Demaratus of Corinth shifted uncomfortably. His backside was numb from riding all day, from riding solidly for much of the past month.
He did not need this. He was fifty five years of age; he was a very wealthy man; he should be at home enjoying the comforts of cosmopolitan Corinth with his wife and daughters; getting to know his grandchildren; sampling the pleasures of the famous Corinthian courtesans, instead of traipsing around the Illyrian mountains in the freezing cold of early winter. Yet, he knew that were he in Corinth, within half a year he would be bored out of his skull and he would be off again, off on some mission to deliver some statesman's message to a foreign ruler, or trying to negotiate between two warring cities, or, as now, chasing down a king's wayward son.
He was going to have to get off and walk soon, he thought ruefully, to bring some life back into his legs and backside, but the fort they were headed towards was visible at the head of the valley, a wooden palisade dark against the mountain slopes covered with the first snows of winter. And he was fairly certain that they had finally caught up with Alexander.
They had been chasing after Alexander for what seemed like weeks now, only to discover that it wasn't the Macedonian prince rumour had placed in this tribe's hill fort, or that it wasn't this hill fort, but the next one, or that they had missed Alexander by a few days.
Demaratus didn't think that Alexander was running from them. He'd know the prince since boyhood and knew him well enough to know that Alexander was playing his own restless, dangerous game. He would be well aware that his father would send someone to talk to him, and in all likelihood knew exactly where they were and who they were. But, with the first snow of winter upon them, Alexander had probably decided it was time to let Philip's emissaries catch up with him.
After a whole summer to cool his anger over Attalus's insult about his legitimacy and Philip's drunken behaviour at the king's wedding feast, Alexander had probably decided he'd given Philip long enough to think about being without his only son and heir. Demaratus knew that part of Philip the man didn't give a damn if Alexander rotted in these mountains, but Philip the father wanted his son home, and Philip the king knew he needed Alexander.
Alexander would have to decide whether he wanted to be a part of the plans Philip would be laying plans over the coming winter for the invasion of Persia, and whether he wanted to stake his claim to be the heir of Macedon, or whether he wanted to sulk and be supplanted by any sons Philip might have from his marriage to Attalus's niece Cleopatra.
He would also have to decide whether he wanted Philip to come and hunt him down with an army.
Demaratus hoped that it wouldn't come to that, but he had seen signs that it might. Alexander wasn't running from fortress to fortress. He was seeking allies.
It was the same everywhere that Alexander had been before them: a sense of excitement, of anticipation. Men were trying out new sword-fighting techniques, they were practising cavalry formations, their infantry were trying to drill in straight lines and turn in formation, and men were talking animatedly about lands beyond their own tribal boundaries, about Greece, Macedon and the riches of Persia. If Demaratus couldn't persuade Alexander to return home, Philip would one day have a very powerful neighbour at his back.
Demaratus slid down from his half-asleep horse without stopping the plodding animal, deciding to walk for a bit before they came too close to the hill fort. He looked back at the line of pack-horses behind him, laden mostly with local stuff now to trade from hill fort to hill fort.. He hadn't wanted to make it too obvious that he was looking for Alexander and had thought he might as well make a bit of money while he was at it. After all, it was as a merchant that he had earnt his fortune in the first place, and it was how he had learnt to make friends in high places too.
It also gave him an excuse to have a bodyguard of a dozen men, men who were permanently in his employ or men whom he had known and trusted for years who would not turn tail and flee at the first sign of Illyrian bandits.
There were also three Macedonians accompanying them, army officers Philip had sent along for additional protection and, Demaratus was sure, to independently assess Alexander's willingness to return. Craterus was the senior-most, a youngish man, about thirty, an infantryman whom Demaratus didn't think Alexander knew. Philip had deliberately not sent one of Alexander's friends along, not wanting to appear to be begging Alexander to come home. Demaratus didn't know if that was a mistake or not.
They were allowed into the hill fort without any trouble and Demaratus stood in the snowy courtyard haggling with the headman's second in command for the price of a night's lodging. He waited while the pack horses were unloaded, the bundles safely stored and the horses stabled as the daylight faded and a few flakes of snow floated down.
