"They say you have gone mad!" cried Hephaestion. "They say you have fought too much, galloped too far, and slept too little! Your mind is no longer lucid, hence your stubbornness, your refusal to hear any complaints or listen to advice!"
I made Nicea jump onto my lap.
"Why risk your life fighting creatures that are not even human? Why go on when you have already conquered Persia and been recognized as King of Asia? If you were struck by a poisoned arrow tomorrow, all that glory and the crown would no longer be yours. You, Alexander, do not even have an heir!"
His words hurt me, but I held my temper in check. I opened up a silver casket and showed him the leaves in there.
"Look, Hephaestion, here is the secret of this war: they are hashna leaves. They do not grow in this forest, and the Gonya know nothing of cultivating the land. Men are supplying them with this mild drug on condition that they make war with us. Men are manipulating them to attack us. Men are afraid of us and want to drive us out of the Indies before we take their cities by storm and claim their treasures for ourselves."
Hephaestion wanted to reply, but I interrupted him:
"I have been told of a great king called Poros. He is so rich, it is said, that his elephants are covered in precious stones. This gallant warrior dreams of uniting all the kingdoms of the Indies. I have arranged to meet this man, Hephaestion, I must confront him. If I die in combat, you will take our troops back to Persia. If I win the battle, I shall share with you and with all my soldiers the unimaginable treasures of the Orient."
"Are you really so blind? The gods are sending you signs to stop this absurd campaign. The degenerate state of the Gonya proves we have reached the limits of humanity. Beyond this forest there are no more men but the kingdoms of monsters and wild beasts. And do you, the great Alexander, want to lose your soldiers down to the last man in order to be king of those lowly creatures?"
Hephaestion shot a look laden with contempt at Nicea, then withdrew.
Weary of arguing with him, I let him leave. Hephaestion could not understand me: his dream of seeing me venerated as king of the Greeks and Persians had been realized, and any other unexpected dreams were mere poetry and madness to him, a Macedonian nobleman raised by Aristotle like myself.
Two days later in battle an arrow shot from behind drove into the crest of my helmet. Had the soldier's hand wavered? Or had he been ordered to threaten me? Days passed, and still the army could not identify the murderer. I suspected a conspiracy among the highest ranks and entrusted Bagoas with carrying out a secret investigation of my friends' loyalty.
The eunuch reported back all the conversations his men overheard: Hephaestion was angry with me for being so obstinate; Cas-sander still could not forgive me for marrying an Asian of obscure parentage; Crateros complained that I had grown hard-hearted and said I was deaf; Perdiccas was still mourning the loss of Cleitos, whom I had killed with my own hand; Ptolemy, the eldest and most restrained, was convinced I should be forced to take a year's rest. They all referred to me as the tyrant behind my back.
Shut away in my tent, I taught Nicea how to play a musical instrument. I lay on my bed listening to the monkey plucking the strings of his lute and pictured Alexander, Hephaestion, Cassander, Crateros, Lysimaque, and Perdiccas at school together. At first we had been inseparable, all experiencing our first kisses and embraces at the same time. There were the fits of laughter, the arguments and reconciliations followed by exalted oaths of loyalty. Alexander was right at the middle of that virile little world, playing the capricious girl who knew just how to secure promises and protection.
Those young boys swore they would never leave each other; they decided to conquer the world together. Along the way on our campaigns, carnal love had given way to friendship, and each of us in turn had taken lovers. That band of happy reveling friends had gradually split up as they waged wars and conquered lands. They had all lost their innocence, and I had become an arbitrator, responsible for sharing out glory and wealth: I was both their master and their slave, handing out titles and promotions. They plotted to try to force their ideas on me; they came and begged me to oversee their lovers' upbringing; they formed a united front against anyone who succeeded in getting close to me; they made sure my relationships never lasted long. Their possessiveness grew the farther we marched away from Macedonia. Anything not from our country they condemned as a perversion, a whim, a disloyalty. The Persian clothes and customs I had adopted, the barbarian food I so loved, Bagoas the slave I had given a position, Alestria the Asian orphan I made my queen… all were offenses that drove Cleitos to insult me in public. By killing him with my lance, I had broken an oath of eternal friendship.
Nicea abandoned the instrument and turned to massaging my head. The love and gratitude I read in his gaze were not enough to console me. I tore myself from this sadness by turning my thoughts to war.
Withdrawing from the Indies and taking my troops back to Persia would mean giving the Indian princes time to rally around Poros. My soldiers were so haunted by the nightmare of crossing the Indies that-once their minds were relaxed, their bellies fed, and their muscles unwound-they would not have the courage to suffer a second time. Only the ignorant have temerity. To rest was to give up: we had to advance.
Lying in Darius's bed in Babylon, I had laughed at the thought of my victory. Now, in the middle of a hostile forest that featured on no map, I laughed at the thought of my defeat. Losing his friends was a failure for Alexander the Great. Isolated in my tent, betrayed on all sides, I was back to the loneliness of the little boy watching the stars. The pinnacle of my life as a warrior had come full circle. Alone and disarmed, I still had the same dream, though, the same obsession: to conquer beauty.
The headlong gallop toward wonderment knows no limits.
Wonderment is the gold of the sun.
I, Alexander, son of Apollo and Ammon, will not renounce it.
Chapter 9
Slaves protected by warriors went ahead of us. Day and night they felled trees and carved out a road on which the Queen's City-a vast nomadic town-could travel through the forest of the Indies in Alexander's footsteps.
At each stopping point the soldiers planted stakes in the ground and built a wall. Ptolemy ruled as master in the men's quarter: he received provisions and gave supplies to the king; he took in the injured sent back from the front, and greeted reinforcements from Greece and conquered lands. Troops were constantly on the move. Over and above the whinnying of horses and the sounding of horns, we could hear the bustle of breeders mating horses from different lands, armorers experimenting with metal alloys, weavers pushing their creaking looms, and cooks noisily slaying calves.
In the women's quarter Alestria rose before the sun to receive her subjects' salutation: men and women formed a long line outside her tent, and one after the other prostrated themselves at her feet-all except for the Macedonian warriors, to whom the king had granted the privilege of greeting her with a bow.
In order to marry her, Alexander had asked Alestria to recognize the satrap Oxyartes as her father and to take the Persian name Roxana. Being extremely jealous, he required her to wear a veil in male company. I, Ania, standing beside my queen for the morning audience, ruminated on my loathing for this man who had robbed her of her dignity while offering her this daily spectacle of veneration.