Three

It was a long ride to the King's tent. When Hephaistion had seen the tall horse awaiting him, he had assumed that they thought he was not strong enough to walk even a short distance. But soon it had soon become apparent that the royal tent was quite a distance away from where Hephaistion had spent his recovery.

He glanced around, paying attention to the number of men, horses, tents, spears, committing them to his flaky memory and hoping to be able to hold them there for as long as necessary. In the distance, he heard a din of voices and his eyes followed the noise. His heart quailed at the sight of a chariot with scythed blades around the wheels. Whatever army he fought for – this dreadful machinery was what they were up against and even before considering numbers and strategy, the odds looked hopelessly biased in the Persian's favour

Before they even got close, Hephaistion had known which tent housed the King of Persia. It was the size of a fort, with haughty flags that hung limply in the dry desert air. Fascinated, Hephaistion beheld the intricate patterns and colours, and something stirred in his memory. He had he seen this kind of tent before.

"So this is what it means to be a king."

The words rang clearly in his mind, but who had spoken them remained a mystery. He just seemed to know beyond a doubt that it had been someone else.

With a great effort of will, Hephaistion steered his thoughts back to the present, preventing his mind from wandering into the chaos that his lack of remembrance brought about. He needed his wits about him – now more than ever.

He dismounted awkwardly, concealing a grimace of pain caused by his leg wound. Another painted man, huge and corpulent, wearing what seemed to be a cart-load of jewels around his neck, nodded politely at him – in spite of his menacing appearance - and bade him to follow without a word. He was expected. Hephaistion entered the royal tent alone. His escort remained outside.

The silence in the tent was discomforting at the least. Hephaistion's nostrils were assailed by heady smell of incense and he became instantly light-headed from the spicy aroma. He fought the urge to take a deep breath and steadied himself. He noted some eight men, Persian nobility no doubt, who stared at him, some with open hostility, some concealed behind deadpan masks. He met their eyes levelly. Amongst them, he caught sight of the tall man with broody eyes who had visited his tent together with the interpreter and had unnerved him with his leering countenance. Only this time his eyes were dispassionate, as if he were seeing Hephaistion for the first time.

His guide led him towards the throne, obstructing the view with his bulk. Hephaistion noted the perfect grooming of the Persians, their curled beards and jewelled garb when he stopped short of colliding with something on the floor. When he looked down, he realized with a measure of shock that the fat man was making reverence and speaking in a hushed tone to the man on the throne. Abruptly, Hephaistion raised his eyes to meet those of Darius.

The King sat still as a deity and at a glance, Hephaistion was in no doubt that he was in the presence of royalty. Darius could have been sitting in the most common of chairs with no attendants around him and he would still make his surroundings look royal. If anything, the man's stature alone inspired respect, even when seated. However grudgingly, Hephaistion had to admit it.

Darius studied Hephaistion neutrally. Not a muscle twitched on the handsome face with darkened eyelids. Hephaistion returned his stare equably for a moment before strong arms grabbed him from behind and forced him to his knees. He struggled and tried to shake them. Just as suddenly, he was released and allowed to stand up straight. A gesture from Darius had held the guards back.

The Great Kind of Persia spoke to him then, in polished though heavily accented Greek, as if no one else was present. To Hephaistion it seemed as if the Persian king's black eyes sought to bear into his very soul. His lips barely moved when he uttered the words, as if mortal language was a disease that could be caught by breathing the same air as everyone else.

'You are spirited like an unbroken horse, Lord Amyntor. I will not force you to submit to my customs. But you will do well to remember that you are protected in my camp only as long as you are not causing trouble.'

What trouble, Hephaistion thought wildly. You mean fighting back when people try to take away my dignity? He would have dearly liked to voice those words, but instead he spoke the proper words.

'You have my gratitude for your protection, Great King.'

In the periphery of his vision, Hephaistion noted that the tall bulky man had moved closer to the throne. The weight of his stare, different from Darius', made Hephaistion's shudder.

'Have your lodgings been adequate?' Darius asked smoothly. 'Was the care that was given to you enough for you to regain your strength?'

Hephaistion frowned inwardly. Somehow, it seemed beneath the Great King to enquire after the treatment of a prisoner, however important. Hephaistion sensed there was more to this than met the eye.

'Yes, sire. Everything has been satisfactory so far.'

'It would only be fair to offer this treatment to a hostage such as yourself. After all, I am returning Alexander's favour.'

A prison is still a prison, Hephaistion thought bitterly.

'I see that you are a man of few words, Lord Amyntor. Quite a feat in someone of your years,' he added in a lighter tone and Hephaistion could not be sure if it was meant as a compliment or as a mere oddity. It came as a new surprise for him, because he instantly found himself wondering how old he was.

'I will ask of you then what I need to know. But beware, I am expecting an honest answer.'

The black eyes seemed to turn even blacker, if it was at all possible and, much as Hephaistion was loath to admit to himself, he almost squirmed under that gaze.