When all was safely bedded down for the night he and his men, together with the three Macedonians, entered the main hall of the fortress. The crowded hall was little more than a thatched barn, noisy with the chieftain's men making their presence felt as they ate their meal. They seemed to be an indistinguishable mass of dark-haired, bearded men, the majority wearing bearskin jerkins and woollen trews as well as their usual tunics against the winter's chill. All were armed, and the edge to the noise said that bloodshed was never far away until appetites had been dulled by the rich boar's fat and tempers mellowed by the barley wine and beer.
At a nod from Demaratus, most of his men went towards the sideboards in search of supper, leaving Demaratus, his two chief men and Craterus. They would wait for their supper to be brought to them, for though no one appeared to be paying them much attention, eyes were noting their presence, and it would lessen their status if they jostled at the boards with the common men.
Demaratus' eyes had been roving the hall in a practised, although apparently unconcerned manner. He had noted the chieftain lounging at the top of the hall with his favourites around him and a couple of young women fawning over him. Demaratus would wait until the chieftain had eaten his fill before approaching him. Of Alexander there was as yet no sign, but Demaratus was not unduly troubled for with most of the men still moving about, Alexander's lesser stature would not be easy to spot in a crowd.
Demaratus saw a place for them to sit and indicated it to Craterus. They moved towards the half-empty bench against the wall. Demaratus greeted the men who were already there and asked pleasantly if they minded strangers joining them. Their interest stirring at possible opportunities, the Illyrians invited them to be seated.
Before he took his seat, Demaratus turned around to survey the hall again, in particular the far end of the hall which he could see better from this vantage point. At that moment the crowd parted and there was Alexander, talking animatedly to a large group of Illyrians.
Alexander stood out like a sunburst among these dark, hairy mountain men. Clean shaven, his golden brown hair tossing brightly, his handsome face vital with life as he conversed with the Illyrians, he shone with enthusiasm. He wore a pale tunic, remnant of his mother's loom, over dark woollen Illyrian trews, a golden belt tied at his waist and a dark blue cloak about him, their richness marking him out as a prince against the Illyrians' rough-spun clothes. Yet, though drawn like moths around a flame, the Illyrians were conversing as freely with him as though he were one of their own. And there, that mercurial, silver-winged shadow at Alexander's shoulder, as animated as he in the conversation, was Hephaestion.
Demaratus's heart swelled as though it were his own prodigal son come home, nay sons, for both young men were precious jewels to Macedon, too fine, too valuable to be squandered among these wild mountain men in the back of beyond.
Craterus had seen Alexander too and he came and stood by Demaratus, watching with keen interest.
Alexander suddenly caught sight of Demaratus and his face lit up with a wide grin. He came across the hall like a shooting star, trailing Hephaestion.
"Demaratus," he cried, hugging the older man. "I hoped it was you tailing us."
"Alexander," Demaratus said, unable to keep the smile off his face. "You look well."
"I am well," Alexander responded genially. "You never seem to age, Demaratus. This vagabond life agrees with you."
Demaratus laughed. "Do you know Craterus?" he asked, indicating the Macedonian officer.
"We've never spoken," Alexander said, extending his hand to Craterus with a smile, "but I saw you in action at Chaeronea. Your phalanx unit was one of the strongest and best disciplined in the army."
Craterus smiled, his unguarded face showing plainly that he was captivated by Alexander.
"Craterus, this is Hephaestion," Demaratus said, to rescue the tongue-tied infantryman.
Hephaestion reached out to shake Craterus's hand with a dazzling smile, and then turned to hug Demaratus in greeting. Demaratus hugged him back with pleasure. He'd always liked Hephaestion. Many were fooled by his slender beauty into thinking he was younger and more fragile than he was, but Demaratus had seen him use his charms as both weapon and shield, and always to Alexander's advantage.
Demaratus' men arrived with his supper, followed by Craterus's men. A couple of Illyrians brought Alexander and Hephaestion their supper, and they all settled down on benches and stools to eat.
"What news do you bring, Demaratus?" Alexander asked, licking boar's fat from his fingers.
"Your father wishes you well."
Alexander made a disgruntled face.
"He wants you home, Alexander," Demaratus said.
