Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“Are you saying that not only the most beautiful things, but also the sight of their destruction strengthens the people’s spirit?” Alexander asked.

“Precisely so, Majesty,” Thais replied. “But only if the people, who created the beauty of their land and sublimated it, realize what they have lost.”

Alexander grew silent.

As if sensing the approaching end to their journey, the horses perked up and ran swiftly down the road, ascending into thick forest. The thickness of the ancient oak trees indicated that this forest had been sacred since the ancient times, protecting the Persepolis valley from north winds. The forest was followed by plowed fields, carefully irrigated by mountain creeks. Peaceful farmers, most likely slaves of the royal land owners, plowed the fields, aided by mighty black bulls, apathetic and slow, with horns curved to the inside. Macedonians were already familiar with these animals, as well as with their unusually fatty milk and tasty meat.

Far ahead, the white palaces of Persepolis seemed to float above the flat plane. Their roofs of pure silver glittered blindingly in the sunlight even at the great distance.

Infantry and archers switched to a run, using the last of their energy to keep up with the cavalry. The army opened up into a broad front. Having divided into small groups, the Macedonians crept through the gardens, along irrigation canals and around the small houses on the outskirts of the city. The citizens ran away with shouts of terror, and hid wherever they could. Some gates were locked shut, some were left ajar.

Alexander knew that his plan of catching Persepolis by surprise had been successful. Nobody had suspected the swift arrival of large Macedonian troops. That was why he had not created a battle or troop alignment plan. He let the detachment chiefs and lokhagosi take the initiative instead. He himself rode to the treasury with the stronger getaerosi and Thessalians, arriving before its guards could do anything about hiding the silver, gold, jewels, crimson pigment and incense.

While the infantry engaged the weak Persian city guards among the cherry and peach orchards, the mud, sweat and dust-covered horsemen dashed toward the palaces which stood atop the tall platforms.

Light white columns covered in thin grooves, forty elbows each, stood like a forest, concealing the mysterious dwelling of Persian rulers. In the north corner of the palace platform, the staircase leading to the Gates of Xerxes was being defended by archers and a detachment of elite royal guards: the “Immortals” in their glittering gilded armor. The majority of these brave warriors had died at Gaugamela, and some of them had gone north with Darius. Those left in Persepolis could only provide brief resistance to the fierce push of the best Macedonian cavalry.

Before the palace servants knew what was happening, the Macedonian riders were in the courtyard, having blown through the unlocked Gates of Xerxes, and their enormous statues of winged bulls. Raging horses thundered up the enormous northern staircase which led from the platform through the portico of twelve round columns, into the apadana, the Reception Hall. This was a square space, two hundred elbows high, its tall roof supported by massive square columns arranged in rows around the entire hall, similar to other giant halls of Persepolis palaces.

Having dismounted, Alexander remained at the cool apadana. Ptolemy, Hephaestion and Philotas ran off, leading their soldiers through the palace halls in search of the treasury and scattering terrified palace servants. They reached the treasury, which stood separately in the eastern section of the palace, through a triple pylon and a southern entrance facing the valley. The famous gazaphilakia was there, among the “Hundred Pillar” halls and “Ninety-Nine Pillar” halls, as well as in the tangled corridors of the eastern corner of the palace platform.

The Macedonians held the last brief battle in a narrow passageway between the treasury and the southern palace. During that time, the hero of the Persian Gates battle, Crateros, managed to capture the guards’ barracks. Those were located near the treasury, behind the hundred pillar Throne Hall. A few minutes later, the royal treasurers knelt before Alexander and handed him the fanciful keys with which to open the treasury rooms. Afterwards, the treasury was sealed and placed under guard, having passed into the ownership of the great commander.

Exhausted to the limit, and having already entrusted the horses to the palace servants, the Macedonians collapsed where they stood. The soldiers had no energy left even for pillaging.

Unlike at Susa, Alexander had no wish to hurt the local population, despite the fact that Persepolis had not surrendered and did not send out ambassadors to greet him. This last had been justified by the suddenness of the Macedonian attack. They had burst so unexpectedly into the city that it had been too late for the people to decide anything.

Leontiscus and Crateros rode around the city squares and main streets, placing guards everywhere. This was not a frivolous precaution, considering that the city could still be hiding large detachments of enemy soldiers. Sleeping Macedonians were everywhere, lying on the streets and in the gardens, snoring on rugs, blankets and mats taken from the citizens.

Thais rode into this sleeping kingdom in the evening, having waited in a suburban garden with a group of guards. As agreed, she arrived at the western staircase where servants labored hard to wash off the blood which covered the white steps. Bodies of palace defenders had already been removed, but the sharp tang of blood still hung in the sunset stillness.

Thais spent that night in the house of a fugitive wealthy nobleman, where terrified male and female slaves were ready to fulfill the foreigner’s every wish. She was tired and blackened by the sun and dust, and seemed menacing to them despite her beauty and small stature. Their fear was amplified by the expressive gestures of both Leontiscus and Ptolemy, who ensured that Thais was well settled before they vanished. The slaves were even more terrified by a group of riders who settled to rest in the garden and placed their horses not only in the empty stables but also in the house.

Having said good night to the Macedonian captains, Thais felt very alone before the entire crowd of servants. They had been abandoned by their owners, yet still dutifully protected their possessions. Thais’ first order of business was to request a bath. Once she was told that the bath was ready, she stuck a dagger into the belt of her short chiton and went into a small round room. There she was met by an old female slave, a Greek from Ionia, who spoke in a dialect Thais knew. Moved by a meeting with the first free Helenian woman in many years, who had arrived at the heart of Persia along with an undefeated army of fearsome conquerors, the old woman took Thais under her wing in a motherly fashion. After the bath, the old Greek carefully rubbed down the hetaera’s entire body and rubbed some kind of smelly brown ointment into her rough, scratched knees. She explained that the precious medicine was more valuable than silver. It was collected in the desert mountains beyond Persepolis where it appeared in smudges on bare rocks.

“Perhaps it is the flammable green oil?” Thais asked.

“No, Mistress. The burning oil is aplenty to the east and north, on the shores of the Girkanian Sea. But this is a rare gift of Gaea with the power to heal all things, especially wounds. You’ll see. All your scratches will be gone tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Prepare this ointment for tomorrow to heal the wounds of my friends,” Thais said, referring to Ptolemy and the old lokhagos. They had both received light wounds during the clash near the gates.