Title: Son of Zeus
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Alexander or any of the other characters; they belong to history. However, just in case Oliver Stone is feeling lawsuit-happy, I don't own any of his interpretations of characters, setting or story.
Son of Zeus
In the desert, Hephaistion thinks that he will die.
They are three days out of Paraetonium, two days into the blinding heart of a sandstorm. The Egyptian guides have lost their way amongst the shifting winds and do not know which way to turn; they must wander blindly through the endless sandscape, putting themselves in the hands of the gods. Hephaistion, who has a heart for omens, sees one in the scouring windblown sands that blast against the small party, those whom Alexander chose to lead to the god at Siwah, the oracle of Ammon.
The shifting sand gets everywhere; every man is filmed with a dusty layer of it, every man's throat is parched dry as the desert itself, but Hephaistion knows that if he reaches for water, he will find precious little. The sandstorm may last many days, and it would not do to die of lack of water then for a little thirst now.
-
The sandstorm finally dies two days later, when they are doubled in pain for thirst; the supplies ran out with the winds. In front of Hephaistion, the desert swims with heat and mirages. He thinks of Macedonia, of the lush green hills and shadowed forests of Aigai and cool water like the springs at Mieza. In waking dreams he feels the touch of rain on his face.
Someone nearby cries, Praise the gods, it's a miracle. Hephaistion raises his head, and the light patter of rain isn't a dream, it's real. Great grey rainclouds have knit overhead, and fat droplets of cool, miraculous water are falling fast. Hephaistion tips back his head, mouth open, feeling the cool water soothe his parched lips and mouth and throat. Next to him, Ptolemy is exultant, saying, Hephaistion, it's a miracle.
Hephaistion looks at Alexander, onto whose dust-stained face the droplets have etched tracks like tears. He thinks that he must look the same, and that when they smile at each other they must seem as though they are weeping for joy.
Yes, he says to Ptolemy, it's a miracle.
-
Out of the sandstorm, now, they find their way to the string of hills whose valleys are a pathway, so say the guides, to their destination. False pathway, Hephaistion thinks; they are soon lost again. The hills become red cliffs that rear up hugely on either side, and the valleys shrink to a narrow ravine. The heat is intense and suffocating; Alexander decrees that they move only at night, to avoid the ravages of the sun, but at night weird shadows loom amongst the contours of the cliffs, and moonlight sparkles on the ground. The place has an eerie look, and Hephaistion feels his omens.
On the second of these nightly marches, the guides begin to jabber and point at something. Hephaistion cannot see anything, except for two ragged black fluttering shapes, ravens or crows, cackling loudly and circling the travellers. At first he thinks that they are carrion birds, sensing death close at hand, but Alexander and the guides think differently. They march through the night in the wake of these two black birds. When the ravine path widens out into plains of moon-washed sand, Hephaistion thinks he has never been so glad to see the desert, and offers up a prayer of thanks. Another miracle.
Callisthenes is close by. Hephaistion turns and says to him, Here's something for your chronicle, eh?
-
The first sight of an oasis to a weary desert traveller is like a draught of water to a man dying of thirst; Hephaistion is a man dying of the desert, and the sight of green, growing things is the breath of life.
It is not Siwah, not yet, that comes later; this is Garah, an oasis hemmed in by red cliffs and fortified by great rocks like a rough wall laid down by giants, but after a day's march over grey gravel, to come suddenly and unexpectedly into sight of this place is a wonder beyond words. Even Callisthenes is struck dumb. Here lie the first cities of Ammon's people - it is strange, too, after days of sand and snakes and crows, to be suddenly among people again.
You did it, Hephaistion says to Alexander, when they are close enough for words, you brought us through the desert.
No, not me, Alexander smiles, it was the gods. I'm not a god.
-
Past Garah are the glistening salt flats, blinding white under the sun's hard glare, so dazzling that Siwah stands vivid and gemlike against its plain backdrop. Hephaistion's heart sings for joy at the sight of it.
Ammon's people regard them curiously as they file past: a weary, desert-stained procession trailing behind an Alexander who looks fresh as a nobleman sitting on his parade-horse, certainly not like a traveller for eight days through hard desert terrain who has lost his way twice, and nearly thirsted to death because of it. Siwah is far from the great centres of civilisation, and travellers are a rarity, so the shadowed doorways of the houses are crowded with people seeking a glimpse of the strange visitors. Even the local Libyan nobles stare with undisguised curiosity. On every side, Hephaistion meets dark inquisitive eyes, but the atmosphere is like that of a festival day, and they are the parade.
On the steps of the temple, the High Priest of Ammon comes to greet Alexander. He says, in his careful Greek, O pai Dios.
O pai Dios! The Macedonians cast sharp glances between themselves. Hephaistion has eyes only for the rigid lines of Alexander's back.
Son of Zeus.
NB: I used Robin Lane Fox's book for the maindetails of the story, which originally come from Callisthenes.
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