He had just had good news; he had brought off an alliance of priceless strategic value. In his heart, he was longing to boast of it to his son. But, if the boy was too stiff-necked to consult his father and King, he could not expect to be consulted. Let him learn for himself, or from his mother’s spies.
It was from Olympias, therefore, that he heard of Arridaios’ coming marriage.
The satrapy of Karia, on the southern curve of the Asian coast, was ruled under the Great King by its native dynasts. The great Mausolos, before he was laid in his grandiose Mausoleum, had built himself a little empire, seawards to Rhodes, Kos and Chios, south down the coast to Lykia. The succession, though in dispute, had passed firmly to Pixodoros, his younger brother. He paid tribute and did formal homage; the Great King took care to ask no more. After Syracuse sank back to anarchy, and before the rise of Macedon, Karia had been the greatest power on the Middle Sea. Philip had long been watching her, sending secret envoys, playing her on a silken line. Now he was hauling in. He had betrothed Arridaios to Pixodoros’ daughter.
Olympias learned of it one morning at the theater, during a tragedy put on to honor the Karian envoys.
Alexander, when she sent for him, was not found at once. He had gone backstage with Hephaistion, to congratulate Thettalos. The play had been The Madness of Herakles. Hephaistion wondered, after, how he could have missed the omen.
Thettalos was now about forty, at the height of his powers and fame. So versatile that he could give a performance in any mask from Antigone to Nestor, he still triumphed in hero roles. This one had been demanding. His mask only just off, he was careless of his face, which for a moment revealed concern at what he saw; after absence, changes show. He had heard things, too, and took trouble to make it clear that his own loyalty was unshaken.
From the theater, Hephaistion went off to spend an hour with his parents, who had come into town for the feast. When he returned, it was to the center of a hurricane.
Alexander’s room was milling with his friends, all talking at once, indignant, guessing, plotting. Seeing Hephaistion at the door, Alexander broke through the crowd to him, grasped him by the arm and shouted the news in his ear. Dazed by his rage, Hephaistion made sounds of sympathy; certainly he should have heard of it from the King, certainly he had been slighted. The truth came piecemeal through the din: he believed this to prove Arridaios had been adopted as heir of Macedon. Olympias was sure of it.
I must get him alone, Hephaistion thought; but he dared not try. Alexander was flushed as if with fever; the young men, recalling his victories, cursing the King’s ingratitude, offering wild advice, had felt his need of them and did not mean to leave him. He wanted from Hephaistion what he wanted from all the rest, only more urgently. It would be madness to cross him now.
Illyria, Hephaistion thought. It’s like a sickness he can’t shake off. Later I’ll talk to him. “Who’d be a woman?” he said. “Does she know she’s promised to a wittol?”
“What do you think?” said Alexander, his nostrils flaring. “Or her father either.” His brows drew together in thought; he began to pace about. Hephaistion recognized the prelude to coming action.
Ignoring the danger signs, falling into step beside him, Hephaistion said, “Alexander, this can’t be true unless the King’s gone mad. Why, he was elected King himself because the Macedonians wouldn’t accept a child. How could he suppose they’d accept a halfwit?”
“I know what he’s doing.” A dry heat seemed to radiate from him. “Arridaios is a stopgap till Eurydike has a boy. This is Attalos’ work.”
“But…but think! This boy’s not even born. Then he has to grow up. Say eighteen years. And the King’s a soldier.”
“She’s pregnant again, didn’t you know?” If one touched his hair, Hephaistion thought, one would hear it crackle.
“He can’t think he’s immortal. He’s going to war. What does he think would happen if he died in the next five years? Who is there but you?”
“Unless he has me killed.” He threw it off like a commonplace.
“What? How can you believe it? His own son.”
“They say I’m not. Well, then, I must look out for myself.”
“Whoever says so? Do you mean that sottish wedding speech? I think all the man really meant by a true-born heir, was Macedonian blood both sides.”
“Oh, no. That’s not what they’re saying now.”
“Listen. Come out awhile. We’ll go hunting. Then we’ll talk later.”
Looking quickly round to be sure no one else could hear, Alexander said in a desperate undertone, “Be quiet, be quiet.” Hephaistion went back to the others; Alexander paced, like a caged wolf, to and fro.
Suddenly he faced round to them, and said, “I shall deal with this.”
Hephaistion, who had never before heard this voice of decision with less than perfect trust, felt an instant presage of disaster.
“We’ll see who wins,” Alexander said, “at this marriage-broking.” Prompt as a chorus, the others begged to hear. “I shall send to Karia, and tell Pixodoros what kind of bargain he’s made.”
There was applause. Hephaistion thought, Everyone’s gone insane. Over the noise, Niarchos the naval officer called out, “You can’t do that, Alexander. You might lose us the war in Asia.”
“You might let me finish,” Alexander shouted back. “I shall offer for the girl myself.”
Almost in silence, they took it in. Then Ptolemy said, “Do it, Alexander. I’ll stand by you, here’s my hand on it.”
Hephaistion stared, appalled. He had counted upon Ptolemy, the big brother, the steady one. He had lately fetched his Thais back from Corinth, where she had spent his time of exile. But now it was clear he was as angry as Alexander. He was, after all, though unacknowledged, the eldest of Philip’s sons. Personable and capable, ambitious and turned thirty, he thought he could have managed in Karia very well. It was one thing to uphold a loved and legitimate brother; something else to stand aside for slobbering Arridaios. “What do you say, everyone? Do we all stand by Alexander?”
There were sounds of confused assent. Alexander’s certainties were always catching. They exclaimed that this marriage would secure his place, that it would force the King to take care with him. Even the fainthearted, seeing him count heads, joined in; this was no Illyrian exile, there was nothing they need do, all the risks would be taken, they thought, by him.
This is treason, Hephaistion thought. Arrogant with desperation, he took Alexander by the shoulders, with the firmness of one who claims his rights. At once Alexander turned aside with him.
“Sleep on it. Think tomorrow.”
“Never put off.”
“Listen. What if your father and Pixodoros are swapping stinking fish? What if she’s a slut or a hag? Just fit for Arridaios? You’d be a laughingstock.”
With an effort he could see, Alexander turned on him dilated glittering eyes, and said with controlled forbearance, “What is it? This will make no difference to us, you know that.”
“Of course I know that!” said Hephaistion angrily. “You’re not talking to Arridaios, what sort of fool do you…” No, no; one of us must keep his head. Suddenly, for no reason that was clear to him, Hephaistion thought, He’s proving he can take a woman from his father. She’s for Arridaios, that keeps it decent, he need not know. And who dares tell him? No one, not even I.
Alexander, his head tilted defiantly, had started to assess the strength of the Karian navy. Through all this, Hephaistion sensed appeal. He wanted not advice, but the proofs of love. Anything he needed, he must have.