"I swear it by Zeus and all the gods," I said. "Now can we finish our plans?"
Vardanas sat down. I was vexed with him for putting me in the wrong with Eumenes. I hid my annoyance with an effort, as I am a plain blunt man who calls a fig a fig and a spade a spade. But the wise man does not defy necessity.
I had thought so much about the project that I had counted my chickens before they were hatched. I saw my name in the history books as the hero who first brought an elephant to Europe. Athens would make my day of arrival a yearly holiday, and Alexander would appoint me satrap of Bithynia or the like. Naturally, all this made me ardent to push the expedition through to success.
My final muster roll showed sixty-six persons. The officers were myself, Vardanas, Kanadas, and Thyestes of Pharsala from the troop. Thyestes was a typical soldier in that he thought of little outside his duties except wine, women, and loot.
Neither Gration nor Sthenelos came. Gration had taken up with Diokles' concubine Amytis and did not wish to cause a family scandal by bringing a foreign woman home to Thessalia. Sthenelos was wanted in his native Athens for murder, resulting from a quarrel with another man over the love of a boy.
In charge of the elephant were Kanadas the elephantarch and Siladites the keeper. Kanadas left his family behind because his jealous wives would not agree that either might go without the other. As Siladites was a childless widower, the problem did not arise with him.
Baiton had tried to measure the elephant's intake of food and water but had failed. The reason was that the Indians persisted in feeding and watering the beast when he was not around to weigh its aliment, and they could not understand why he got so excited over the matter.
The soldiers were eighteen Thessalians and four Sakan horse archers, of the Parnian tribe of the Dalian nation. Sakas are nomads from the plains north of the Persian Empire, in speech much like the Persians and in habits like the Scythians who live beyond the Istros in Europe. These four Dahas had begged to be suffered to leave India because, they said, the dampness was ruining their health as well as rotting their garments.
Then there were Pyrron the philosopher, Elisas the sutler, a cook, eight grooms, six camp men, five personal slaves, nine women (concubines of the Thessalians), and eight children.
Besides our advance pay, the king commanded Eumenes to give us a silver talent each as a discharge bonus. Eumenes gave me the money, with no very good grace, and warned me not to pay it out ere we reached our goal.
"If you do," he said, "they'll try to borrow against their bonuses in order to squander the money in lewd living in the cities. Then, when it is all gone, they'll desert."
Because so much silver would have been too heavy to carry so vast a distance, Eumenes gave me the equivalent in new golden staters. I made sure he gave us the current rate of exchange of twelve to one. But the abandoned Kardian cheated us anyway, by using Attic weight instead of Babylonian. You can understand why I wept not when I heard he had been strangled by orders of Antigonos in the wars of the Successors.
After much talk, debates over maps and routes, inspection of equipment, and changes of plan, my detachment drew up before sunrise on the twelfth of the month Hekatombaion. The king came out to see us off, together with several hundred soldiers and camp followers drawn by curiosity. The camp was astir anyway because the king had issued the order to prepare to march eastward against the farther Indian kingdoms.
The Alexander led us in prayer. While the Hellenes prayed to Zeus, Apollon, and Herakles, Vardanas raised his hands to the rising sun and prayed to Auramasdas. The four Dahas stuck their swords and axes in the ground and prayed to the Sakan war god; the Indians bowed their heads to Ganesas, an elephant-headed Indian god. Aristandros and a Persian soothsayer took the omens and found them good, naturally.
The king stepped fearlessly up to Mahankal and cried: "O elephant, I, Alexander, rename you Aias, after the Achaian hero, and dedicate you to the sun! In honor of my kinsman Apollon, god of learning, I send you to the philosophers of Hellas for study. Be a faithful servant to those whom Alexander has placed over you!"
The king then made a short speech urging us to push ahead to our goal and let nought stop us. We cheered him, and Mahankal (or rather Aias), at a prod from Siladites, raised his trunk and trumpeted. Alexander and the other Hellenes blew a kiss to the rising sun, which flashed redly on helmets and weapons and on the golden bands on the elephant's tusks.
The giant King Poros hugged the elephant's trunk and bid the beast a tearful farewell. Gration and Sthenelos ran up to kiss me, followed by a score of men from the troop. I was so surprised to find that they loved me (since I considered myself a strict officer) that I shed a few tears with the rest.
At last I cried: "Prepare to mount! Mount! Left wheel by twos! Advance!"
With cries of "Get up!" off went my little hipparchia, hooves drumming and cart axles creaking while the onlookers cheered. I turned back to wave a final farewell. To my surprise, Pyrron of Elis, who had been standing by his horse and wearing a broad-brimmed black hat, still stood, bemusedly waving farewell with the other bystanders. I beckoned frantically. Pyrron came to himself, scrambled into his seat, and spurred his horse. The animal leapt forward so suddenly that the Eleian turned a back somersault over the horse's rump. It took a quarter hour to catch the beast and reunite it with its awkward rider. Despite the soothsayers' hopeful auguries, I could not help thinking that a bad beginning makes a bad ending, as we say in Thessalia.
On the other hand, it was a relief to get away from the scrutiny of the king. Despite his many godlike qualities—his military genius, his inspiring leadership, and his invincible charm—one could not help noting his growing haughtiness, hastiness, and immoderation in dealing with those in his power. During interviews the thought kept creeping into my mind: what if he fly into a passion and run me through as he did his old friend Kleitos the White? As the Persians say, a cut string can be joined again, but the knot remains for aye.
The camp smell of ordure, sweat, and garbage had hardly died out of our nostrils when the clouds closed in and the rain began again. It rained all the way to Taxasila.
Book Two
GANDARIA
An elephant neither trots nor canters. It single-foots, slowly or swiftly as the case may be. An easy speed for an elephant is that of a horse's trot, though it can attain the speed of a gallop when angry or frightened. Aias swung along for hours at a time, at a pace too fast for a walk. As no horseman can long trot with comfort, the rest of us cantered until the elephant was a few furlongs behind us, then walked until he caught up.
Our normal order of march was as follows: Vardanas and I rode in front, I on Golden, a hard-mouthed, hard-gaited animal who would bite if she could, but strong and tireless.
Then came the four Dahan horse archers, followed by the Thessalians. Next came the mule carts with the women, children, camp servants, and slaves; then the grooms riding some of the spare horses and leading the others; and lastly the elephant and one horse. Kanadas and Siladites took turns riding the elephant and this horse. The elephant carried a booth on its back, in which we had piled a part of the baggage. I named two strong and trustworthy Thessalians as guards of the chests of money and Indian specimens, which rode in our largest cart.
Vardanas and I, even though we rode together, spoke not much. We watched one another warily. He watched me to see if I should cast more slights upon his dignity; whilst I, sensing his grudge, watched him lest he cause trouble by stirring up quarrels or spreading false tales. I was sure that once we got into Persia he would desert us and gallop off homeward. When we did speak, it was with cold courtesy.