Muddy roads, torrential rains, icy tracks, unbearable cold! Corpses slither over the flames, wearing different costumes, bearing open wounds. Columns of smoke rise up and wither away. Breached ramparts, sumptuous banquets, and warriors' faces all file by. Fruits and vegetables spring from the gaping neck of a bull. Naked men embracing women wrapped in fine cloth, swaying together and disappearing. All these images make up Alexander. Alexander is mountains climbed, rivers crossed, land burned. Alexander is in the dust, in the clouds, and in the ashes.
A voice calls me: "Alexander, Alexander!"
It is a woman's voice. I do not know her: she is pure and tender, it is not my mother's anxious voice, no, it is not my mother-she is far away, I fled from her, she can no longer reach me, hold me to her breasts, kiss my forehead, stroke my hair, put me to bed, or laugh and weep about my fate. This woman is different; her voice is simple and courageous, she loves me and wants nothing from me. She is looking for me and calling to me to take me back to another world, where I will be delivered from these flames and illusions.
What is her name? Where did I meet her? How did she find me among the flames? These questions will never have answers. But what use are answers? I must follow her, I must trust her. Alexander has been defeated.
An arrow hurtles toward me and plants itself violently in the middle of my forehead. The flames go out, and I fly through the blue transparent universe, twirling toward the light, my heart brimming with joy. I smile, every portion of my body smiles, and I can hear the universe smile. I am in another world, one the flames cannot reach. Solemn music resonates through me and through the clarity of each ray of light.
White lights form a gigantic door. I move closer, a tiny body longing to receive life, waiting for the door to open for the distribution of souls.
The door metamorphoses into a face surrounded by a golden halo. It reminds me of Philip, my father, but this man has both his eyes. His eyes are open, clear blue; he has no wrinkles or scars. All earthly suffering has been erased from this face, it radiates with goodness. This must be a god who has taken on my father's appearance in order to address me.
"Go back to the earth," he tells me. "Your destiny has not finished being written. Go back, oh body without a soul, go back to your soul that stayed below for the love of a woman."
I bow to him and hurry away, tumbling through the air. The wind whistles, blue turns to white, and the white grows dark. I scatter, reassemble myself, then break again. I fall headlong, spinning downward.
I opened my eyes. The candle flames flickered.
A man sat up sharply and leaped out of the tent.
"The king is alive! The king has opened his eyes!"
Cheering broke out. Men filed past the table I was lying on: I recognized Hephaestion, Cassander, Bagoas, and all my companions. They withdrew, and silence returned. A woman came in, lifted one corner of her veil, and leaned over me. Her lips were cool. I drank her breath like water, I drank her life like honey. She put her arms around me, and I entered into her as a gazelle leaps into a spring river.
Alestria-I came back for her!
Chapter 11
Glory, wealth, and war were no longer of interest to me. The crimson tunic embroidered with three phoenixes that Bagoas helped me into and the golden wreath Hephaestion put on my head no longer thrilled me. Military formations, gleaming lances, harnessed horses, and the hundreds of thousands of men beating their shields and crying in unison, "Alexander! Alexander! Alexander!"… all of it bored me. Like a man who has been physically gratified, like a hero who has accomplished his exploits, like Ulysses back in his own country, what I had been through no longer interested me.
I let Hephaestion lead me and leaned on Bagoas. I made the effort to stand upright, but the sun dazzled me, the wind chilled me to the bone, and military parades left me anxious. I was happier in the darkness beneath my tent. The silence soothed my headaches but diffused them all over my body. Hephaestion gave me a drug to ease my pain, but it made me drowsy, so he gave me another to keep me awake. In our council meetings the generals debated and argued, calling on Alexander to arbitrate: I simply smiled at them.
I remembered our campaign in snatches. I understood nothing of their discussions, and their impassioned reasoning struck me as ridiculous or boring in turns. I said nothing, had lost the use of my tongue. Alexander, the peerless orator, could no longer utter a single coherent sentence. I could not wait to get back to my tent and lie down.
The passing days and various journeys were like flocks of birds scattering. I had neither the desire nor the strength to catch any of them. To demonstrate to the soldiers that Alexander had recovered, Hephaestion organized two attacks and arranged for them to be led by two men who looked like me. Then, urged on by the generals, he ordered a retreat. From the depths of my tent I heard Hephaestion's words as he gave me an account of our position. He hopped from one foot to the other, turned circles, and spewed great spates of indignant words and exalted speeches. His despair and his bellicose excesses left me unmoved. I had absolutely no response to these futile events. I tried to communicate how I felt to him by smiling at him broadly: he sighed and withdrew.
In Hephaestion's eyes, I had been strong and I had grown weak. I could no longer fight or even think.
In my own eyes, I had been weak and had grown strong. Hatred, frustration, jealousy, fear of being bettered, terror of being defeated… all these had disappeared. The bustle of this earthly world could no longer affect me. I had stopped suffering it. I was living.
A woman came to me. She lay over me when my headaches made me moan, and her skin cooled me, her silence lulled me. She kissed me and caressed me. Even though I could not feel her touch, I experienced a sense of well-being from head to foot.
A wall had grown up between myself and other men. We now marched in two different worlds.
I could not say whether Alestria slipped into my universe or I, Alexander, penetrated hers. I read her thoughts, heard her music, and let myself be carried away by her dreams. Alestria, take me home to your land!
Alexander had terrible headaches that confined him to a darkened tent. Hephaestion gave him infusions to ease the pain, and the king slept even when his eyes were open. He could no longer fight, said nothing, and could only walk if he leaned on two guards. His hand could not find his mouth: it was Alestria who fed him. But Hephaestion, Cassander, Ptolemy, and Perdic-cas needed Alexander to rule over his empire. They had agreed to put a look-alike on the throne. To give the lie credibility, they had made their peace with Bagoas: the eunuch's presence beside the false Alexander silenced any rumors.
The real king stayed closeted in the Amazons' quarters. Al-estria refused to continue playing the role of Roxana, Queen of Asia, so Hephaestion had to find a look-alike for her too.
That night Alestria came into my tent and instructed me to pack our things. In the flickering candlelight I was struck by her glowing red cheeks and shining eyes, and recognized the smile she had lost so long ago. Alestria slipped away, and I packed in feverish excitement. She did not tell me where we were going, but I, Ania, her faithful serving woman, knew.
I threw away the luxurious tunics, precious jewels, and embroidered sandals. I left aside the furniture, carpets, dishes, and incense. I lay down on the small bundle of bare essentials and fell asleep with a smile on my face.