Thettalos sat that evening at the lodging of his old friend Nikeratos, who had followed him up to Pella in case he needed ransoming, and was rubbing salve on his sores.
“My dear, I bled for the boy. One forgets how little he travels. I tried to signal him, but he swallowed every word. He saw the rope round my neck.”
“So did I. Will you never learn sense?”
“Come come, what do you think Philip is, some Illyrian pirate? You should have seen him being Greek at Delphi. He knew already he’d gone too far, before I told him so. A disgusting journey. Let us go home by sea.”
“You know the Corinthians are fining you half a talent? Aristodemos got your roles. No one will pay you for acting King Philip off his own stage.”
“Oh, not I alone. I never reckoned on the boy being such a natural. What a sense of theater! Wait till he finds himself; I tell you, we shall see something. But it was a monstrous thing to do to him. I bled for him, truly bled.”
Hephaistion was whispering in the midnight room, “Yes, I know. I know. But you must get some sleep now. I’ll stay with you. Try to sleep.”
In a colorless white-hot voice Alexander repeated, “He put his foot on my neck.”
“He’s getting no praise for it. It’s a scandal, his chaining Thettalos; everyone says so. They all say you came off best.”
“He put his foot on my neck, to show me he could do it. Before Thettalos; before them all.”
“They’ll forget. So must you. All fathers are unfair sooner or later. I remember once—”
“He’s not my father.”
Hephaistion’s comforting hands froze in a moment’s stillness. “Oh, not in the eyes of the gods; they choose whom—”
“Never use that word again.”
“The god will reveal it. You must wait the god’s sign, you know that…Wait till the war begins. Wait till you win your next battle. He’ll be bragging of you then.”
Alexander was lying flat on his back, staring upward. Suddenly he grasped Hephaistion in an embrace so fierce that it knocked the breath out of him, and said, “Without you I should go mad.”
“I too without you,” said Hephaistion with loving ardor. Change the meaning, he thought, and you avert the omen.
Alexander said nothing. His strong fingers gripped into Hephaistion’s ribs and shoulder; the bruises would be there a week. Hephaistion thought, I am in the King’s gift too, a favor he can take away. Presently, having no more words, he offered instead the sadness of Eros, for this at least brought sleep.
The young slave-girl glided out from the shadow of the column; a black Nubian girl in a scarlet dress. She had been given as a child to Kleopatra in her childhood, to grow up with her, as a puppy might have been given. Her dark eyes with their smoky whites, like the agate eyes of statues, looked left and right before she spoke.
“Alexander, my lady says, please see her in the Queen’s garden. By the old fountain. She wants to speak with you.”
He looked at her with a sharp alertness, then seemed to draw into himself. “I can’t come now. I am busy.”
“Please see my lady now. Please come. She is crying.” He saw that on her own dark polished face drops were lying like rain on bronze.
“Tell her yes, I’ll come.”
It was early spring. The old tangled roses were beaded with hard red buds; in the slant evening light they glowed like rubies. An almond tree growing between ancient tilted flagstones looked weightless in its cloud of pink. The shadowed water gushed out from the columned fountain-house into a basin of worn porphyry with ferns growing in its cracks. Seated on its edge, Kleopatra looked up at his footstep. She had dried her tears. “Oh, I am glad Melissa found you.”
He rested a knee on the coping and made a quick movement with his hand. “Wait. Before you say anything, wait.”
She looked at him blankly. He said, “There was something I asked you once to warn me of. Is it anything like that?”
“Warn you?” She had been full of other things. “Oh, but not—”
“Wait. I am not to interfere with any of her business. In any plot. That was the condition.”
“Plot? No, no, please don’t go away.”
“I am telling you, I release you from the promise. I don’t wish to know.”
“No, truly. Please stay. Alexander, when you were in Molossia…with King Alexandros…What is he like?”
“Our uncle? But he was here a few years ago, you must remember him. A big man, red-bearded, young for his age—”
“Yes, I know; but what kind of man?”
“Oh, ambitious, brave in war I’d say, but I’d doubt his judgment. He governs well, though, watches things for himself.”
“What did his wife die of? Was he kind to her?”
“How should I know? She died in childbed.” He paused and stared, then in a changed voice said, “Why do you ask?”
“I have to marry him.”
He stood back. The water from the hidden spring murmured in its columned cave. His first words were, “When did you hear this? I should have been told. The King tells me nothing, Nothing.”
She looked at him silently, then said, “He sent for me just now,” and turned away.
He crossed over and drew her against his shoulder. He had scarcely embraced her since their childhood, and now it was in Melissa’s arms that she had wept. “I am sorry. You need not be frightened. He’s not a bad man, he has no name for being cruel. The people like him. And you’ll not be too far away.”
She thought, You took for granted you’d choose the best; when you chose, you had only to lift your finger. When they find you a wife, you can go to her if you choose, or stay away with your lover. But I must be grateful that this old man, my mother’s brother, has no name for being cruel. All she said was, “The gods are unjust to women.”
“Yes, I have often thought so. But the gods are just; so it must be the fault of men.” Their eyes met questioningly, but their thoughts had no point of meeting. “Philip wants to be sure of Epiros, before he crosses to Asia. What does Mother think of it?”
She grasped a fold of his chiton, the gesture of a suppliant. “Alexander. This is what I wanted to ask you. Will you tell her for me?”
“Tell her? But of course she must have heard before you.”
“No, Father says not. He said I could tell her.”
“What is it?” He grasped her wrist. “You are keeping something back.”
“No. Only that—I could tell he knows she will be angry.”
“So I should think. What an insult! Why go out of his way to slight her, when the thing in itself…I should have thought…”
Suddenly he released her. His face altered. He began to walk about the pavement, his feet, with a cat’s instinct, avoiding the broken edges. She had known he would uncover the secret dread; better he than their mother, she had thought; but now she could scarcely bear the waiting. He turned. She saw a greyness under his skin; his eyes appalled her. He remembered her presence, said abruptly, “I’ll go to her,” and began to walk away.
“Alexander!” At her cry he paused impatiently. “What does it mean? Tell me what it means?”
“Can’t you see for yourself? Philip made Alexandros King of Molossia and hegemon of Epiros. Why isn’t that enough? They’re brothers-in-law; isn’t that enough? Why not? Why make him a son-in-law besides? Can’t you see? Not besides—instead.”
She said slowly, “What?” and then, “Ah, no, God forbid it!”
“What else? What does he mean to do, that would make an enemy of Alexandros unless he’s sweetened with a new marriage tie? What else, but throw him back his sister? For Eurydike to be Queen.”