Author's Notes: As Alexander begins his invasion of Persia, Bagoas continues his life with Oxyathres, gets an idea of Darius' worth and makes the acquaintance of Oromedon.
As mentioned, I took some liberties with Darius. It always bothered me in the book that he's bedding the 13 year old son of a deceased friend. I thought it an important character tell. No matter how you spin it, it's not something a decent man does, even taking into account Persian customs and ancient shady morality.
Oromedon was supposed to pop up briefly and go away, but he started having a voice of his own and wouldn't leave me alone. Bagoas and him seemed to show a great affinity for eachother so it looks like he'll be in for the long haul.
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Chapter 2
The King's Boys
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Not long after I turned twelve, news reached us that the new Macedonian King had crossed the Hellespont into Mysia. They said this young barbarian threw a spear into our land and shouted for everyone to hear that he accepted Persia as a gift from Gods. He was an eager leopard, spoiling for a fight, but Darius seemed not concerned.
In my years with Oxyathres I had met the royal family, of which I was a part now, and despite all Persian boys being taught to revere the Great King, I found the feeling did not come naturally to me. I remembered Darius well from the time he was a guest in our house, as the man that used to sit at my father's table and drink our wine and even in one instance toss me in the air like a baby, making me laugh, and couldn't reconcile him with the statuesque perfection he presented now. In the rare moments he addressed me, he never mentioned my father, though I always felt there was some loaded sentiment in the way he looked at me.
And then, an incident occurred, that helped me get a better measure of the man.
The spring the Macedonians invaded, I was out with the royal hunting trip in the hills north of Susa, the last hunt before we had to leave for Persepolis to welcome the New Year. It was a large party, superbly attired, and the King was, as usual, the most splendid of them all. He was riding a striking Nisaean stallion, its colour an unusual gold, like a freshly minted gold coin. To this day, I've never seen a more magnificent animal.
We'd been out for most of the morning and already caught more game than the palace kitchens knew what to make of. The King was focused on the servants retrieving his spear from a boar he'd just killed, when out of nowhere, a leopard rushed towards him with the stealth of the experienced predator. It was a nursing female, with cubs probably hidden in the area, and attacked with the desperation only mothers know when defending their young. Darius was exposed on the side, most of the party having moved on, and the servants were busy with their slayed game. The gold stallion must've sensed the danger and moved at the last moment, saving the King from harm and only taking a shallow scratch on its hind leg. As the leopard prepared to attack again, it was the King's favourite boy that reached him first. He threw a javelin at the animal, scaring it off, but the movement spooked his mount and he was thrown. Fortunately by then, the other servants came to attention and managed to shoot down the animal.
I was several lengths away, with other boys my age, and barely had time to react. When we reached them, Oromedon, for that was the favourite's name, was being attended to. He had a nasty gash where he'd hit his head on a sharp looking stone but looked more distressed than such a wound would warrant. The King dismounted, spoke some words to him that I could not hear from where I was standing, and then focused his attention on his stallion. Frowning, he asked for another mount.
I didn't make much of it, but the next day I learned from the stable master that the horse had been sold, deemed unfit for the royal stables, though he was bought at full value, the scratch only a faint reminder of his quick animal mind and good training.
A week later, Palace rumours reached us that Oromedon was no longer in the King's graces. I wondered about that, as I'd been convinced nothing would move the boy from favour, now that he'd saved his Master's life or at least prevented him from coming to harm.
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By then, I was used to roaming free the streets of Susa, riding to the market, though I always made sure to stay clear of the area near the Slave Dealer's court. I'd used to entertain ideas of Oxyathres putting my captors through the sword the day of my rescue, until the day I asked him what had become of them. He cautiously explained they could not be charged with any crime, for I was sold and bought with proper papers. What he didn't tell me, but I divined on my own, was that boys of noble birth were highly sought after prey when family feuds left them alone in the world. I swore to take my vengeance one day, for I was sure they'd known exactly whose son I was and didn't care, but I was careful to stay away until the right time came.
On one of my rides back from the market, passing the quiet streets near our home, I saw Oromedon once more, leaving one of the rich houses in the area through a great bronze-studded gate. He was still richly dressed and heavily adorned, despite his fall from grace. I almost passed him by but curiosity got the best of me in the end; and there was no harm in engaging him in conversation: "You're Oromedon right, of the King's court?"
He startled a bit at my voice but turned a pair of bright eyes on me:
"Yes indeed, may I be of help?"
I dismounted, introduced myself as son of Oxyathres and told him I had seen him at the hunt:
"Very well done and quicker than the guards, the King must have been well pleased and grateful for the deed." Well yes, I wasn't the most subtle soul at the tender age of 12.
His eyes were merry as he replied.
"Very grateful in his Divine grace, he gifted me the horse and many other riches. He was most generous."
I didn't know how to continue from there and he seemed to greatly enjoy my awkwardly concealed curiosity. In the end I decided to be done with it: "Then why did he turn you away?"
He didn't answer immediately, though his face took on a pensive quality. He looked at me questioningly, like he was trying to gauge if there was any malicious intent behind my query. Something must have reassured him that it was just naïve interest:
"I wasn't turned away, my place is safe and I want for nothing, but the Great King likes perfection in everything and everyone, as is his due right… and I'm no longer perfect".
I had a good look at him, and though it was possible he could have scars under his clothing, he moved with graceful ease.
"Not perfect?"
