"This slop isn't Chian," he said, "but if you shut your eyes and gulp you can get it down." He spoke in Attic, full of city slang, while the rest of us used our Thessalian dialect among ourselves.
I had liefer been let alone, even though my comrades deemed me a misanthrope. However, they thought they had to console me; and I did not wish to offend them. As for Sthenelos, no Athenian can bear to be alone for an instant, or to stop talking for an instant either. But then, he was an amusing lad, and the gift of wine was kindly meant.
"I grieve with you, old boy," he said. "Don't you even have a lover amongst the men?"
I had heard questions like this from southern Hellenes so often that I was used to them. "Nobody would love a great ugly lump like me," I said.
This was not false modesty, for I know my limitations. Though no more stupid or timid than the next man, I am no beauty, being a whin over medium height, with blunt features, and inclined to stoutness.
Sthenelos, who, like the king, shaved his face in the Egyptian manner to keep his boyish beauty, fluttered his eyelashes. "Dear Leon, you're not so unattractive as you make out. Why, even I might make the supreme sacrifice if properly courted!" When I only gave an embarrassed grunt, he added: "Unless you have one of these droll barbarian prejudices against manly love."
Diokles said: "Oh, fie upon you, fair Sthenelos! In our rustic wilds we dinna hold a man to be queer for preferring women."
"How beastly!" said Sthenelos. "But enlightenment will spread even into your land of Cimmerian darkness."
"O Herakles!" I said. "I'm finding the whole subject a bore. Make love to ilk other or to the baggage mules for aught I care. I'm for home the first chance I get."
"Have you had enough adventuring, then?" said Sthenelos.
"Aye, enough and to spare, laddie. Now Hyovis is dead there's nought to keep me, and I've seen my fill of strange lands. I ken the now that Indians neither build their houses of gold bricks nor pave their streets with pearls, whatever the stories say."
"I feels the same," said Gration. "There's no future here. A body canna rise to high rank, even, outen being a Macedonian."
"You maun put thoughts of going home out of your minds," said Diokles. "With a big battle coming, the king will need every man."
Sthenelos yawned. "No doubt, my good man, but the king can't go on forever. We keep hearing it's only a frog's hop to the end of the world, but the end of the world seems to flee before us like the end of a rainbow."
Gration said: "We can pray that either the end of the world or the end of the king's ambition will come soon. I sudna be sorry to go. This army grows more Persian and less Greek ilka day."
"True," said Sthenelos. "One would think they'd conquered us instead of the other way round."
This was always a good subject for complaints, as the army now had far more Asiatic than Hellenic horse. The other three squadrons of our own regiment, for instance, were made up of Persians, Baktrians, and Sakas.
For that matter, we Hellenes looked more Asiatic than Greek, because our original clothing had long since worn out and had been replaced by whatever we could get. Many of the younger Hellenes had taken to trousers during those horrible Baktrian winters. The older and more conservative ones clove to their tunics and kilts, preferring to freeze their thighs rather than give in to foreign fashions.
I said: "We drubbed these polluted Persians with spear and sword, and now they thrash us with fancy manners and spangled robes. Such is fate."
"Let's be just," said Diokles, always loyal to the king. "Some of these Asiatic horse are bonny soldiers when well led."
"They're dirty," said Sthenelos. "They never wash; they just sprinkle perfumes on themselves when they stink."
I said: "Aye, and they're so fearful of scratches they cover themselves all over with iron scales, and—"
"I heard that," said a voice in Greek with a mushy Persian accent.
The speaker was a Persian in the maroon and yellow uniform of King Dareios' horse guards, much faded and patched. He was about my age, but taller than I and less stout. He had a big hooked beak of a nose in a long swarthy face and a pale scar across his forehead. I felt I had seen him before, but all those Persians looked alike with their long hair and black beards and bucket-shaped felt bonnets. The man went on:
"Persia was not conquered by a horde of lying, faithless, boy-loving Greek robbers. It was overcome by one man—Alexander. He is half Persian. He will be all Persian when we teach him the right manly way of doing things."
For some reason, the man chose me to glower at. Either it was that I happened to face him, or that my gibes had bitten deepest, or that my somewhat forbidding appearance drew his glance. Albeit not given to brawls, I was full of pot-valor and sought a way to purge my grief in action. I picked up my scabbard and rose, saying:
"So one of the curs has bared his teeth at last, eh? Keep on, Persian, and you'll be a man before your mother."
The Persian put a hand to his hilt. "Remember, Hellene, it is not we Persians who are always wailing to go home. We were beaten when we had a weak and timid king. That might happen to any folk. Now that we have a great and doughty king, we shall conquer the world. If you treat us respectfully, we may throw you a few scraps from our table."
"Why, you saucy braggart— I began, starting to draw. But Diokles leapt up and pushed me over.
"Stop or I'll arrest you all!" he said. "The king says the next time there's a fight atween a Hellene and a Persian, he'll crucify both. Persian, I apologize for my comrades' rude words, but perhaps you had better get back to your own squadron."
"I go," said the Persian. "But know that I am Vardanas of Sousa by name. I am flank guard in Chousraus' troop. So, if you would carry the discussion further, you know where to find me." He stalked off.
Sthenelos giggled. "What cheek! Why does he think any of us would wish to speak to him again? He's certainly no gentleman!"
"He was offering to fight," said Gration. " 'Tis their code of honor that when insults have been passed, the rivals go out behind the barn and settle it with swords."
"How utterly quaint!" said Sthenelos, pouring himself another cup. "What's this lunacy about the king's being half Persian?"
Diokles explained: "The Persians think Alexander is really the son of a Persian princess and so a more-or-less legitimate heir to the Persian throne."
"They must be mad," said Sthenelos. "Everybody knows—"
Diokles stopped him. "I know what everybody knows, but this myth salves their self-love. If it make them fight better, why spoil their dreams? The Egyptians think he's half Egyptian, and no doubt the Indians will be finding he was begotten by one of their ten-armed gods."
Then Diokles scolded me sharply for showing bad temper before a foreigner and risking getting us all into trouble. He had me blubbering with drunken self-pity ere he finished. But the matter passed over, and I thought no more about Vardanas of Sousa until he appeared in the official tent at Eumenes' conference.
Eumenes, looking hard at me, said: "You know what the king said."
"Nought serious was meant," I said, "and after the battle nobody doubts the Persians' courage. If the lad come, I'll not strive with my yokefellow."
Vardanas stood silently for a while, chewing the ends of his mustache. Then he said: "I would not come except that I may not have another chance to see my mother. If Leon will swear to deal justly with me, I will forget our quarrel."