It was more than likely that Darius would ask a question that he would not know the answer to. If he answered it - he would be doomed for being untruthful. If the nature of the question was such that a soldier of the opposing army could not answer without betraying his own comrades, he would still be doomed. Answers could be obtained by any means if necessary. The only determination that Hephaistion could cling to was that he was definitely not going out without a good fight.

Some of his turmoil must have been partially evident, because Darius seemed to change his mind and instead said, 'You assume I will ask for vital information about Alexander's army? Surely, as one of his closest companions, you would be the best source. There is still time for that. And besides, my spies are hard at work. But no, that is not what I need to know.'

Hephaistion's heart started to sink, but the bit of information that Darius had shared unwittingly sent his spirit soaring. In one sentence, he'd had confirmation of his rank and on whose side he fought. Now if only he could remember Alexander and everything else in between.

'Tell me, Hephaistion,' Darius said silkily, speaking the young man's name as if they were long-time friends, 'are the rumours about my wife and Alexander true? Or was Alexander just throwing dust in my eyes?'

Darius' wife and Alexander? Was this about two men fighting over a woman?

Desperately, Hephaistion tried to read into the question, his mind frantically grasping at anything that might provide a clue. But the question had been asked with little leeway and even as he spoke, Hephaistion knew that the only thing he could do was pretend.

'Great King, you have not been deceived. And I am not aware of any disparaging rumours.'

Darius snorted. 'Of course! What else can I expect a companion of Alexander to say? However, this is not what I wanted to hear,' the black eyes sparkled angrily, even if Darius' mouth remained mostly immobile. 'If I wanted a glib tongue, I would have listened to that eunuch Alexander sent with the news of my wife's death. You mean to tell me that the honours he bestowed upon her when she died were meant for someone who was not his bedfellow?'

Like a drowning man grasping at straws, so Hephaistion struggled to put the meaning of the words together, knowing full well that he had no more time to gain by trying to avoid a direct answer.

'That is the truth,' Hephaistion stated with as much calm as he could muster. It was a stab in the dark. But since he had been told whose side he was on, Hephaistion's honour dictated that he support those he belonged with at any cost.

Darius did not seem moved by the answer. His eyes narrowed to a slit.

'So you are saying that my wife died of a sickness and not in birthing Alexander's child? You are saying that I should believe that my household is indeed treated as his own family?'

Hephaistion stared. Surely, just the same as the Persian king spoke Greek, however haltingly, some of the nobles around him must understand the language. How, then, could Darius ask him of his wife, who, by all accounts, had died in Alexander's keep? And, in all likelihood, had been his mistress.

Slowly, he replied 'I am saying that, yes.'

A great silence came over Darius and Hephaistion became once again aware of the other Persian noble's eyes that had not left him for a single moment.

When Darius finally spoke, his words rang like a judgment to Hephaistion. 'I will not send an envoy to Alexander to release my family in exchange for you. He seems to be treating them well enough. And he will have further reason to continue to do so now that I have you. Besides, we outnumber Alexander's forces greatly in the upcoming battle. It will be nothing for me to spare a unit of my men to raid Alexander's camp and return my family once the battle has started.'

'But you will remain here. Unharmed and under my protection. I want Alexander to know how it feels to have one so close to him held by the enemy. I want him to wonder if I am treating you right. I want him to know how it feels to be uncertain.'

The news almost shattered Hephaistion's front. It seemed that his relationship with Alexander went deeper than he had initially assumed. Were they family? Friends? Lovers?

He kept his tongue in spite of the protest rising in his throat. But one glance at Darius convinced him that the Persian king was not finished baiting him.

'Or do you think he will think you unimportant?'

Friends, Hephaistion thought. Family would not be cast aside no matter what.

'Or has Alexander tossed you from his bed when he laid his eyes on my wife? I would not blame him. The most beautiful woman of mortal birth in Asia – she is bound to have the effect on most people.'

Lovers, Hephaistion decided.

His heart twisted painfully in his chest. By what merciless god's punishment had he been made to forget the face of his beloved?

Soon after, his audience with Darius was over and as he was escorted back to his tent, Hephaistion weighed up the wealth of information he had received that night. He thanked the gods for allowing him some answers. But cruel as they often liked to be, the gods had opened up more possibilities than they had offered answers.

There was no use dwelling on the past right now. There would be time for that later.

His mind, Hephaistion realized, had been made up even before he had met with Darius. The Persian king had nothing more to say to him except what had seemed to seal his fate: he would remain a prisoner until such time as he saw fit to release him.

Escape was the only way.

On the ride back to his tent, his head swirling with nausea and exhaustion, Hephaistion had decided that one or two more days of rest would increase his chances of making a successful break for it. In spite of aching to run, Hephaistion was realistic enough to understand a man barely recovered from serious wounds would not make it far. But then, Hephaistion had caught a glimpse of the scythed chariots again. They loomed in the distance like starved beasts waiting to gorge on the enemy's flesh. Did his countrymen know about them, Hephaistion wondered.

The desire to escape immediately and the voice of reason battled within him as he reached his tent. The guard stood stiffer than usual and round-eyed and even before Hephaistion entered, instinct told him that something was not right. The mute boy, whose name he had still not learned, stood just as frozen as the guard, with downcast eyes. The light shifted and Hephaistion saw why.