Alexander's face contracted in displeasure, before he smoothed out the lines of his frown. There were too many people listening. "Has Cleopatra had her child?" he asked.
"Yes," Demaratus said, keeping his voice conversational, as Alexander's was. "She had a girl."
"Ha!" Alexander said, exchanging a quick look with Hephaestion. "I have a new sister then."
Demaratus smiled and sat back against the wall as the men around him finished their meal. They sat relaxed with full stomachs and began moving about in search of drink to wash down their food, and companionable friends to talk to.
Alexander, stepping over a couple of Demaratus' men's legs, brought Demaratus a beaker of beer. Demaratus made room for the prince on the bench beside him, and Craterus, alert-eyed, drew his stool nearer. Hephaestion came and sat on the straw-strewn floor at Alexander's feet, while Demaratus' men moved unostentatiously to surround them, keeping out casual eavesdroppers.
Alexander eyed Demaratus, who saw the deep hostility in Alexander's vivid brown eyes. The hostility was not directed at Demaratus, but it would find him an easy target if he mis-stepped.
"Your father has been elected Hegemon of the Common Council of Greek States," Demaratus said, keeping his voice conversational, impersonal.
Alexander nodded. "I heard that," he said. There was an edge of cautiousness in Alexander's voice, and Demaratus realised that Alexander keenly wanted to go home, to be involved at the centre of things, if he could do so without losing face.
"The Council agreed at the autumn meeting to join Macedon in waging war against the Persian Empire," Demaratus said evenly.
Alexander's eyes opened wide in surprise. "That I had not heard," he said, anticipation sharpening his features. "That means my father will have enough troops to invade Persia."
"And he will not have to worry about his back being exposed," Demaratus said, quelling Craterus with a look. The Macedonian had opened his mouth to speak, but subsided at Demaratus' bidding. "Philip is to send an advance force across the Hellespont in the spring."
"Who is to command?" Alexander asked, looking like the eager young boy he still was in many ways. He clearly hoped he would be there.
"Parmenion in all likelihood," Demaratus said.
"Am I to go?"
"I would think Philip needs to know whether he can trust you first, Alexander."
"Whether he can trust me?" Alexander demanded, his eyes blazing with anger. "Should it not be a question of whether or not I trust him? A man who believes me a bastard? Who believes my mother is not good enough for him? A man who believes without any proof whatsoever that my mother has been unfaithful to him?"
"Alexander, sit down," Demaratus said, holding Alexander's arm as he half-rose. "That is not the truth, and you know it. Your father was drunk and he lost his temper. And you insulted him. And you insulted Attalus, his bride's kinsman."
"Why should I trust him?" Alexander said, looking sideways with wild eyes at Demaratus "Has he not sent you here to lure me back to Macedon where he can dispose of me at will? Does he not fear me? Does he not regard me as a rival?"
Demaratus looked at Alexander, disbelievingly. "Alexander, Philip is not a fool. He has no intention of imprisoning you, or executing you. Not unless you do something unbelievably stupid and threaten him. Do you wish to set yourself up in opposition to him? If you do, you will be dead before spring."
Alexander looked at Demaratus, still unforgiving after months of festering anger. But he was no fool and at least he was considering before storming off.
"Alexander," Demaratus said, softening his voice into reasonableness, "every man wants his son to follow after him. You are Philip's flesh and blood. He wants you to follow after him on the throne of Macedon, not your cousin Amyntas, not another man's son. But you are the only son he has – apart from unfortunate Arrhidaeus, who cannot be considered. Your mother is unlikely to give Philip another son, Alexander. Apart from their present estrangement, she is getting too old to bear children."
"So he marries a girl younger than I am."
"Cleopatra will give him sons, Alexander. She is young, strong and fertile. Hopefully by the turn of the year she will be with child again and she will give him a son to leave behind when he leads the whole Greek army into Persia, with you at his side."
Wary hope lit up in Alexander's eyes, but he kept quiet, not quite taking the bait.
"Philip knows you are too valuable an asset to leave behind, Alexander. With you by his side, the army will have a double spear-head. And he has too much respect for you to leave you behind, Alexander, in case you take his kingdom for yourself."
