Ben Bova - Orion and the Conqueror

“I’d rather see him hanging from his golden throat,” Antipatros said.

“All I want from Athens is that they leave us in charge of the seaports and stop making war against us.”

“And what about the Persians?” Alexandros asked, his voice as thin and hard as a knife blade.

“The Great King will make his settlement with us. If we offer no threat to him, he’ll offer no threat to us.”

“For how long?”

Philip fixed his son with his one good eye. “For as long as we control all of Greece. Which will be for as long as I sit on the throne of Macedonia.”

I wondered. Philip had forged a powerful instrument in his army, and armies need enemies to fight. Otherwise they go to rot. Or worse, their officers begin to scheme against the king. Still, I could not see Parmenio or Antipatros or One-Eyed Antigonos plotting to overthrow Philip.

Alexandros, however, was a different matter. And there was his mother to consider.

This time Alexandros entered Athens openly. No disguises, no deception. He rode bareheaded in a gold-leafed chariot pulled by a brace of magnificent white stallions, followed by his Companions, all mounted on their war chargers, and then a squadron of the heavy cavalry that had crushed the Thebans.

The whole city turned out to see the boy-hero of Chaeroneia. If they resented the Macedonian conquest of their army they did not show it. The narrow winding streets of Athens were thronged with citizens shouting and waving to Alexandros, even throwing flowers. Many of these men must have been marching against us in the battle , I thought. Many of the women must be widows because of Chaeroneia. How can they cheer for their conqueror ?

Perhaps because they were still alive, I reasoned, and not enslaved. Philip did not pursue the fleeing Athenian hoplites as ruthlessly as he might have. Instead of harrying them to their deaths he turned his phalanxes against the Thebans, coming to the aid of us in the cavalry.

Apparently the news of Philip’s lenient terms had already been spread through the city. They thought he admired Athens, revered it so highly that he felt himself too humble to enter the city himself. Actually Philip was busy settling with Thebes and the other cities that had arrayed themselves against him. He was working at a king’s tasks; he had no time for glory and adulation.

But Alexandros took the city’s homage as his personal due.

The city’s leaders were obsequious, hailing Alexandros before the crowd at the Agora as if he had won the victory for their side. In private they seemed unable to believe their good fortune.

“Philip will not send troops to occupy the city?”

“No,” said Alexandros.

“He does not demand reparations or ransom for the prisoners he took?”

“No.”

“All he wants is for us to confirm his control of the seaports along the Hellespont and Bosporus?”

“That, and a guarantee that you will no longer make war against us.” Sullenly.

The Athenian leaders could hardly suppress their delight.

“After all, he controls the ports already.”

“It was Demosthenes and his faction that wanted to war against Philip. I never believed in it.”

“Nor I.”

“Nor I!”

“Where is Demosthenes?” Alexandros asked. “I have something of his to return to him.”

I accompanied Alexandros to Demosthenes’ house, carrying his heavy blue shield with me, a combination bodyguard and porter. The other Companions had wanted to come and gloat, but Alexandros—in a very sober, serious mood—told them to stay behind.

Ptolemaios, who had brought his mistress Thais with him to see her native Athens once again, laughingly said to the others, “Let the Little King go see the golden-throated coward. We have better things to do!” And he shaped the curves of a woman in the air with his hands.

The other Companions agreed, laughing. Except for Hephaistion, who came to Alexandros and pleaded to come along with him.

“No, I want to see Demosthenes alone, eye to eye. If you or any of the others were there it would seem as if we’re flaunting our victory over him.”

“Well, aren’t we?” Hephaistion asked. “Shouldn’t we?”

Alexandros said merely, “That isn’t what I want to do. I must see him alone.”

“But you’re taking Orion with you.”

Without even glancing my way, Alexandros replied, “Orion is a servant, a bodyguard. He doesn’t count.”

Perhaps I should have been annoyed or even angered at that. I could not work up any resentment; he was right. I was a servant, a bodyguard, a hired soldier. In thrall to his witch mother, as well. And a slave of the Creators who let their creatures worship themselves as gods. What right had I to be angry at the truth?

I arranged an honor guard of six uniformed men to accompany us through the streets, three striding ahead of us, three behind. I did not entirely trust the Athenians’ seeming acceptance of us. It would take only one dagger in the dark to slay the son of their conqueror.

As we walked through Athens’ streets in the gathering shadows of evening, he said to me, “You realize that by sending me here, my father is robbing me of the victory celebration home in Pella.”

“You got a hero’s welcome here,” I said.

“Smiling faces, Orion. But they smile out of fear. They are trying to deceive us.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Right now my father must be parading our troops through the streets of Pella. And then there will be the thanksgiving rites at the old capital in Aigai. And I won’t be there for either one.”

“They’ll have celebrations when you return,” I said.

He shook his head. “It won’t be the same. He is getting all the glory for himself, making certain that all I get is leftovers.”

“What you are doing here is very important.”

Alexandros glanced around at the houses and shops crowding the street. It was late in the day, almost sundown. No one else was stirring, as far as we could see. The Athenians had emptied the street once they knew that Alexandros would be using it. Up ahead I could see the massive bulk of the Acropolis with its marble temples and the tip of Athena’s spear catching the last glint of the setting sun.

“Important? This? I’m a messenger boy, that’s all.”

I said, “Ensuring the peace is king’s work. Victory on the battlefield means nothing if the enemy isn’t satisfied with the terms of the peace.”

He did not reply.

“Your task is to make the Athenians realize that they have more to gain from peace than war. Your father sent you because Demosthenes has painted him as such a monster that it would be impossible for the Athenians to deal with him.”

“Demosthenes,” he whispered, as if he had just remembered where we were going, and why.

“You are not only Philip’s representative,” I reminded him, “you are his heir. The peace you arrange here should last into your own reign.”

This time he looked at me squarely. “My father is still a vigorous man. I may not ascend to the throne for many years.”

“You are young. You can wait.”

“I am not good at waiting, Orion. When you have chosen glory instead of long life, waiting is hard.”

“You sound like Achilles,” I said.

“I want to be like Achilles: strong and glorious and famed forever.”

“He was short and ugly and he slit his own throat,” I blurted.

Alexandros jolted to a stop so suddenly that the guards behind us had to whistle to the guards up front to let them know they should stop too.

“How dare you defame the greatest hero of the Iliad?”

“I was there,” I said. It was almost as if someone else were speaking. I heard my own words, and in a far corner of my mind I was astounded to be speaking them.