He turned his head towards me, eyes intent, and I could finally see a faint scar on the brow hidden from me, where he'd hit his head during the hunt. I thought it gave him distinction and told him so.
He laughed, but there was warmth there.
"My father always told me not to trust men without scars". Blushing I added, "Though I don't think he had your… profession in mind."
"Ah, your father would probably tell you to distrust our profession entirely; he doesn't like our kind too much".
I wondered for a second how he'd known my father and then realised his mistake: "Oh, not Oxyathres, I am not of his blood. My father died two summers passed".
He was quiet for a moment, before answering me, "I'm sorry, may he have crossed the Chinvat Bridge safely."
"He was a good man, I have no doubt Rashnu found him worthy."
There was some new depth of feeling when he looked at me, "it's good you have another home now, not all boys have this fortune".
"I know". Silence descended on us, though it was comfortable. For all the briefness of the exchange, I found I liked the man; there was a hidden well behind his bright and gay appearance and a difficult to pin down quality in spirit that inspired trust.
That's why, when we were some steps away from my house, I told him hesitantly:
"For all it matters, the King is wrong." Oh, I knew it was treason to speak so, "there's more value in broken things that proved their worth than in untouched perfection."
Oromedon smiled softly, and touched his hand to my free one, "You're a rare bud my little lord and those young eyes of yours see some truth. But sometimes there is value in unproved perfection also, it promises to blossom into greatness."
We said out goodbyes under the hope of new friendship.
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Oromedon was right about Oxyathres in one regard. He didn't look kindly on pleasure boys. I know he realized how close I'd been to becoming one and he never treated me with anything less than affection, so I wondered why he shouldn't feel more sympathy.
One early evening, we were inside the Palace first court when I spied Oromedon with a young boy around my age at his side, talking with an older eunuch at an entry to the Palace rooms. Oxyathres hissed at my side, "Not another one!"
He left me waiting there while he went for his business. I continued to watch Oromedon until the eunuch he was talking to departed with the boy. He turned, saw me and came striding towards my resting place.
"Well met, My Little Lord."
"Well met Oromedon."
We smiled.
"Your replacement?"
He laughed out loud at that, "I hope so, for the boy's sake. He tires easily, our Lord, and though he likes them young, he minds greenness in spirit and in manner".
I thought of asking him how he'd managed for so long then, but it felt too intimate a knowledge despite our previous conversation. So I asked instead if finding boys was his new task in the household.
"Oh no, there are others doing it. I don't think I could find the heart to go those places and take my pick from those lost souls. I'm just the bedroom trainer for my Master."
I raised my brows in silent question.
"Like stable master, instead of training horses, I train boys in giving pleasure."
I must have blushed to the roots of my hair with a strange mix of embarrassment and curiosity.
He laughed again, "I forget your youth, but then I've trained one just your age."
He looked a bit sad now.
"Do you resent him, taking what was yours?"
He considered me carefully. "Resent him? No. I took pride in my position for it was not easily earned, but I don't miss it. There is a freedom to be found in my new station, but like a bird suddenly freed from its life in the cage, I find I don't know how to use my wings just yet."
For a moment I thought that was all he would speak, but hesitantly he carried on:
"I speak out of place, but I trust you won't carry the words of this old eunuch..."
I smiled at his shallow attempt at vanity, but reassured him none the less:
"You're hardly older than twenty springs… and you can always speak freely."
In a lower but more intense voice, he told me words that I can still recall perfectly: "It's wrong, the boy you saw before was robbed of all pleasant feeling when they cut him off. To serve as pleasure slave in his condition and know nothing of pleasure is to be mocked by fate and mortal masters. But then, such is the life of us, without the thing to make us man, without a womb to carry sons. We give, they take."
I didn't know what to say, and so I reached and took his hand in mine.
We sat in silence for a little while, before he took his leave. Oxyathres appeared soon after, and we departed for the house, the sun low in the sky as night began to fall over the city. I was in a funny disposition, Oromedon's confession giving me no peace of mind. Until that moment I hadn't given much thought to slaves' condition, let alone to that of bed-boys. Slaves and eunuchs were no more a novelty in the nobleman's house than heat is in the summer months. And in the end I always thought they had a better life with us than starving in the streets or being put to death after being defeated as our enemies. But then again, it could've been my fate as well, and I was neither poor, nor conquered.
We left for Persepolis soon after, and I had the chance to see the King with his new boy at a feast that spring. Darius was looking at him like a big cat stalking its prey, tasting it already with its eyes. If not for the boy looking like a scared doe in return, I wouldn't have minded. However, I didn't have time to give it much thought. That same evening, an envoy reached Persepolis telling us that Alexander had defeated our forces at Granicus, putting a stop to the festivities.
Oxyathres shared with me the battle tale over our morning meal, as he had heard it himself in company of the King. Darius had been furious. With news of the Macedonian's victory, he also learned of Mithridates' death, a son by marriage to his eldest daughter, felled by Alexander himself. According to the envoy, the barbarian King had cut two other cavalry commanders with his own hand.
I felt war clouds gathering over the peaceful existence we had led so far, and prayed for our swift victory. I didn't want to imagine what was to become of us under this barbarian who, in a gesture of contempt, had buried our dead at Granicus*.
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*Alexander apparently made a mistake after the battle of Granicus. Not being aware of the Persian custom of leaving the dead in the open, he offered the same burial rituals to his enemy as he did to the Macedonians.