Alexander looked at Demaratus, startled, a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. "I have no wish to steal from my father," he said, his voice uncertain.
"No. But there are others who might lead you astray for their own gain."
"I won't lead him astray," Hephaestion said in sudden, youthful indignation from where he sat forgotten on the floor.
A laugh escaped Demaratus. "I didn't mean you, my boy," he said. "There is so little difference between you and Alexander that neither could lead the other astray. I meant older, more cunning men than either of you have yet learnt to be."
"Who?" Alexander demanded.
Demaratus considered whether to name names, but forewarned was forearmed. "There are older men such as, say Antigonus, who would consider an inexperienced king easy to manipulate if the opportunity offered."
Alexander stared at him. "Antigonus commanded the escort Philip ordered for my mother to travel to her brother in Epirus. He volunteered for the duty, but he did not try to suborn me in any way."
"No?" Demaratus said. "Then that is to his credit. But you will now consider him your friend and listen to his advice. And then there are young lions like Ptolemy, Nearchus, Erigyius, Laomedon, even Harpalus, whose own fortunes would be greatly enhanced with a friend as king."
"My friends came with me and my mother of their own free will, to share my future," Alexander said hotly. "That does not show cunning; that shows bravery and honesty. They were willing to stand up for what they believed in. Me, and my mother's integrity. Unless you believe the best of men, you will never get the best from them."
Hephaestion stood up suddenly. "I don't want to listen to you bad-mouthing Alexander's friends, Demaratus, because they are my friends too," he said.
Demaratus looked from Alexander to Hephaestion standing before him. "I hope I did not offend you?" he asked.
"No," Hephaestion said. "I just don't think everyone is like that. Especially not Ptolemy."
"Oh, especially Ptolemy," Demaratus said mildly. "But that is not to say that they cannot also be loyal friends, Hephaestion, when needs be. They scented an opportunity to make their mark with Alexander, with Philip, and took it to make sure men would notice them. They are ambitious men, Alexander."
"Men without ambition achieve nothing," Alexander said darkly.
"Alexander sent them home again," Hephaestion said passionately, "so that Philip would not hold them to blame. But they will always have a place by Alexander's side."
"And what about you, Hephaestion?" Craterus asked suddenly, looking up from his stool at Hephaestion. "Why did you not go home too?"
Hephaestion looked at Craterus with wide, fiery eyes. "What future do I have to go home to?" he asked. "I am nothing without Alexander. And I would not leave him alone."
"Hephaestion is my friend, Craterus," Alexander said, looking ready to leap like an angry lion to his friend's defence. "He is my shield and my defender in all I do."
Unafraid, Craterus met Alexander's eyes for a long moment. "Then he is truly your Patroclus," he said. "I had heard so, but had yet to believe."
"Do you doubt me?" Alexander demanded. "Do you doubt my loyalty to my friends? Or theirs to me?"
"No. Not any more," Craterus replied steadfastly, his eyes anchored on Alexander's.
"Alexander is our Achilles, Craterus," Demaratus said, trying to distract them and lighten the mood. "Hephaestion is our Patroclus. But Philip is an Agamemnon who is willing to forget his anger, Alexander. Is Achilles?"
Alexander gave Demaratus a brief, uncommitted look. He turned back to look at Craterus with his luminous brown eyes, knowing he would understand. "Ajax was ever a faithful friend to Achilles," he said, "honest and true. He would not advise retreat."
Craterus returned Alexander's look for a long moment. "No, and he was not one to counsel prudence either. Yet he knew that the Greeks had need of Achilles to defeat the Trojans. Will you return to Pella with us, Alexander?"
"No," Alexander said, tossing his head back, an instinctive response to being pushed. "No, not yet. I'll return when I'm ready."
Standing beside Alexander, Hephaestion had been watching them like a hawk, his blue eyes moving brightly from one to the other. He stirred, seeing the Illyrians across the hall who were preparing to dance. "Alexander," he said softly. "Come on, let's dance."
Alexander looked up instinctively at Hephaestion's voice and, looking across the hall, got quickly to his feet as Hephaestion stripped off his cloak and tunic and bundled them at Craterus, asking him if he would keep an eye on them. Dressed only in his woollen trews, Hephaestion unsheathed his sword and tossed the scabbard to Craterus.
