Christian Cameron - God of War - The Epic Story of Alexander the Great

‘He’s besotted with her,’ Antipater said.

That’s not what I’d seen.

‘He enjoys her company, and the privacy,’ I said.

‘He’s been making some dangerous statements,’ Antipater said. ‘I know that you’ve been enjoying Athens, but I need you to spend more time with him. And keep him from getting into trouble.’

I stopped walking and looked at him. ‘Trouble?’ I asked.

‘He keeps talking about what he’ll do when he’s king,’ Antipater said.

I shrugged.

‘Philip does not like to be reminded that there may be a time when he is not king,’ he said.

‘Alexander’s the heir,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t even have a rival.’

Antipater thumped his stick on the pavement. ‘That may change,’ he said. ‘Listen, boy. Your pater and I were guest friends. You’ve been a good soldier for me, a good subordinate. Can I trust you?’

I didn’t want this, any more than I had wanted the moment in which I had earned Attalus’s enmity. Didn’t want to take sides.

‘I am a loyal man,’ I said. ‘To the king and to Alexander.’

Antipater nodded. ‘Philip has put up statues at Delphi,’ he said, ‘as if he was a god.’

I shrugged. The things men do, when they achieve power. Look at me!

‘He’s said things . . . that lead me to wonder.’ Antipater looked away. ‘Never mind. Let’s get Athens on board for the war with Persia and hurry home, and all will be well.’

To be honest, I was so excited to have an afternoon tryst with a famous hetaera that I simply gripped his hand, went home and went to bed.

Next day, Isocrates met with Antipater and together they wrote out the basic tenets of the Pan Hellenic Alliance. Philip and his heirs to be hegemons of the Hellenic League and Strategos Autokrator, or supreme commander of allied forces. In the afternoon, Alexander went to the Academy and asked Xenocrates, the heir of Plato, Aristotle’s rival, to write him a treatise on good kingship.

I winced. I was there.

Xenocrates was bowing and scraping. All of Athens was there to see the two of them together, and all of Athens heard the Crown Prince of Macedon say, ‘I need a primer to keep me from the sort of acts of tyranny with which my father burdens his people.’

And there was Alcimachus, watching it all.

I had missed weeks of this, off enjoying my own life and my own friends. The Athenians were good hosts, and they gave Alexander something he’d never had before – an audience of his own, a willing, responsive, intelligent audience. He couldn’t help but respond. He couldn’t help but respond as the kind of prince he sensed they wanted him to be – a liberal, educated promise of a better tomorrow. A hero.

I slipped away before cockshut time and arrived at Thaïs’s door. The slave there took my chlamys and sandals, washed my feet and led me to her. She was reading.

‘How was Xenocrates?’ she asked.

‘Better ask, “How was Alexander?”’ I said.

‘He does like an audience,’ she said. ‘And he’s never learned to control his mouth.’

‘He’s the very essence of self-control,’ I said. ‘Just not right now, apparently.’

She nodded. ‘Your symposium,’ she prompted.

‘I have my guest list. I want advice on wines, slaves, entertainment. And I’d like you to come.’ I didn’t even trip over that last.

She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. Not in Eumenes’ home. He disapproves of me, and by having me there you would offend him. You are far too well bred for that.’

I felt crushed. She was absolutely correct. And I hadn’t seen it at all.

She had a stylus and a wax tablet, and she wrote quickly. ‘I’m quite sure that your evening will be splendid anyway – but here are the six wines currently most fashionable. Don’t bother trying to buy them – you can’t. But my steward will send a jar of each. I’m writing the names so that you know what you’re serving. The “Dark Horse” is really a Plataean wine from Boeotia, common as dirt, but I like it and it’s become rather a fashion.’ She grinned around her stylus. ‘Please don’t tell – I’m making a fortune reselling it. There’s a pair of women – they do not do sex – who play kithara superbly. Many houses won’t have them because they have political leanings. Women are supposed to be above – or below – such stuff. They’re sisters. You will need Eumenes’ permission, but if he gives it – well, singing for Alexander will make them. And I’d like to see them made. Do you mind my using you like this?’ She smiled at me.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Good. Because as I’m doing you a favour, I’m remorseless in collecting in return. My steward will ask for money for the wine – I assume you can pay?’ She smiled. ‘Friends need to be honest about money,’ she said.

‘I am probably the richest man you know,’ I said.

‘Excellent, then. All the better. I prefer men to be young, attractive, valiant and rich.’ She smiled again. She was smiling a great deal.

‘Well, so far I’m rich,’ I said.

‘You are not unattractive,’ she said. ‘I am in favour of your nose.’

Best compliment anyone ever paid me – half in delivery, and half in the words – the twinkle in her eye worth another half. My own desire to be handsome, revealed.

I blushed. For a Macedonian royal page to blush – well, you work it out. ‘You’re just saying that because I liked your nose first,’ I said.

She laughed. And laughed. ‘I like you, Macedonian. You’ll need food – you’re not having a dinner, are you?’

‘I was thinking—’ I began.

‘Don’t. Graccus gets away with it because of the view and the very intimate company he invites. You have to get these philosopher boys to settle down with your Macedonians – just because you like them all doesn’t mean they’ll like each other. Keep it shorter. After dinner. Less smelly, less to clean up. They’ll arrive sober, because it is Eumenes’ house. I think you’ll be golden. But serve Lesbian rolls – barley rolls, I’ll send you the recipe – and have almonds in honey. Again, I’ll – oh, Aphrodite, I’ll just have cook send you some.’ She smiled. ‘When people taste them, they’ll know they’re mine. And that will please some and raise other eyebrows.’ She got the little furrow between her own eyebrows. ‘Really, I’m taking over. Don’t let me. It’s your party, not one of mine.’

‘I’m delighted,’ I said. ‘You know, my lady, sometimes there are advantages to being a foreign barbarian.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Well, I don’t know whether I’m supposed to offer you money for your advice,’ I said. ‘But since I’m a foreigner, I doubt you’ll be insulted.’

She chewed a finger for a moment. ‘No – I’ll make money from your wine and your almonds. And everything in life is not a moneymaking proposition.’

‘Perhaps you might view me, as a rich foreigner, as a long-term investment?’ I asked.

She looked up, and I realised that I hadn’t really looked into her eyes until that moment.

‘When the day comes, kill a Persian for me,’ she said. ‘That’s all you owe me.’

Well, well. I was too well bred to ask, so I found myself out on the street with Myndas, wondering why she hated Persia.

My symposium was splendid. The food was excellent, the wine was divine and widely commented on, and Eumenes not only allowed the two female kithara players but paid us all the compliment of attending during their performance and mixing us a very mild bowl. He was courtly to them, treating them like visiting matrons, friends of his wife, perhaps, or sisters of his friends, and they, despite being radicals of the most democratic stripe, responded in kind with the sort of well-bred courtesy he must never have expected from them. It was a war of sorts, conducted with manners, and both parties left with increased respect for the other.