Orion and the Conqueror o-4 Page 14

  The spear point seemed to waver in slow-motion before my eyes, almost hypnotically, while the other Theban tried to work himself over to my left side, where he could thrust at me with his bloodied sword.

  I had no time to waste on them. I ducked beneath the spear point, rolled to the ground and kicked the spear-wielder in the groin. As he collapsed onto his own shield I jumped to my feet and slammed my shoulder into the shield of the other Theban. He jounced backward a step and I dashed off toward the men who were about to kill Alexandros.

  I could not close the distance in time. So I threw my sword as hard as I could as I yelled, “Alexandros! Behind you!”

  My sword point went completely through the nearer Theban’s shoulder. He screamed and the spear dropped from his paralyzed fingers as his companion jabbed his own weapon at Alexandros. But the young prince had turned slightly at my shouted warning and the spear point slid across the belly of his bronze cuirass harmlessly as Alexandros raised his sword and brought it down on the Theban’s neck hard enough to take his head almost completely off his shoulders. Blood geysered as the man gasped his death agony.

  I had reached the other Theban by then. He had fallen almost beneath Ox-Head’s shuffling hooves. Wrenching my sword from his shoulder, I plunged it into his throat. He died with a look of surprise on his face.

  Philip’s phalanxes reached us then, marching up in good order to dispatch the last of the Sacred Band.

  The king rode up just behind his phalanxes and went straight to Alexandros. Looking him over with his one good eye, Philip broke into a tired smile.

  “Not a scratch on you!” He seemed pleased. “Not even on Ox-Head. The gods must work overtime protecting you.”

  Alexandros smiled back as if he had received nothing more than his due. If he realized that I had saved his life he made no mention of it.

  I stood, panting and suddenly very weary, on grassy ground made slippery with blood and entrails. All around me the field was littered with corpses and the writhing, moaning bodies of the wounded. The battle was over. Now some of the troops were moving among the wounded, giving them the final merciful dagger in the throat. Others were stripping the dead of their arms and armor.

  Ignoring the men, I staggered across the battlefield looking for Thunderbolt. Philip’s strategy had worked almost perfectly. The enemy commanders had known that cavalry could not attack a well-formed line of spears. So Philip had induced the Athenian citizen-soldiers to break ranks and ruin the solidarity of their line. Then our cavalry could destroy their foot soldiers, and we did. But it had cost me a valiant steed.

  Thunderbolt was already dead when I found him, the spear still sticking in his flank. I hoped that he had not suffered too much, then found it ludicrous that I cared more for this horse than for all the men who had fallen.

  I began to laugh, at myself, at the folly of men who slaughter one another, at the so-called gods to whom men pray. If they knew that the gods were nothing more than selfish humans like themselves, what would they do? How would they re-order their lives if they rejected the gods they worshiped?

  I had to get off by myself. Slowly, painfully I climbed the steep hill of Chaeroneia’s acropolis. The sun was going down behind the distant mountains, and from the steps of the temple atop the hill I could see the entire battlefield in the long shadows of the setting sun. Thousands of bodies lay strewn like broken toys the breadth of the field.

  “Are you pleased?” I muttered. “Is this the kind of human sacrifice that you enjoy watching?”

  Turning to the temple, I climbed its steps and entered its shadowed interior. Statues of gods loomed around me: Zeus, Ares, Apollo, Poseidon.

  “You made me part of this,” I said to them. “You created me to kill my fellow men. I hate you! I hate all of you! For making me in the first place, for using me as a puppet, a tool, a toy. All I want is to get out, to get off this wheel of life, to find the final peace of oblivion.”

  And I knew that I had to learn from Ketu how to seek that ultimate death.

  The statues remained silent and cold. The sun dipped behind the mountains and the temple became utterly dark. Yet my eyes adjusted to the darkness; I could still make out the statues, their aloof faces, their blankly staring eyes. Yes, there was Hera, proud and cruel. And Aphrodite, sensuousness personified.