Alexander quickly stripped off too and he and Hephaestion joined the circle of men, many half-naked, all carrying swords. Drums had already started and, with fierce grins at the men who made room for them, they joined the circle and pointed their swords towards the centre, joining a sharp ring of blades.
Hephaestion grinned with wild joy over his bare shoulder at Alexander who matched his grin, knowing how Hephaestion loved to dance. The drums struck up and the men stamped with a loud yell, then whirled, swords upraised, to face outwards, holding swords two-handed to stand on-guard to imaginary foes. They began to chant, challenge to their foes as they advanced in measured poses outwards, widening the circle. On every fifth beat of the chant they changed pose, then stepped forward until every man had room around him to swing his sword.
With a shout, the chanting ceased and the drums picked up the rhythm as the men began circling, half one way, half the other way, weaving between each other as they whirled their swords in circumspect arcs, feinting blows at each other, faster and faster in a display of their skill as the drums pounded faster and faster.
With a shout, the drummers brought the dance to an end and Alexander and Hephaestion, laughing and panting, accepted beakers of beer from the cheering and appreciative Illyrians, drained them and then joined the diminished circle of dancers. By common consent, the less skilled dancers, those less willing to trade blows as finely as they could without actually touching blades or drawing blood, had dropped out, leaving the better swordsmen, the better dancers to entertain the crowd.
The drums struck up again, more wildly this time, the rhythm faster, more insistent and again the Illyrians and two young Macedonians whirled against each other. By the time this round finished, the dancers were sweating and out of breath, more than willing to thirstily drain the beakers of beer, well-warmed by the crowd's praise and adulation.
The crowd of men, however, were not quite satisfied and as most of the Illyrian dancers collapsed into seats and wiped off their sweating faces, eager hands propelled Hephaestion, who was easily the best dancer, supple and graceful and full of controlled strength, together with a tall, half-naked young Illyrian, into the arena in the centre of the hall, ringed by a loud and appreciative crowd.
Hephaestion and the bearded young Illyrian circled each other, swords loose in their hands, for the moment looking like combatants. Then the drums struck up and they whirled into action, a mock battle, formal moves whose strength and brilliance lay in that the blades never actually touched. They turned, pivoted, lunged and stretched, faster and faster, Hephaestion's long hair whirling free, his naked torso and arms glistening with sweat in the torchlight.
They curvetted, circling around each other with agility and practised power and suddenly Alexander's light, carrying voice rang out in a battle paean. He sang, his voice soaring above the drums to the rafters and the encircling Illyrians stood immersed in the magic of sight and sound.
Alexander and the dancers finished to roars of approval and Alexander, grinning hugely, came forward to catch Hephaestion in a possessive bear-hug of approval, his face full of battle-bright joy. Hephaestion, panting and sweating, embraced Alexander tightly, his face aglow with excitement and exertion. He tossed his sword, hilt-first, towards Craterus, and drew back in Alexander's embrace to catch Alexander's face in his hands. With a mischievous grin at Alexander, he kissed him, long and passionately, to ribald cheers from the Illyrians.
Hephaestion broke free from Alexander, laughing and panting. His Illyrian dance partner came up behind him and caught his arm, swinging him round.
"I want a kiss!" he shouted to loud roars of approval from the crowd pressing around them.
"No! No!" Alexander cried, laughing as he pulled Hephaestion back.
Hephaestion, arms flailing as he laughed, pulled free from Alexander. He stepped towards the young Illyrian, caught his bearded face in his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. With a laugh at his new friend, he broke away, fell into Alexander's arms and hugged him again. Alexander hugged his friend's pliant, warm body back, staggering to keep his balance as warm bare flesh pressed against his own naked skin.
"I need a drink," Hephaestion declared to Alexander.
The crowd, sensing the show was over, began to stir as one of Craterus's Macedonians brought Hephaestion a drink of beer. He untwined an arm from Alexander, took the beaker gratefully and tipped back his head to drain it, keeping his other arm possessively around Alexander's shoulders. Alexander had one arm around Hephaestion's slim waist , and accepted another beaker of beer in his other hand, joining Hephaestion in emptying it with a laugh.
