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

I was impressed. And the Greeks called us barbarians?

‘Now – you must have come from Thebes, eh?’ I notice he spat when he said the name of the city, even though it was just a few stades away.

Plataeans are good haters.

I nodded.

‘So your horse can’t be far. Take the trail here and head that way. Where the trail forks at the top of the ridge – that’s where your horse ought to be, eh?’

I admitted it was.

‘Shall I walk with you?’ he asked.

I shook my head. I felt . . . strange. As if I was in the presence of the hero himself.

‘Take wine with me,’ I said.

He grinned, and filled the cup again. He took a deep draught, and handed me the cup, and I drank – the rich red wine of Plataea, which men call the Blood of Herakles.

‘Drain it,’ he ordered, and I did. I was already feeling odd.

He laughed, and patted my back. ‘Go conquer the world, lad,’ he said, ‘with my blessing. But when the day comes, remember what a freeman’s duty is, and don’t flinch.’

What did he mean?

You’ll see.

My horse was right where he said it would be, with Ochrid standing worried by his head. I mounted, took the reins and rode back to camp, feeling a little drunk and a little foolish. In a village so tiny it was really just four houses and a roadside shrine, I bought a raw amphora of the local wine and carried it on my hips all the way down the mountain and across the Asopus and up the road to Thebes.

I saved it for a few days, until we all moved camp to Corinth. The army went north to the Gates of Fire, because Alexander knew that to camp the army around Corinth would be to offend the delegates. But he didn’t send the army home, either. And he took my squadron of Hetaeroi.

Parmenio sent ‘Uncle’ Amyntas to join us. He was officially welcomed as commander of Asia, and any remaining hopes anyone had of overthrowing Alexander collapsed. The Athenian delegation reached Alexander – without Demosthenes, who proved just as much of a social coward as he was a battlefield coward. He ran off into voluntary exile rather than face the king.

But to my delight, Kineas came out with his father, and he had Gracchus and Lykeles and Niceas with him. Phokion, of course, was one of the delegates, with Kineas’s father.

We had some fine dinners and some ferocious competitions, too – horse-racing and javelin-throwing and a dozen other things. The only one I remember well was fighting Kineas with a wooden sword. We both wrapped our chlamyses about our arms – I don’t even remember how this started – and we were showing off for Thaïs – well, I was – fighting too hard, making showy attacks – and we had a flurry – this is the part I remember – that was nearly perfect – cut and counter, back and forth, for maybe as long as it takes me to say this sentence – ended locked up, each grabbing the other’s sword-wrist, and we laughed and embraced.

And afterwards, I told Kineas about my visit to the Hero’s Tomb. He’d talked of it and we’d meant to visit.

He shook his head.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘There hasn’t been a priest there in fifty years,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Must be a new man, then.’

I served the Blood of Herakles to Alexander the night that the League proclaimed him hegemon as his father had been. The night that we climbed the high altar of the city and swore an oath – every city, every delegation, and I swore for Macedon because Alexander was hegemon of the whole alliance – to make war on Persia until all the cities of the Ionian were free, and then until our armies held Persepolis and Ectabana and the Great King was toppled and all Asia was ours.

It was a mighty oath. We swore to avenge the insults to Athena and Zeus at Athens, to every Greek temple looted by the barbarian, every violated precinct, every outraged family, every city ground under the Persian heel. We swore to liberate every Greek slave.

We swore.

The delegates were divided, and it was old Phokion who pointed this out to me. We were coming down the steps of the Acrocorinth, and he was taking his time – he was seventy, and he moved like a man in his fifties, but he also took his time – and Kineas and I waited for him.

‘Half those men worry that you will fail to war down Persia,’ he said. ‘And half worry that you won’t fail.’ He laughed. ‘I wish I could come.’

Kineas took his hand. ‘Come, master!’

Phokion shook his head. ‘Enough to have seen this night. Too long have Greeks frittered away their birthright. Sparta failed, and Athens failed. Let young Macedon lead us to victory. Let Persia tremble. The young king has the fire.’

We walked down the steps, the sun set over the Gulf and the gods listened.

One more thing happened in Corinth – it’s a well-known story. We’d spent the morning wrangling with Demosthenes over the Athenian supply of naval stores to the alliance – there’s nothing like a petty-minded bureaucrat to bring you down to earth when you’ve been imagining yourself the conqueror of Asia – and Alexander had had enough.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ he announced to Hephaestion. He looked at me. ‘Come.’

The three of us simply rose and left the negotiations.

A small horde of sycophantic Greeks followed us. Really, that’s not fair – your pater was there, and so was Diodorus, and Nearchus, and Alectus, of all people. The army was at the gates, but the hypaspists were outside the city. Just in case.

I assumed from Alectus’s presence that we were going to visit the hypaspitoi.

I was wrong.

We walked down the hill towards the Gulf side of the isthmus, and then out of the city proper into the suburbs. You have to imagine – the captain general of the League of all Greece, wandering down alleys the width of a small bed – dusty alleys, alleys with beggars, thieves and some very ordinary people, who were amused, annoyed or outraged. Or delighted.

Oh, it was spectacular. Especially as the captain general didn’t know where he was going and didn’t want to tell us or ask directions.

We wandered for an hour. I wondered what Demosthenes was doing, and Diodorus began an acerbic commentary on the captain general’s sense of direction. Kineas tried to shut him up, but his sharp voice carried, and Alexander heard him.

He turned. ‘You have something to say, Athenian?’

Diodorus stood his ground. ‘If you are looking for Diogenes the Cynic, you have only to say so. If this is how we’re going to conquer Persia – well, it’ll be good exercise.’ He smiled. ‘Unless this is a test of rival philosophies – you wander about like Aristotle, Diogenes sits in his olive garden without moving?’

Most of the Macedonians didn’t get it. I got it. I laughed.

Hephaestion glared at me.

Alexander shrugged. ‘Take us there,’ he said.

Diodorus looked at me. His face was easy to read. It said, This is not going to end well. ‘Diogenes does not accept visitors,’ he said.

‘And you know because?’ Alexander asked.

‘I tried. The first day we were here.’ Diodorus shrugged.

Alexander smiled. ‘Perhaps you were not Alexander,’ he said.

After Alexander walked on, Diodorus made a face. ‘Perhaps not,’ he said, in a voice calculated to suggest that this pleased him more than the alternative.

But he got us to the philosopher’s house, and we knocked, and a slave answered the door and insisted that his master would not receive anyone, no matter how well born, noble or beautiful.

Alexander pushed past him.

I was content to wait outside, but Alectus pushed right in behind the king. Bodyguard. Of course.

But the rest of the followers took that as an excuse to stay with the king.