  And Athena, with a warrior’s helmet and a spear in her hand. She too was lifeless, inanimate marble. As distant from me as the pale cold moon.

  Yet I thought I heard her voice within my mind, saying, “Be brave, Orion. Bear the pain.”

  No, I thought. Not even for you. I can’t bear this pain any longer. If there is a way out of life, I want to find it.

  Chapter 16

  It was full dark as I made my way back down to the camp that Philip had set up on the battlefield. Men were still carrying the bodies of the slain to the funeral pyres dotting the plain; others were stacking the armor and weapons they had collected.

  Pausanias cast a baleful eye at me as I showed up before the cook fire in front of his tent.

  “Where’ve you been, Orion? The king assigned you to young Alexandros; you don’t have leave to wander wherever you choose.”

  “I was communing with the gods,” I said drily.

  “Never mind that,” he snapped. “Your post is at Alexandros’ side. Find him and stay with him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He softened somewhat. “I hear you did well in the battle. Have something to eat before you go on duty again.”

  I was not hungry, but I thanked him and sat by the fire. Women camp-followers had shown up, and one of them was cooking for us. She was middle-aged, missing several teeth, but some of the guardsmen were already ogling her. After a bit more wine she would look ravishing.

  I gnawed on a leg of goat, took a cup of wine, and then went to the river to clean the blood and grime of battle off me. Within the hour I was presentable enough to report for duty. I went searching for Alexandros.

  All of the generals, I was told, were at Philip’s tent, enjoying the fruits of victory. Alexandros was considered a general now. He had commanded the cavalry that had struck the crushing blow of victory.

  There was much wine at Philip’s tent. And the women pouring it were young and slim and smiling. Alexandros sat in a corner of the tent, his wine cup untouched on the ground beside his chair. Parmenio was lurching after one of the young wine pourers. Antipatros snored loudly on his chair, head thrown back and arms hanging almost to the ground.

  Philip was joking with Antigonos and a few of the younger officers. Alexandros’ Companions were nowhere in sight.

  I went to the prince. “I am reporting for duty, sir.”

  He gave me a wan smile. “I won’t need a bodyguard this night, Orion. I’m more in danger from boredom than anything else.”

  “I will stand watch outside the tent, then.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you want to leave and return to your own quarters?” I asked.

  “The king has commanded me to stay with him. I am a general of the army now, he says, and I must be part of all the conferences that the generals attend.”

  I looked around the tent. Philip had clutched one of the serving girls around the waist. With his free hand he was beckoning to another of them.

  “It doesn’t appear that military strategy will be discussed this night,” I said.

  Before Alexandros could reply, Philip staggered toward us, half supported by the two serving girls.

  “We’ve won!” he said drunkenly to his son. “Why aren’t you celebrating?”

  “I am celebrating, sir,” replied Alexandros. “I am with you.”

  Philip grunted. “I suppose you’d rather be with your own Companions, eh? I’ll bet Ptolemaios’ got a girl or two with him.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Alexandros said.

  “But Hephaistion won’t. He’ll be waiting for you, won’t he?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Taking a
deep breath, Philip clutched the two young women closer to him. Then he asked, “D’you know what we’ve won today, my son?”

  “A great battle.”

  “No, more than that.” Philip wagged his head from side to side. “We’ve won peace, my boy. Peace! There is no other power in all of the Greek states to oppose us. Macedonia is safe now. We can dictate terms to the Athenians and stop them from nibbling at our coastal cities. The tribes of the north and those savages in the Balkans will all calm down now, because they know we can turn our full power against them whenever we choose to. We’ll have peace, Alexandros, for the first time since I took the throne.”

  Alexandros’ brows knit. “But what about the Persians?”

  “They’ll accept us as supreme in Europe, we’ll accept them as supreme in Asia. That will do it.”