Demaratus, moving nearer, couldn't keep the smile from his face at their obvious love for each other.
"Well, done, Hephaestion," he said. "They won't forget you and Alexander here in a hurry."
Hephaestion laughed at him, and searched the bottom of his beaker for the last dregs of beer to cover the colour rising in his cheeks.
"Well, Alexander," Demaratus said, sensing he wasn't going to get much more of a chance to talk to Alexander tonight. "What do I tell your father?"
Alexander, one hand still around Hephaestion's waist and the other holding his beaker, looked into its beery depths and said, his voice hardening, "Tell him, why should I return to Macedon where I am not my own master?" He met Demaratus' eyes with a defiance that had an edge of malice in it.
"Why would you want to be captain of a wild mob of shepherds here, when in Macedon you could be a captain of a king's army?" Demaratus countered.
Hephaestion, half-drunk and giddy with desire, was pulling at Alexander's arm to come away with him, but Alexander half-pulled back from him to answer Demaratus.
"My father made a wild mob of Macedonian shepherds into the finest army in Greece!" Alexander declared. "I will do no less!"
"Why waste twenty years starting again from scratch?" Demaratus demanded. "When together you and Philip can build on what he has achieved so far and conquer the world!"
Alexander's angry confidence wavered and for a moment he almost succumbed to Hephaestion's insistent pulling on his arm.
"Go, Alexander," Demaratus said, his voice easing. "I think you're wanted." He smiled at the two young men. "We'll talk again in the morning."
Alexander, angered at being told what to do, pulled sharply away from Hephaestion, but Hephaestion, suddenly sobered, caught his arm and, stepping close to Alexander, cupped his hand against Alexander's cheek to whisper cogently into his ear. Alexander, his face stilling, cocked his head towards Hephaestion to listen.
When Hephaestion was done, he laid his head against Alexander's, his arms draped across Alexander's shoulders, grinning at Demaratus, his blue eyes alight with mischief and his long hair tangled about his sweating cheeks.
Alexander smiled at Demaratus, a chilling, Dionysian, wild and dangerous smile.
"Tell my father," Alexander said, "that I will not be led home by the hand like an errant child. Tell my father that I have things still to do here. I have his mother's Lyncestian kinsmen to visit, and I have my own mother to visit in Epirus. But tell my father that I will be in Macedon before the next full moon if he cares to welcome me then."
Alexander and Hephaestion grinned at Demaratus like a pair of youthful, wicked satyrs in the torchlight, turned and left, their arms around each other.
Demaratus watched the pair of them leave through the crowd, knowing that was the best he could hope for, and hoped it would satisfy Philip.
He was, despite himself, stirred and restless, and wondered if he could persuade an amenable woman to bed down with him for the night. He turned to move towards the chieftain's end of the hall and caught sight of Craterus's face. The younger man was standing with his arms full of Alexander and Hephaestion's clothes, gazing after them. His face was filled with what might be longing: the face of a man who had just seen warmth and solace, and awoken to how lonely he was, but knew he need no longer be.
In the morning, Alexander and Hephaestion were gone, Craterus and the other two Macedonians with them, without so much as a farewell to Demaratus.
Demaratus stood in the snowy gateway of the hill fort, watching their distant figures riding up to the crest of the pass, going north, not south to Epirus or east to Macedon. For a wild moment, Demaratus was tempted to leave his baggage train and follow them into the unknown, but he sighed, knowing he had to go back to Macedon to tell Philip the King to expect his errant son to come home in his own good time.
PS Apart from reconciling Philip and Alexander, Demaratus bought Bucephalus for Alexander, fought at the Granicus and gave Alexander his spear when his broke. At Susa he burst into tears on seeing Alexander sitting on Darius' throne.
Philip's mother Eurydice was supposed to be Illyrian, but her father was Sirras, a member of the Bacchiadae clan from Corinth who ruled over the Macedonian Lyncestae from c450BC. It is possible therefore that Demaratus was a distant kinsman of Philip's. It is also possible Eurydice's mother was Illyrian and Alexander might have sought refuge with his grandmother's kinsmen. See 'Philip of Macedon' by Nicholas Hammond.