Wedding Night
The air was heavy with the fragrance of flowers, exotic as the cocoa-skinned women and the red henna on their dancing feet. Wine flowed freely, and with it came the fling of angry words and tussling. Alexander took a sip of the strong wine, exchanging a vague smile and a tip of his goblet with Pharnakes, and returned his gaze to the dancers.
The Persian prince's dark eyes narrowed as he bought his own cup to his lips. He was a little surprised by Alexander's decision to marry a foreign girl of no real significance; Pharnakes had heard the Macedonian opinion on such a union too many times before this day – but the king worked his magic in strange ways. And who was he to question it? The Macedonians were different towards their rulers. There was no place for 'grovelling', as they liked to call it, or utmost obedience, only for collective agreement and opinions. But today had been different; Pharnakes had heard of the fight amongst the king's council only a few hours before. They were not pleased with a barbarian queen, and the king had been furious at them for their 'backward' opinions.
"Her eyes tell me she cares for you. Perhaps too much."
Alexander looked at him questioningly.
"In the ways of my country. Those who love too much...lose everything. Those who love with irony...last."
The Macedonian king nodded slowly at the words as if he understood. Pharnakes suppressed a sigh; Alexander was a man who loved fleetingly. Like a child with a new toy, he would tire of her eventually. The Persian man leaned back a little. Let them have this at least, he mused silently, sipping his wine.
When the king left, no doubt excited about the prospects of tasting his new prize, Pharnakes noticed General Amyntor making his way down the steps of the far platform. The man was dressed in fine fabrics, gold and chocolate, rings and jewels adorning his fingers, blue eyes lined with kohl. Despite the blood on his lips and the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw, he looked every part of the king he had been mistaken for that day in Babylon.
Pharnakes preferred women but he had to admit the man was alluring, and if Hephaestion weren't the king's general among other things, he would have asked Alexander's permission to have him for a night.
"Where do you go, General?" Pharnakes caught up to the man, noticing the rouge of his lips was credited to a cut near his mouth. "Are you in need of a physician?"
"I am fine, thank you, Pharnakes," he replied with a quick nod. His hair, which had been held back with a fine gold band, was now in disarray. He looked troubled but his words were polite as usual.
"The wine flowed well tonight, my lord," he tried for small talk, laughing amicably.
The General smiled slightly, and the cut near his mouth seemed to stretch a little. "Yes. A little too well, it seems." He touched his lips gingerly.
Pharnakes pulled his eyes off the said lips with a bit of difficulty. "Did you see the dancers?"
"They were very talented."
"And very beautiful, General."
"I suppose."
"One must grab hold of beauty, for it never lasts." He moved closer. "If you wish, they are in their rooms, in the second building. Except for the new queen, of course."
"I have no intentions towards those women, Pharnakes."
He hadn't noticed how blank those blue eyes looked, especially at the mention of the queen. "Of course, my apologies. You will retire?"
"Yes. But I must see the king first. Good night, Pharnakes." He said the last few words in Persian, his accent only a little skewed.
"Good night," Pharnakes returned in his mother tongue. He watched the man leave, and turned back to the wine he was still nursing. "Those who love with irony survive," he whispered to himself, hoping the Persian words would somehow reach the General.