  “But—”

  “I know, I know. There’s the Greek cities in Ionia. Dareios will tax them lightly, you’ll see. He has enough troubles holding his empire together without stirring up the Ionian cities.”

  Alexandros rose to his feet. I realized that, short though he was, he was the same height as his father. Somehow Philip had always given the impression of being taller, even when his bad leg made him stoop.

  “We are destined to conquer the Persian Empire. It’s my fate,” Alexandros said.

  Philip grinned crookedly at him. “Perhaps it is your fate, young godling. But my fate is to rule a strong and secure Macedonia. When you’re king—if you are accepted as king after me—you can go off and conquer the whole world. If the army will follow you.”

  I saw Alexandros’ hands tightening into fists. His face went red. Not trusting himself to speak another word, he brushed past his father and the two young women supporting him and strode out of the tent. I followed him into the cool night air.

  Behind us, Philip lurched and staggered through the tent’s entrance, shouting, “We’ve won the peace, young fool! I’ve worked all my life for this and I’m not going to ruin it now. I’m not going to let anybody ruin it!”

  Alexandros stalked off into the night, with me trailing dutifully behind him.

  Among the spoils the soldiers collected from the battlefield was a large round shield, painted blue, with the word “With Fortune” lettered on it. When Alexandros heard of it, the morning after the battle, he ordered the shield brought to his tent—and the man who had found it, as well.

  “Was the man whose shield this was also found on the battlefield?” he asked the young man. He was a Dardanian shepherd’s son who had joined the army as a slinger.

  “No, sire,” said the youngster, clutching his felt cap in both hands, half bent over into a sort of bowing posture before the Little King. He might have been a year or so older than Alexandros, but he seemed much less sure of himself than the prince.

  “The shield was found by itself?”

  “Yes, sire. The man who owned it must have thrown it away as he fled from our phalanxes.”

  “I will keep it,” said Alexandros. Turning to the servant at his left hand, he ordered, “Give this lad coins to make up for the value of the shield.”

  The young Dardanian bowed and thanked his way out of the tent, beaming. He had never seen so much money in his life.

  Alexandros called me from my post at his tent’s entrance and pointed to the shield, resting against his table.

  “This is Demosthenes’ shield.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  An icy smile flickered across his lips. “I would enjoy returning it to him.”

  “Assuming he survived the battle.”

  “Oh, he survived, all right. He threw down his shield and ran for his life. He probably ran all the way back to Athens.”

  Philip, merciless in battle, was generous in victory. He called Alexandros to his tent to discuss with his generals the peace terms he would exact.

  “We will put a garrison of picked men into the acropolis of Thebes,” he said flatly. “That will keep the city under control.”

  “That,” added Parmenio, “and the fact that their army no longer exists.”

  “Their Sacred Band fought almost to the last men,” Antigonos said, a bit of awe still in his voice.

  Philip gave a snort. “Yes, they’ll be celebrated in poems for all time to come. All we’ve got is the victory.”

  Everyone laughed. Except Alexandros. I could see that he was still smoldering over his father’s pronouncement of the previous night.

  “So what do you propose to do about Athens?” Parmenio asked.

  “I want to send you, Alexandros,” Philip replied, “into Athens to give them my terms.”

  “Which are?” asked Antigonos.

  “They must sign a treaty that promises they will not make war against us again. They must recognize that we control the coastal cities up to and including Byzantion.”

  “And?”

  “That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” Antigonos challenged. “Don’t you want to install your own men in their government? Don’t you want them to lay out their silver to pay for the cost of this war?”

  Parmenio winked and said, “At least we can parade the army through their city.”

  “None of that,” said Philip, quite seriously. “They’re beaten and they know it. If we rub their noses in it they’ll resent it and start a new war as soon as they’re able to.”

  “They’ll do that anyway,” mumbled Parmenio.

  Philip shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Demosthenes and his war party are discredited now. Their democracy will turn on them and toss them out of power, maybe exile them from the city.”

