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

‘You stupid fuck ,’ he said. ‘The king will have you killed.’

‘I doubt you’re that good in bed,’ I said. ‘Get up.’

He got to his feet, backed away.

I was beginning to see where his insinuations led, even as he scrambled to remount his horse.

‘You burned my city house?’ I said. Had I been Achilles, I would have killed him then and there. But I am not Achilles. I’m Odysseus, and things were falling into place, like the pins and cogs of one of the astrological machines I’d seen in Athens.

‘Oh, very good,’ he hissed. ‘At last, you begin to see.’ He was mounted, and in the middle of his Thracians. I regretted letting him up. ‘We’ll kill your people. And you. Attalus is going to rule Macedon. You are going to suck my cock.’

‘You are a dumb bastard,’ I said, because thanks to that outburst, I could see the whole thing.

He turned and rode away, and the Thracians surrounded him. He was already hectoring them for their cowardice, but hired muscle is never the equal of determined freemen.

Well – actually that’s not true. Hired muscle often wins. But in the long run . . .

Attalus was planning to be king. What had he put into Philip’s head?

‘Back to the palace,’ I said.

We rode hard. We crossed the fields at a trot, staying on the field dividers to keep out of the mud, and we were back on the streets of Pella well before Diomedes.

Into the foreyard of the palace.

I turned to Polystratus. ‘We’ll find your girl. For now – get ready to move. Stable the horses, but stay close.’

With Nearchus and Black Cleitus at my shoulder, I entered the palace through the stables and moved along the main corridor. Of course we had the passwords, but I could feel the eyes of the companions on my back.

On the other hand, I was an officer, the head of one of the great families. If I chose to use it, I had a great deal of power. I thought that perhaps Attalus had underestimated me.

I made for Alexander’s rooms. He was lying on his couch, reading, with Hephaestion on a chair polishing his helmet.

‘Lord, there’s a plot,’ I said.

Alexander rolled off his bed. ‘I know there’s something.’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything for certain. But my city house has been burned, all my slaves sold. My man, Polystratus – they moved against him in law, seized his wife and sold his lands. And he’s a freeman and a veteran.’

Alexander frowned. ‘Nasty, but not a plot against me.’

‘Diomedes came out to crow,’ I said.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘Attalus.’

‘Diomedes said Attalus will be king,’ I said, and Alexander snarled like a lion. Hephaestion put a hand on his shoulder.

And a frightened page came into the room. ‘The king!’ he squeaked.

Philip pushed in on the page’s heels. Behind him was Attalus, with Diomedes, still splashed with mud.

‘Ptolemy!’ Philip said.

I pointed at Diomedes. ‘Only my loyalty to you, sire, kept me from killing this dog on the road,’ I said, because a good offence is always the best defence.

‘He says—’

‘Lord, he tried to lay hands on me and admitted to destroying my property and selling my people as slaves – while I did your bidding in Athens,’ I said.

King Philip’s eyes narrowed when I spoke over him – but he listened. Remember – I represented a great family and a lot of loyal service. And a lot of tax money. And political power.

‘I wish to swear a case against him,’ I went on. ‘I withheld my hand from killing him, but I demand justice.’

Philip’s face worked. He looked at Diomedes.

‘Lies!’ Diomedes said. ‘Lord, I—’

Nearchus, at my shoulder, bowed. ‘My king, I was there. It was as Lord Ptolemy says.’

Attalus spluttered. ‘They are all pages – they’re in it together!’

Alexander stood up. ‘Attalus – I do not remember inviting you into my rooms. Please leave. Diomedes, you as well.’

Philip looked back and forth. ‘Ptolemy – no need to swear a case against Diomedes, is there? What is this, some boys’ quarrel?’ He smiled at us.

Attalus narrowed his eyes. ‘Lord Ptolemy has been telling people that he is your bastard son and has as much right to the throne as Prince Alexander.’ Attalus grinned so that the fat hid his eyes. ‘Or better,’ he drawled, ‘since he says that he can prove you are his father.’

Philip made a strangled sound.

I can go either way – rage or cold calculation. But Athena stood at my shoulder. ‘My king – Attalus is gravely mistaken. I have never made any such claim. And anyone who looks at me can see my parentage in my nose.’ I laughed.

I have learned that a laugh – an unforced laugh, or a damned good imitation – is the most disarming technique in the world. And my nose was an excellent witness.

Alexander stood at my shoulder. ‘Out, Attalus. You are not welcome here.’

‘I come and go as I please, at the king’s leave, and not for some foreign woman’s by-blow,’ Attalus said.

There it was, on the table.

Alexander’s face turned a deep blood red, and his eyes glittered.

He was so fast, when he was angry, that Attalus was lying on the floor when Philip was still reaching to stop his son.

‘What have you done, Father?’ Alexander asked.

Philip wouldn’t meet his eye. Diomedes was helping Attalus to his feet.

Alexander’s face was suddenly nearly white, and his rage burned like a new-lit fire with too much birch bark. ‘Men will not meet my eye. All my servants have been changed. My friends are under attack, and I don’t know the pages on duty. What have you done?’

Another commotion, and Philotas pushed in. ‘Alexander!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve changed the password!’

There was a scuffle in the hallway.

‘Father?’ Alexander said. It was the last time I ever heard him address the king as Father.

Philip drew himself up. ‘I have proof that you and your mother were plotting to kill me. And that you are not my son. You are a bastard child, and I am replacing you with an heir. Of my own body.’

Alexander froze.

Philip turned and strode from the room. Attalus and Diomedes went with him, and all their retainers.

Alexander sank slowly on to a chair.

‘Zeus,’ Hephaestion said.

Before an hour passed, Philip sent a messenger to apologise. As if you could apologise for bastardising your son.

In fact, he invited Alexander to his wedding banquet.

By then, we had an idea what we were up against. A quick tour of the guardrooms showed me that half of the royal companions had been replaced with lowlanders from small families. The old highland aristocrats and the mercenaries were . . . gone. Erigyus and Laodon were nowhere to be found, nor any of the other old inner-circle drinkers.

But whatever Philip had said, he had not actually done anything to bastardise Alexander. On the other hand, a few old servants – all found in the stables; the palace itself was thoroughly cleansed – told us that ‘everyone knew’ that Alexander was illegitimate. It was in the agora and in the palace. Soldiers made jokes about it.

We’d been gone six months.

Someone had been busy.

And Philip was marrying Cleopatra – Attalus’s niece, Diomedes’ sister.

Now, Philip married a girl every year or so. And Olympias never minded. She was a broad-minded queen with interests of her own, and she befriended most of the wives and saw to it they were well treated. And she made sure they were no threat to her political power.

Cleopatra was different, and Olympias had already been exiled.

The more closely I looked, the more it appeared that Philip – or someone else – had decided to rid himself of the highlanders and all the non-Macedonians, starting with Olympias. And to change the succession.