Alexander, however, was impressed by the will of the girl who could spend an entire night wreaking vengeance. Also, when Dymitria showed defiance towards him, he was intrigued. When she openly challenged his claim to godhood in front of his men, it became more important to him to convince her than to kill her. So, for these reasons, he spared her life and added a concubine to his entourage instead of another corpse.
From these beginnings had developed a classical love-hate relationship. Outwardly, Dymitria treated him with respect-— even love -- but underneath she always seemed to be laughing at his pretensions. And this, perversely, kept Alexander’s interest in her at a high pitch.
So she had tried to kill me only in order to bug him. I understood that. But understanding didn’t make me forgiving. I gave Dymitria a wide berth during the rest of the march. What “punishment” Alexander had decided on for her, I never found out. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been too bad. She rode in his chariot most of the time and there didn’t seem to be any ill will between them.
Meanwhile, I’d been planning what I was going to do when we reached Gordium. Somehow, I had to find the ox-cart with the Gordian Knot before Alexander did and hide it some place where he couldn’t find it. My plans were vague, but I knew that somehow I had to get into the city before his forces descended on it.
My opportunity came a few nights later. We had camped for the night on the outskirts of Gordium. Word of our arrival had preceded us. Some representatives of the city had come to call on Alexander. They wished to surrender without a fight with the understanding that he would spare their city. While he was meeting with them, I sneaked out of camp and into the city itself.
The cart with the Gordian Knot wasn’t too hard to find. It was enshrined in a courtyard in front of the Temple of Zeus. There was only one problem. It was bigger than a breadbox!
What I mean is, I couldn’t exactly slip it into my pocket and slip off with it. Even if I hadn’t cared about being noticed, I didn’t have the strength to tow the thing away unaided. It was an ox-cart, and what I needed was an ox to move it. It was late at night and I just might get away with it unnoticed—if I had an ox.
“Don’t move!”
I had been standing and staring at the ox-cart with my back to the temple when the voice snapped out. It was accompanied by the point of a spear playing dominoes with the third and fourth vertebrae of my spine. My left buttock developed a sudden, overwhelming itch. I didn’t scratch it. I just followed instructions. I didn’t move.
“What do you want here?” the voice demanded.
It was a long story and I decided not to tell it. I didn’t answer.
“Turn around.”
I turned around. I found myself facing some sort of guard in uniform. His spear at my belly, he held a torch high and scrutinized me.
“You’re a Greek,” he decided. “But you’re early,” he added.
“Early?”
“Yes. The surrender isn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow. And the terms are that you Greeks are supposed to spare our holy places.”
“You mean those are the terms you’re asking for,” I reminded him.
“Oh! So it’s like that!” His spear nudged me more intimately, more uncomfortably. “I think the High Priest had better see you.”
The guard ushered me through the Temple of Zeus to a large antechamber behind the main hall of worship. There were several doors leading off the antechamber and he knocked at one of them. After a moment we entered and were in the presence of the High Priest.
The sentry explained the circumstances. The High Priest listened and then turned to me. “What do you want here, Greek?” he asked.
On the spur of the moment, I decided to gamble. “I am more than a Greek,” I told him in my most stentorian, deepest voice. “I am from Mount Olympus itself.”
“You claim to be a god?” The High Priest was dubious.
“I have proof that I am a messenger of Zeus.”
“Indeed?” The High Priest shot the sentry a look that said keep a sharp eye, this kook might be dangerous. “What is your proof?”
I took a step forward, the guard right behind me, the tip of his spear causing muscular pain and backache. “I will show you the proof,” I announced pontifically. I raised the skirt of my tunic and revealed my golden gonads. It occurred to me that if my ploy didn’t work the High Priest might take this as some sort of sacrilege and I might lose them. The thought made me go rigid with fear.
The sudden rigidity clinched it. When I’d first revealed myself, the High Priest’s eyes had widened. But now he gasped audibly. When he sank to his knees in front of me, I knew he bought my godhood.
Still on his knees, he waved the guard out of the chamber. “What is your will, oh messenger of Zeus?” he asked then.
I told him I had been sent by Zeus to hide the sacred ox-cart before it could fall into the hands of Alexander.
“But will he not agree to the terms of the treaty and spare our religious artifacts?” the High Priest wanted to know.
“I do not know whether he will agree or not. I only know that the auguries say the ox-cart must be hidden. It is the word of Zeus.” I was getting the hang of being a god; when in doubt, refer to a higher authority.
“It is the Gordian Knot that Alexander seeks,” the High Priest guessed.
“Yes.”
“But many conquerors have tried to solve the puzzle of the Knot and failed. Why should there be concern over this Macedonian?”
“If he finds it he will not play fair. The prophecy of the conqueror who unties the Knot becoming the ruler of the world is trickier than it appears to be. Alexander will find the loophole in the Knot.”
“There is no loophole!”
“I was speaking allegorically,” I explained.
“So how else should a god speak?” the High Priest mused. “Very well. If it is the wish of Zeus that the ox-cart be hidden from Alexander, then it shall be so.” He summoned the guard. “Fetch an ox immediately, and hitch it to the cart of Gordius,” he instructed him.
When this was done, the High Priest and I drove the cart to a secluded gully on the far side of the city. Here we unhitched it and covered it with large branches of leaves. When it was completely hidden, the priest led the ox back to the temple. I walked with him as far as the city and then detoured around it to return to Alexander’s camp. I congratulated myself on a good night’s work and fell into a sound sleep.
The next morning, without having to toss a spear anger, the army of Alexander made its triumphal march into the city of Gordium. While Alexander was involved in the administrative details of the tribute to be paid him, I wandered about the city on my own, taking in the sights as it were.
Towards mid-afternoon, I grew tired. I hadn’t had too much sleep the night before. I was on the far side of the city, so I walked out beyond the walls, found a grassy knoll and curled up under a tree. I was just dozing off when I spied a shimmery figure approaching me through the dazzling beams of sunlight.
As the figure drew closer, I squinted. I made out the features and sat bolt upright. It Was Dymitria.
I was in the shadow of the tree and she didn’t see me. I watched as she went over to a small brook at the base of the knoll, removed her sandals and dipped a toe into the water. She tossed her head, satisfied with the temperature. Then she walked along the edge of the brook until she reached a clump of bushes directly down the hillock from where I was. Here she removed her gown and stretched luxuriously, gloriously nude in the sunlight.
I caught my breath. Dymitria appeared for a moment like some statue of a woodland nymph. But when she moved, she was all woman-—the total female animal. She cupped her hands under her large, perfectly shaped breasts and held them to catch the rays of the sun. It was as if she was making an offering. The sun was behind me, still blinding her to my presence, and while she didn’t know it, the offering was being made to me.