Philip endured the compliments with a good grace, while he lived with the remembered eyes which had met his when the head, already stinking from its journey, was laid before him. During the days of waiting and seeking news, it had been clear to him that if the boy never came back, he would have to have Olympias killed before she could kill him. All this was tough meat to feast on. Epikrates, too, had left, telling him the Prince had decided to give up music, and not meeting his eyes. Philip bestowed lavish guest-gifts, but could see an unpleasant tale going round the odeons of Hellas; these men went everywhere.
In the upshot, no real attempt had been made to muster a formal Prince’s Guard. Alexander took no interest in this dead institution; he had picked up for himself the group of youths and grown men who were already known everywhere as Alexander’s Friends. They themselves were apt to forget that he was only thirteen last summer.
The morning, however, of the horse fair, he had been spending with the boys attached to him by the King. He had been pleased to have their company; if he treated them all as his juniors, it was not to assert himself or put them down, but because he never felt it otherwise. He had talked horses untiringly, and they had done their best to keep up. His sword belt, his fame, and the fact that with all this he was the smallest of them, bewildered them and made them awkward. They were relieved that now, for the showing of the bloodstock, his friends were gathering, Ptolemy and Harpalos and Philotas and the rest. Left on one side, they clumped together and, with their pack-leader gone, started edging for precedence like a chance-met group of dogs.
“My father couldn’t come in today. It’s not worth it; he imports his horses straight from Thessaly. All the breeders know him.”
“I shall need a bigger horse soon; but my father’s leaving it till next year, when I’ve grown taller.”
“Alexander’s a hand shorter than you, and he rides men’s horses.”
“Oh, well, I expect they trained them specially.”
The tallest of the boys said, “He took his boar. I suppose you think they trained a boar for him.”
“That was set up, it always is,” said the boy with the richest father, who could count on having it set up for him.
“It was not set up!” said the tall boy angrily. The others exchanged looks; he reddened. His voice, which was breaking, gave a sudden startling growl. “My father heard about it. Ptolemy tried to set it up without his knowing, because he was set on doing it, and Ptolemy didn’t want him killed. They cleared the wood except for a small one. Then when they brought him there in the morning, overnight a big one had got in. Ptolemy went as white as a fleece, they said, and tried to make him go home. But he saw through it then; he said this was the boar the god had sent him, and the god knew best. They couldn’t budge him. They were in a sweat with fright, they knew he was too light to hold it, and the net wouldn’t hold it long. But he went straight for the big vein in the neck; no one had to help him. Everyone knows that’s so.”
“No one would dare spoil the story, you mean. Just look at him now. My father would belt me, if I stood in the horse-field letting men make up to me. Which of them does he go with?”
One of the others put in, “No one, my brother says.”
“Oh? Did he try?”
“His friend did. Alexander seemed to like him, he even kissed him once. But then when he wanted the rest, he seemed surprised and quite put out. He’s young for his age, my brother says.”
“And how old was your brother when he took his man?” asked the tallest boy. “And his boar?”
“That’s different. My brother says he’ll come to it all of a sudden, and be mad for girls. His father did.”
“Oh, but the King likes—”
“Be quiet, you fool!” They all looked over their shoulders; but the men were watching two racehorses whose dealer had set them to run round the field. The boys ceased squabbling, till the Royal Bodyguard began to form up around the dais, in readiness for the King.
“Look,” whispered someone, pointing to the officer in command. “That’s Pausanias.” There were knowing looks, and inquiring ones. “He was the King’s favorite before the one who died. He was the rival.”
“What happened?”
“Shsh. Everyone knows. The King threw him over and he was madly angry. He stood up at a drinking-party and called the new boy a shameless whore who’d go with anyone for pay. People pulled them apart; but either the boy really cared for the King, or it was the slight to his honor; it gnawed at him, and in the end he asked a friend, I think it was Attalos, to give the King a message when he was dead. Then next time they fought the Illyrians, he rushed straight in front of the King among the enemy, and got hacked to death.”
“What did the King do?”
“Buried him.”
“No, to Pausanias?”
There were confused whispers. “No one really knows if…” “Of course he did!” “You could be killed for saying that.” “Well, he can’t have been sorry.” “No, it was Attalos and the boy’s friends, my brother says so.”
“What did they do?”
“Attalos got Pausanias dead drunk one night. Then they carried him out to the grooms and said they could enjoy themselves, he’d go with anyone without even being paid. I suppose they beat him up as well. He woke in the stable yard next morning.”
Someone whistled softly. They stared at the officer of the Guard. He looked old for his years, and not strikingly handsome. He had grown a beard.
“He wanted Attalos put to death. Of course the King couldn’t do it, even if he’d wanted; imagine putting that to the Assembly! But he had to do something, Pausanias being an Orestid. He gave him some land, and made him Second Officer of the Royal Guard.”
The tallest boy, who had heard the whole tale in silence, said, “Does Alexander get to know of things like this?”
“His mother tells him everything, to turn him against the King.”
“Well, but the King insulted him in Hall. That’s why he went out to take his man.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“No, of course he wouldn’t speak of it. My father was there; he often has supper with the King. Our land’s quite near.”
“So you’ve met Alexander before, then?”
“Only once, when we were children. He didn’t know me again, I’ve grown too much.”
“Wait till he hears you’re the same age, he won’t like that.”
“Who said I was?”
“You told me you were born the same month.”
“I never said the same year.”
“You did, the first day you came.”
“Are you calling me a liar? Well, come on, are you?”
“Hephaistion, you fool, you can’t fight here.”
“Don’t call me a liar, then.”
“You do look fourteen,” said a peacemaker. “In the gymnasium, I thought you were more.”
“You know who Hephaistion has a look of? Alexander. Not really like, but, say, like his big brother.”
“You hear that, Hephaistion? How well does your mother know the King?”
He had counted too much on the protection of place and time. Next moment, with a split lip, he was on the ground. In the stir of the King’s approach, few people saw it. Alexander all this while had kept the tail of his eye on them, because he thought of himself as their commanding officer. But he decided not to notice it. They were not precisely on duty, and the boy who had been knocked down was the one he liked the least.
Philip rode up to the stand, escorted by the First Officer of the Guard, the Somatophylax. Pausanias saluted and stepped aside. The boys stood respectfully, one sucking his lip, the other his knuckles.
The horse fair was always easy-going, an outing where men were men. Philip in riding-clothes lifted his switch to the lords and squires and officers and horse-dealers; mounted the stand, shouted to this friend or that to join him. His eye fell on his son; he made a movement, then saw the little court around him and turned away. Alexander picked up his talk with Harpalos, a dark lively good-looking youth with much offhand charm, whom fate had cursed with a clubfoot. Alexander had always admired the way he bore it.