Shan Sa - Alexander and Alestria

He claimed he was master of a million white elephants, of a billion bees and birds, master of millions of men and women. If Talestria married him, he said, she would be mistress of the most extensive kingdom on earth. She would have a life of pleasure, dress in beautiful fabrics, and be served by the loveliest women. Agile acrobats would make her laugh, the very flowers would bow when she walked by; the whole universe would sing to the glory of Talestria, the mother of a new dynasty.

Darius became impassioned, reciting a poem he had just composed for Talestria:

Bearing children, that was Talestria's magic power to change fate, to turn the tide of time! That was Darius's immortality, the advent of his power! It was said that Alexander had killed all

Darius's heirs. That was why the defeated king had come to ask Talestria to be the womb and the wet nurse of his descendants.

He edged closer to my queen on his knees and said:

"Talestria, be my queen tonight. Your warrior-women will protect and raise my heirs. You will rally the peoples of the steppes and expand the Persian Empire. I, Darius, must do my honor's bidding: I must go back to war. My God tells me I must avenge myself and die. But my children, forged by the eternal fire and blessed by the glacier of Siberia, will be invincible. Darius will have lost an empire, but his blood will flow in the veins of his children. Although conquered, he will be master of the world for all eternity."

A great cooing of promises, praises, and declarations of love fell from Darius's lips. My queen let him speak and said not a word. She smiled. From time to time I saw her eyes twinkle. I was worried. Was she seduced by this liar who was in love with power and wealth? Talestria must not betray the oath she had made to our God that she would never form an attachment with a man. She could not have a child!

The night wore on. Darius's eloquence frayed and tired. Tales-tria remained upright, motionless, and still she gave no answer. Dawn broke over the tent, and the birds' shadows could already be seen moving. The Persian scribe was asleep. Darius, exhausted and in despair, blinked his eyes to keep them open.

Suddenly the queen spoke:

"Darius, your destiny as king is at an end. The God of Ice is putting you to the test. You must climb the glacier without adornment, without a horse, without a royal turban. At its summit you will find a priceless treasure."

Darius's face lit up.

"To please you, I shall go in pursuit of it." Talestria smiled.

"This treasure is in your heart, but the road there has been barred. Try to find your way instead of making war. Life or death, you can still choose."

After a brief silence she gave an enigmatic smile and added:

"Dying is living."

Darius thought for a moment. I, Tania, had noted all this down without understanding it. My queen rose to her feet, arranged her crumpled tunic, and left the tent, and I followed behind.

We set off again toward the land of the white cranes with the crimson heads.

Reinforcements came from Greece, and my Macedonian lieutenants put them in training with the Persian soldiers. I gathered information on the eastern territories and drew up better maps of them. At the head of a new army subjected to Macedonian discipline and reinforced with the battalions of camels and elephants abandoned by Darius, I marched toward eastern Persia.

Suse capitulated without a fight, but a riot erupted inside the city. The leader, a slave who had been driven out of the palace by the eunuchs after Darius's downfall, and who claimed he was the son of the winged god, had incited the poor to rebel. The uprising was swiftly quashed, and Bagoas chained and thrown at my feet. He was a slender young Persian with black hair and green eyes. The hatred, insolence, and religious fervor in those eyes bore right through me.

With that first glance from him, I forgot the order to have him executed and his body displayed for all to see. Kneeling at the foot of the dais, he seemed to know no fear, staring me down and making me uncomfortable. I, Alexander, master of the world, flushed as I ordered that he should be thrown into a dungeon. But I was haunted by his face, I could not sleep, and longed to hold him in my arms, to bring him suffering and pleasure.

I called for Hephaestion the very next morning and talked of my many concerns before tackling the question itself: I told him I would pardon the beautiful Bagoas, leader of the rioters, but that he would be punished with castration and would become my servant. Hephaestion smiled bitterly, understanding my message. He could not make me faithful, and did not know how to protect me from myself by saying no. He had always preferred my pleasure to his own happiness, and now, once again, his suffering would carpet the way to my delight.

Hephaestion had young Bagoas castrated, and was tender and patient with him while he healed, tolerating his insults and forgiving his attempts to murder him. One evening, when we were heading for Persepolis, he brought the youth to my tent, dressed in a eunuch's tunic.

I tore off Bagoas's clothing. Naked and backed into a corner, my captive had only his fierce emerald eyes as defense. His stare was so intense it paralyzed my desire. Instead of raping him, I held out my hand and stroked his face, which was rigid with loathing and pain. Bagoas loved me! That was why he suffered in silence. That was why he continued to appear cold and rebellious when his skin burned and moaned beneath my fingers. To prove my love for him, I put his tunic back on and sent him away.

I waited an eternity for Bagoas to come to me, and I waited another before he admitted he had desired me from our very first meeting. I did everything I could to make him a willing prisoner. He was a proud, tormented creature who showed me all the agonies of carnal passion. Bagoas was a wild bird I had forced into a gilded cage. He sang happily when he felt love, and raged for his lost manhood when hatred washed back over him. He dreamed up a thousand different ways to torture me. He told me Darius had let him mount him and had called him Little Bee. He chirped like a sparrow but refused to talk of his parents or homeland. One moment he would grovel at my feet, begging me to touch him; the next he would disappear for days on end, suffering and weeping over his infirmity. I was subjected to his mood swings and his determination to die, unable to impose my authority. His constant outbursts infuriated me, but as soon as he was away from me I missed his childlike voice, his honeyed skin, the blue shadows under his eyes, and the trace of tears on his cheeks. The Great Alexander capitulated, and Bagoas was given a place in my life: he oversaw my clothes and my meals. He was jealous of anyone close to me and complained that the Macedonians were brutal and the Greeks crude. He swept aside all rivals by intoxicating me with sensual delights of the Orient.

We headed east, then west, then north, then east again. Following the steep roads along which Darius had fled, I took cities by storm. To those that surrendered without resistance I gave their autonomy, setting up a garrison. I had scarcely arrived before I set off again, shield in hand, lance borne aloft. I no longer stopped to rest, there was not time. Towns, villages, fortresses, and fortifications reeled past, their names becoming confused. To simplify matters I called them all Alexandria. Every city that I embraced became my bride, but once married they were immediately abandoned.