The tall bulky man in Darius' tent sprawled in a chair. He grinned lazily at the sight of Hephaistion who had forgotten all about his heavy glances while he was conversing with Darius.

'Lord Amyntor,' the man pronounced with mockery in his tone, before Hephaistion had a chance to question him. 'I am glad you finally arrived. How considerate of our king to treat you with such care.'

Hephaistion made no effort to conceal his anger. The man's Greek was rudimentary at best and his irreverent tone was more than insulting.

'Who are you and what are you doing here? Did Darius sent you?'

'Oh, no,' laughed the other, 'Darius did not send me. He has no use for you.'

Suddenly, his brooding stare turned to steel and his tone became ominous. 'My name is Bessos, and you should remember it. Your lot will speak of it long after Darius' name has turned to dust.'

'I doubt it,' Hephaistion retorted icily.

In an instant and in spite of his bulk, Bessos was out of the chair and advancing on Hephaistion. The younger man held his ground and soon Bessos stood inches away from his face. He was taller than Hephaistion and he smelled sharply of heavy perfume and sweat.

'Do not presume to be arrogant with me, boy.' There was a feral glint in his eye that would never make him royalty like Darius. 'I can change your fate with a snap of my fingers. Not even Darius will be able to protect you.'

'I need no one's protection,' the reply came as calm as Bessos' words had been incensed.

'If you carry on in this manner, the gods' protection will not be enough. You have some fortitude - for one who is Alexander's whore. Oh yes,' Bessos grinned lewdly, 'I know who you are. My spies are not sleeping in their boots like Darius. I know Alexander hasn't touched Darius' wife. He has no use for her. Though I must confess, I expected you to look a little different. You see, here we use creatures such as him, for pleasure' Bessos pointed to the boy who stood still as a statue. 'I did not expect you to be quite so battle-hardened.'

'No, Darius would not want you for himself,' Bessos said as an afterthought, 'you are not his type: you are flawed. In spite of your striking looks, you are a warrior. The scars on your body bear witness to that. For Darius, nothing is good enough except perfection. But to me – you are more beautiful and desirable than any pleasure slave I have ever had. So I have an offer to make.'

Hephaistion fought the urge to wrap his hands around Bessos' neck and snap it. His only saving grace was the thought that attacking Bessos at this point would put a damper on his escape plan.

'I am no one's pleasure slave,' Hephaistion hissed, 'and I do not wish to hear what you have in mind.'

'Oh, but you will have to hear it,' Bessos said reasonably, as if he were bartering for supplies. 'Because before long, it might seem like a good bargain to you. The prize is your freedom.'

Hephaistion frowned. His skin crawled at the thought of what the price for that would be.

Instead he said just as sensibly, 'You have no authority to offer my release. Nor to make such offers.'

'You will be surprised at how authority can change hands. Who do you think Darius will believe when I tell him you tried to escape? And do you think he'll be interested in protecting you any longer once that happens?'

'You would accuse me of trying to escape?'

Bessos was no fool, Hephaistion realized.

'Anyone with half a mind will guess that you're bound to try sooner or later. And even if you don't, why shouldn't I accuse you of trying to escape, if I do not get my way? I have nothing to lose. You, on the other hand,' Bessos' hand moved up Hephaistion's arm suggestively 'have everything to gain from agreeing.'

'I've heard enough,' Hephaistion said disgustedly, swinging his arm away from the reviled touch. 'Get out.'

Taken aback by the curtness and cheek of the prisoner whom he had thought would jump at the chance, Bessos was momentarily at a loss for words. When he spoke, it was only the threats that Hephaistion had expected.

'You will live to regret this, boy. And when you beg for mercy, you will remember that Bessos makes such offers only once.'

'I'll take my chances,' Hephaistion replied hotly, turning away impatiently. He did not see Bessos stride out, but he felt the earth pounding vigorously under the powerful step.

Hephaistion's heart pummelled savagely and he sank into the chair Bessos had used moments ago. Frantically, he pieced together what information he could and realized that his plan was, at best, hopeless.

To stay – even for one more night - was out of the question now. Sooner rather than later, Bessos would carry through his threat. Rejected and angry, Bessos would want his honour redeemed. From what he had read in Bessos' unspoken words, there was great disdain he held for Darius. Moreover, there was a hint of rebellion in the way he had uttered his own name, like he already saw himself appointed as Darius' successor. However, who would believe a prisoner accusing a high-ranking noble?

The only option left was immediate escape. His memory would have helped, had it been all there. But as it was and if he made it out of the huge Persian camp alive, he did not know where he was going. If the Macedonians were 2 or ten miles away - and in which direction - he did not know. The fact that he was not recovered fully from his wounds no longer mattered. Time did not permit the luxury of full convalescence.

Quiet hands slid on his shoulders and for a brief moment, Hephaistion's breath caught. But he recognized the touch, being a recent memory. The painted boy did not need to ask permission because he could not. Relaxing slightly under the massaging fingers, surprisingly strong for a wiry boy, Hephaistion worked through the details of his plan. There was no time for sleep.

TBC