on the battlefield; wives adorned with the gold you have sent them; and mothers weeping with pride when they hear of your victories.
"You, my young, strong, beautiful soldiers, are you already thinking of going home? Are you ready to renounce being masters of the world; would you prefer to go back and plow fields, tend sheep, and die of old age in a bed? Are you not afraid of being called cowards, weaklings, deserters? Are you not afraid to hear people muttering when you walk along the street: That's the man who left Alexander, he's hiding at home while his brothers, with a shield in one fist and a lance in the other, throw themselves at enemy ramparts and die in battle!
"Soldiers of Macedonia, in your footsteps cultures blend together, languages intertwine, children are born with the intelligence of the Jews, the refinement of the Persians, and the vitality of the Macedonians. In a thousand years, in ten thousand years, people will still sing of our magnificent army, and your names will be engraved in all eternity.
"As King of Asia, I lived as a simple soldier, you know that. All that is mine also belongs to you. I am your reason, your every word; you are my acts, my hope, the realization of who I am. My army and I are but one! What I want is what you want too: a path carved out by our weapons, a wide road to the very foot of the sun.
"To achieve this unprecedented conquest we need the help of the Greeks. We also need the Persians whom we defeated by our strength and converted by our ambition. The differences in language, customs, religion, and gods mean nothing. Alexander unites them in this one truth: without him, warriors are merely instruments of death. With him they are a celebration of life!
"Come now, soldiers, repeat after me:
"Weariness is fleeting.
"Nostalgia can be defeated.
"Courage is our strength.
"The Indus River is roaring, calling to us!"
The sun was obstructed by trees so vast that seven soldiers with open arms could not encircle them. Their gnarled branches wrapped in lichen and fungus stretched out horizontally, bearing roots that hung down to the ground. Creepers wider than a man's thigh clung round their trunks, entwining them to fill the gaps and reach the skies. We were lost, turning round in circles and coming back to where we had set off. Maps had betrayed us, and trading posts had long since disappeared. Instead of paths there were leaves, round, oval, serrated, shaped like feathers, hands, lances; and flowers, their seeping, gleaming, tufted throats exhaling a sweet, fetid perfume.
My soldiers broke through the vegetation with axes and swords. We all suffered the same discomforts as leeches dropped from the trees and gathered on every patch of bare skin. When we tore one off, another arrived, still more thirsty for blood. Our legs were nicked by venomous thorns, and the swelling and itching spread all over our bodies. We scratched ourselves till we broke the skin. Some soldiers were bitten by snakes and died of sudden fever; others forgot my orders and rushed to drink from ponds, only to succumb to debilitating diarrhea.
Seeing our expedition reduced to endless suffering, I took out a map, traced a straight line all the way to the Indus, and ordered my men to set fire to the trees where they formed impenetrable walls. The flames broke through the trees, and sunlight poured into the forest. Tigers, monkeys, snakes, and clouds of birds fled the columns of smoke. Near-naked men with tattooed faces and piercings in their ears and noses emerged from their hiding places in the luxurious vegetation, brandishing weapons.
Whistling arrows, the screams of men fighting, and the clash of weapons woke me from the torpor of that wearying march. Turning a deaf ear to my advisers, who begged me to keep to the rear, I headed up the Macedonian troops to give my men courage and strength. But the fighting was more difficult here: my troops were used to confrontations in formation and were thrown by these men coming down from the branches, appearing from the undergrowth, and vanishing up rock faces. Their archers clung to creepers and jumped from tree to tree without putting a foot to the ground, and their trained monkeys threw themselves at our soldiers and bit their faces.