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

In the morning, I had been certain that Alexander had contrived the murder himself, or Olympias had done it, but by afternoon, my cynical observations were shaken, mostly because both Olympias and Alexander were behaving so . . . naturally. They were acting as if they were afraid that the plotters were after them. And the precautions they took were real.

I put a whole troop of the former pages – from now on I’ll just call them the Hetaeroi – on guard at the palace. I led them myself. Black Cleitus stood at Alexander’s side, and Hephaestion stood behind him, both in full armour.

Aeropus’s son, Alexander of Lyncestis, came in just after the sun touched the roof of the Royal Tomb. That part I remember. I was in armour, and he rode right into the palace courtyard, leaving a strong force of men at arms at the gate. I met him. He was the de facto ruler of the highland party, and he had some claim to the throne – distant, but in Macedon perfectly acceptable.

I had a pair of archers watching him with arrows on their bowstrings.

‘My lord,’ I said formally.

He slid from his horse. ‘Ptolemy,’ he said, with a nod. We weren’t friends, but we had enough in common that, in a crisis, we had some basis for trust. ‘I wish to surrender to the king. Will he spare me?’

I remember thinking, What the fuck’s going on? I shook my head. ‘I can’t say,’ I said. ‘I give you my word I won’t have you killed out of hand, but . . . if you conspired at Philip’s murder, I can’t save you.’ I couldn’t understand why he had come in or surrendered himself, and my suspicious nature made me wonder if there wasn’t a surprise attack coming at me. I stepped back.

‘Eyes on the walls!’ I said. ‘Watch those men in the alley – watch everything .’ There’s good leadership. Laugh if you like, boy.

Alexander the Highlander was as pale as a woman’s new-washed chiton. ‘I think my brothers had something to do with it,’ he said.

And then Antipater appeared. He was everywhere that day.

‘Ah, Ptolemy,’ he said, as if we’d made an appointment to talk. ‘Is that my useless son-in-law you have there?’

In fact, Alexander the Highlander was married to Antipater’s daughter.

It occurred to me that Antipater had just spent two full weeks at Alexander the Highlander’s estates.

Alexander met his namesake in the throne room. They talked for a quarter of an hour or so, and then Alexander appeared in the courtyard – my Alexander. He looked around for a long time, his eyes locking on one former page or another, and finally his eyes came to rest on me. He looked at me for far too long. He had a scroll tube in his hand and an old cloak over his white robes from the morning.

He beckoned. As I came up to him, Antipater came out on to the exedra.

‘Alexander!’ he called. His tone was peremptory.

Alexander ignored him. ‘Take twenty men. Your own retainers, or someone else’s. Go and take the sons of Aeropus, and see to it they are brought here. Do not use the Hetaeroi – do you understand?’

I understood immediately that I was being asked to do something outside the law – and something for which I was trusted.

‘Consider it done,’ I said, with a proper salute.

Alexander flashed me that awesome smile. ‘Herakles ride with you,’ he said. And then he said, ‘If I’m still king when the sun rises tomorrow, I reckon I’ll be king for a bit.’

He was scared . I’d never seen it before.

Antipater was shouting from the exedra. Alexander ignored him.

‘Ptolemy!’ Antipater shouted.

I looked up.

But before he could speak, Alexander pointed at his best and most loyal councillor. ‘Antipater,’ he said. Heads turned. ‘Which one of us is king?’

Antipater hesitated.

And the Fates wove on.

I took Polystratus and his friends – my own retainers, trusted men, every one – small men who owed everything to me, and had been in exile with me. We rode out into the countryside. The Aeropus clan’s local estates were up the valley, two hours’ ride. We were there as the sun was setting. I had briefed my troopers carefully.

We were challenged at the outer gate. But they let us in. The outer yard was full of armed men – at least as many as I had with me.

My men rode in under the arch, and Polystratus killed the gatekeeper with a single javelin throw, and we went at them. They had weapons, and they were highlanders – trained men. Violent men.

Mostly what I remember is the suddenness of it. Polystratus threw his spear, and we were fighting. There was no posturing, no yelling, no war cries.

My men had good armour and horses. That was the margin. That, and surprise. I don’t know why they let us into the courtyard, but they did. And when we went at them, at least a hand’s worth were down before the rest turned into killers. I got one of them with his hand on the release to the dog cages. Then I held the ground when three of them rushed me.

Highlanders are brave, but they are no match for a man who has trained every waking moment from age seven. I don’t even remember taking a cut. Polystratus came and helped, and then Philoi, another former slave, and then they were all dead, and we were storming the kitchen – the kitchen doors gave directly on to the courtyard, and there was no reason to wait. The cook died in his doorway, and my people went through that house like a tide of death, killing the slaves, clearing each room. We found the two brothers – Alexander the Highlander’s brothers – in the cellar.

I tied their hands behind their backs, put them on horses and then went through the house, looking for documents. I found four scroll tubes and a single scroll chest – highlanders don’t read much – and loaded them on a horse.

Then I torched the house and we rode for the palace.

No question it was an evil act. We killed a dozen slaves and twenty freemen and took two princes prisoner. I won’t even argue that I was only following orders. I will merely say – and I pray to Zeus you have time to discover this your own way – that if you will be a king, you will kill men. Are they ‘innocent’? Is one man worth the life of another?

You decide, boy. But make sure you make your own decision, because, by Zeus, it will come back on your head and in your dreams.

Midnight, and we rode into the palace precinct. Black Cleitus had the Hetaeroi. I saluted and he waved me on. My prisoners were taken to the cellars.

A great deal had happened in my absence. Apparently Antipater counselled caution and Hephaestion cautioned rashness – not for the last time, that particular pairing – and Alexander went to meet the army in person – all the foot companions and the two full taxeis of Macedonian phalangites who had accompanied the king from Pella. He met them at sunset, while I was storming the traitor’s estate, and he promised that Philip would be avenged – and that they would conquer Asia. And they cheered him, and declared him king by acclamation.

Wish I’d seen it. There used to be a painting of it in the royal palace in Pella, but I hear Cassander had it painted over. Coward.

I was exhausted, but Alexander embraced me, fed me wine, heard my somewhat laconic report. I didn’t feel it was an achievement about which I should brag.

‘You killed them all and burned the building?’ Alexander asked.

Antipater put his face in his hands. Took a deep breath through his hands. ‘We are lost,’ he said.

Alexander shook his head. ‘Well done, my friend. That’s the hydra beheaded.’

But I was wily Odysseus, and I wasn’t half done. I stood where I could see Alexander and his mother, who was behind his couch, and Antipater, who looked shaken.

‘I have all their correspondence,’ I said.