The Wages of War
Author: Lysis (Copyright February 2012 by Elizabeth C. Owens)
A follow up to the short story, Chaeronea where Hephaistion loses his horse, Helios.
Warning: war stuff.
The sky was lightening slight tinges of pink and gold glimmered along the horizon and the early morning air smelt strongly of the funeral pyres. They had burnt the night long. Hephaistion knew that duty well, one of dust and bones, bones sharp and strong with heat and seared by flame. Even though they were doused with wine and herbs nothing really ever hid the odor of burning flesh. It was a scent one never forgot. From his first time in battle at twelve years until yesterday upon the vast plain of Chaeronea, he knew there would be many more pyres – and one day he too would lie atop one and the pitch would burn strongly turning him to white bone and ash.
Hephaistion sniffed and wrinkled his nose as he brushed his hand across his face. He felt light stubble on his chin, there was two days growth as he had not bothered to shave yesterday. He had been too concerned then with other things. He smiled briefly, Alexander had remarked on it, and Hephaistion had laughed, as he had noticed Alexander had done the same, but on Alexander with his fair skin and even fairer hair, it had been hardly noticeable.
"We would make poor Spartans." They had shared the joke. For him he had been too nervous and had actually cut himself when he had began and then decided not to test the god's mercy. With Alexander, he had actually been surprised, for he was most careful of such things with his person. However, he knew his companion had been up at least an hour before he had even opened his eyes, which had been well before first cock crow and been in his father's tent and no doubt forgotten so many things had demanded his attention. Chaeronea had been Alexander's first truly important command, and he had been so full of excitement and nerves his feet had hardly seemed to touch the ground the night before battle. However, last night after he had collected Hephaistion once his wounds had been seen to Alexander had been solemn and quiet, almost too quiet as they had walked the field together sharing their thoughts.
He pressed his hand to the bandage across his forehead. The pungent scent of the liniment from the bandages stung his nostrils. It hurt a little, but not much. The leg wound was throbbing and he could feel of the pull of the stitches when he moved, but he ignored it. He was well used to wounds, having already at the age of nineteen borne several and knew he would bear more. Such were the ways of war. For so long had he been trained to it that it was as second nature to him. He could no longer think of life lived any other way it was who he was.
He coughed a bit as he caught the strong scent of a newly lit pyre. Due to his rank he had been able to skip that particular duty, but he had done his share of piling the dead upon the pyre and hearing the King sing the prayers. With a sigh, he wiped away a tear; he had lost three boyhood friends yesterday. Briefly he saw their faces again, the way they had been the night before battle full of wine and good spirits. Patron with his shining black eyes, had been going on about some girl he had seen on the way down through Pella, she had blown him kisses as they had ridden past. His boast about going to collect more than kisses on the way back came back to Hephaistion now. For a moment it was as though he was seated still about that campfire, with Patron, Amyntas and Theasides laughing as they passed a jug of wine around and boasted to one another of the kills they would make on the morrow.
Well, it was over now, and they were at rest. For a moment his mind went blank as he tried to push it outward but found it would not go any further. His thoughts stilled as though he were with them still along with Alexander back before the bright, high flames of the campfire that crackled orange, red and yellow in the clear night air.
He knew Alexander had been there at the pyres, he was always there, sometimes Hephaistion found himself awed by his friend's piety toward the rites - those of the gods and toward the dead. Then again, he had to be, when he inherited his father's power it would be his place to sing those long prayers and light the pyres and then when they had burnt down to hot white ash douse them along with the priests with shining wine. Or water, wine was too costly for the large and many pyres the great battle of yesterday brought. Perhaps when he died his pyre would be doused with wine. It would matter little he laughed realizing the absurdity of such thoughts.
Hephaistion rose from his camp bed and yawned and wiped his eyes as he yanked on a clean chiton and saw to his other needs. As he finished shaving and set aside his knife atop a small chest that held his kit a heavy sigh escaped him. "Helios." He half whispered the word and wiped away a tear, then swore when it was followed by several more. It was only a horse, damn Poseidon! His thoughts were tender, he had loved his horse. Gently he let the memories slide over him, the year he had gotten Helios for his sixteenth birthday. The stallion had been a gift from Alexander. The first gift Alexander had ever given him that was not a boy's gift or some trinket as they had given to one another on feast days. A gift that had been costly and when he had found out thanks to his teacher, Aristotle, who was privy to Alexander's confidences he had been startled at the lengths Alexander had gone to so that he might have Helios. Losing Helios was something more than losing a horse to him, he could not quite place it yet, what it meant, it was as though his mind was holding something back in keeping for another time, a time, perhaps when he could or would allow himself to go down that particular path and was brave enough to realize where it led.
He opened the chest and lifted out a linen wrapped bundle. He turned a silver trimmed bridle over in his hands and kissed it. Alexander had brought it to him last night. No further words had been necessary between them. "You were a good horse, Helios, the best." He whispered the words softly as he tenderly rewrapped the bridle and set it carefully inside the chest.
"Without doubt the wages of war must be paid." He muttered to himself as he closed the chest's lid and limped away from his tent. He knew Alexander would be waiting for him in his tent, and there was much to do this day. On the morrow they would be heading back to Pella. The wounded had to be seen to, loaded into the hospital wagons, kits cleans, both men and animals fed, prisoners to tend, more dead to be collected and burnt with all the tribute due them for their sacrifice had been great and good. There was always much to do in war before the battle and afterward.
Finis