  “I’d rather see him hanging from his golden throat,” Antipatros said.

  “All I want from Athens is that they leave us in charge of the seaports and stop making war against us.”

  “And what about the Persians?” Alexandros asked, his voice as thin and hard as a knife blade.

  “The Great King will make his settlement with us. If we offer no threat to him, he’ll offer no threat to us.”

  “For how long?”

  Philip fixed his son with his one good eye. “For as long as we control all of Greece. Which will be for as long as I sit on the throne of Macedonia.”

  I wondered. Philip had forged a powerful instrument in his army, and armies need enemies to fight. Otherwise they go to rot. Or worse, their officers begin to scheme against the king. Still, I could not see Parmenio or Antipatros or One-Eyed Antigonos plotting to overthrow Philip.

  Alexandros, however, was a different matter. And there was his mother to consider.

  This time Alexandros entered Athens openly. No disguises, no deception. He rode bareheaded in a gold-leafed chariot pulled by a brace of magnificent white stallions, followed by his Companions, all mounted on their war chargers, and then a squadron of the heavy cavalry that had crushed the Thebans.

  The whole city turned out to see the boy-hero of Chaeroneia. If they resented the Macedonian conquest of their army they did not show it. The narrow winding streets of Athens were thronged with citizens shouting and waving to Alexandros, even throwing flowers. Many of these men must have been marching against us in the battle, I thought. Many of the women must be widows because of Chaeroneia. How can they cheer for their conqueror?

  Perhaps because they were still alive, I reasoned, and not enslaved. Philip did not pursue the fleeing Athenian hoplites as ruthlessly as he might have. Instead of harrying them to their deaths he turned his phalanxes against the Thebans, coming to the aid of us in the cavalry.

  Apparently the news of Philip’s lenient terms had already been spread through the city. They thought he admired Athens, revered it so highly that he felt himself too humble to enter the city himself. Actually Philip was busy settling with Thebes and the other cities that had arrayed themselves against him. He was working at a king’s tasks; he had no time for glory and adulation.

  But Alexandros took the city’s homage as his personal due.

  The ci
ty’s leaders were obsequious, hailing Alexandros before the crowd at the Agora as if he had won the victory for their side. In private they seemed unable to believe their good fortune.

  “Philip will not send troops to occupy the city?”

  “No,” said Alexandros.

  “He does not demand reparations or ransom for the prisoners he took?”

  “No.”

  “All he wants is for us to confirm his control of the seaports along the Hellespont and Bosporus?”

  “That, and a guarantee that you will no longer make war against us.” Sullenly.

  The Athenian leaders could hardly suppress their delight.

  “After all, he controls the ports already.”

  “It was Demosthenes and his faction that wanted to war against Philip. I never believed in it.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Nor I!”

  “Where is Demosthenes?” Alexandros asked. “I have something of his to return to him.”

  Chapter 17

  I accompanied Alexandros to Demosthenes’ house, carrying his heavy blue shield with me, a combination bodyguard and porter. The other Companions had wanted to come and gloat, but Alexandros—in a very sober, serious mood—told them to stay behind.

  Ptolemaios, who had brought his mistress Thais with him to see her native Athens once again, laughingly said to the others, “Let the Little King go see the golden-throated coward. We have better things to do!” And he shaped the curves of a woman in the air with his hands.

  The other Companions agreed, laughing. Except for Hephaistion, who came to Alexandros and pleaded to come along with him.

  “No, I want to see Demosthenes alone, eye to eye. If you or any of the others were there it would seem as if we’re flaunting our victory over him.”

  “Well, aren’t we?” Hephaistion asked. “Shouldn’t we?”

  Alexandros said merely, “That isn’t what I want to do. I must see him alone.”

  “But you’re taking Orion with you.”

  Without even glancing my way, Alexandros replied, “Orion is a servant, a bodyguard. He doesn’t count.”