Warning! This chapter contains elements of NON-CON. Please, PLEASE!skip if you are sensitive.
A/N: This chapter was particularly difficult to write and I am aware that some of you will dislike what is coming. If this is getting too dark, or too predictable for your tastes, I apologize in advance.
Five
There was a moment of deep silence in the royal tent as Alexander finished expounding his strategy. The eyes of his generals were riveted on the clay figurines representing various units of the army sprawled in apparent disarray on a huge floor map. They all recognized the method in the apparent madness but even soldiers as experienced as them needed a while to digest the tactics. It was Parmenion who finally broke the silence.
'Daring as usual, Alexander,' he said good-naturedly, shaking his head. 'But I can see the chance, in spite of what I said earlier.' Parmenion's advice had been to mount a night attack in view of the Persians' clear advantage.
'Mad, not daring,' Philotas exclaimed, grinning widely at Alexander. 'And all the more attainable because of it.'
Alexander smiled and to those present, it seemed that the smile almost reached his eyes, something that had not happened since Hephaistion's capture.
'I'm glad you see it,' he said with genuine gratitude, his eyes shining with excitement. He studied the map for a moment longer then he turned aside impatiently. They all knew that he itched for action but also that he was wishing for solitude, to think and to make peace with his demons.
'Alexander,' Parmenion said solemnly. 'You should know that we are all sorry there has been no news of Hephaistion.'
The other generals directed scathing glances at Parmenion. Was the old general mad to bring up the subject of Hephaistion now, before the battle, and send Alexander into pits of despair again? Alexander had hidden it well, but it had been difficult to keep the mask up at all times, surrounded as he was by people who had known him a long time.
'Parmenion…' warned Cleitus.
'No, Cleitus,' Alexander interjected swiftly. His face steeled once again into a mask of determination. He turned to Parmenion, 'I am glad you brought it up. You all need to know how I feel about this and how much of my heart is into this battle.'
He paused for a moment, commanding attention.
'There is no part of me that will not be out there with you tomorrow morning. Know this, because I am only saying it once. After the battle, I will spare no effort to learn what has become of Hephaistion. But to do that, first we must have victory. And I can only win if my mind and heart are in the right place.'
The generals voiced their approval as one. It was clear what it was costing Alexander to say what he was saying, but the truth in his words was beyond their power to doubt.
'Are you going to trade Darius' family for Hephaistion's freedom?' Philotas asked, emboldened by Alexander's approach to the subject.
Suddenly, Alexander looked ten years older. The colour drained from his face and he looked as if all hope of finding Hephaistion had deserted him.
'Yes, if it comes to that,' he said quietly.
'Darius' family gives us great leverage,' Parmenion stated the obvious, drawing further enraged glances from his comrades.
'That is true,' Alexander admitted, 'but after tomorrow, it will no longer matter. Because after tomorrow, Darius will be defeated and his family will be better protected in my keep than anywhere near him.'
With that, Alexander signaled to a squire who promptly started serving wine to all the men present. It was obvious that the King considered the matter closed.
'Feast on a good dinner tonight, my friends, and get a good night's sleep. And let us pray that Darius will keep his troops awake, waiting for us to strike at night.'
'I'll drink to that,' Ptolemy said and the others took his cue and downed their goblets.
Over the wine, the tension ebbed and the generals could breathe a collective sigh of relief. At least they knew what was coming and they could all sleep easier.
That night, Alexander sat up late, alone and thinking. It was the first time, before a great crossroads in his life, when he was without Hephaistion. If his trusted friend had been there, by now they would have been alone together, going over details and arguing over points that Hephaistion often saw clearer than himself or that Alexander might have overlooked with the bigger picture in mind. Hephaistion had the talent of getting to the essence of things and dissecting even seemingly unimportant details. More than a skill, it had become an instinct that Hephaistion had honed in the years they had spent at war and that Alexander had learned to listen to closely.
He knew that he was ready for the battle, in all respect, except for this. Suddenly, a longing to hold Hephaistion took hold of him. Such was his need to feel Hephaistion's presence that he would have cast aside his idea of conserving his energy for the battle and he would have loved him long into the night.
It ripped him apart that he had never said good-bye to Hephaistion properly, that there had been no embrace or kiss or touch before his friend had ridden away on that reconnaissance mission. They had both taken it for granted that by nightfall they would dine together and go through Hephaistion's report, as always.
He tried to remember a time in his life that had been difficult and Hephaistion had not been there. Talking, arguing, challenging or just touching, holding.
And the fear grew in his heart that perhaps from now on, he would have to face the eve of all his battles alone. He knew that he could do it this time, he had prepared himself. But he wasn't sure that he would be able to do it in future. The thought brought three weeks' worth of unshed tears to his eyes and, knowing that he had to let go, at least until the battle was over, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning.
He thought himself fortunate for feeling so secure in his knowledge that the Persians would be defeated tomorrow and he thanked the Gods for allowing him to see that light. And he wished he could experience the same serenity when it came to Hephaistion's fate.
When he extinguished his lamp, Alexander promised the Gods that when the battle was over, he would not leave any stone unturned until he found Hephaistion.
Victory and the crown of the world meant nothing if they asked for a price so dear.
Far across the plains of Gaugamela, Bessos and the rest of the Persian generals were taking their last briefing before the battle. The King had ordered his army to sit up the whole night, fully armed and in anticipation of a night attack by the Macedonians.
Bessos bowed to take his leave from Darius, but the King beckoned him to stay behind when the other generals were filing out of the strategy meeting.
'I hear that the Macedonian has attempted escape,' Darius said without introduction when they were finally alone.
Bessos was prepared for the question.
'Yes, my Lord, he has, and he has killed three of our soldiers in the process. But I perceived his intention and had units posted outside the camp, covering all possible routes to Alexander's camp. He fell right into the trap.'
Darius nodded. 'I understand that you have him under heavy guard.'
'Yes, King,' Bessos replied rather curtly.
'Good,' Darius said, his expression unreadable. 'His fate would concern me had my family not been with Alexander. I want you to remember that when you consider his punishment.'
'He has not been harmed, my Lord,' Bessos said quickly, with a tinge of bitterness in his tone.
'I know that,' Darius replied.
'But, my Lord, he needs to be taught a lesson.' Bessos' eyes glistened.
'Indeed,' Darius agreed, his gaze piercing the Baktrian. 'After all, my wife died while in Alexander's keep. I only have his word that she wasn't harmed.'
Bessos stared. He was unsure of what Darius wanted but he had his answer in the next moment.
'Tomorrow, during the battle,' Darius explained, 'I have ordered a force to raid Alexander's camp and rescue my family. Once my household has been safely returned, the Macedonian is yours. I am not a fool, Bessos. I saw the way you looked at him.'
Bessos did not bother to hide his satisfaction. He had a reputation for being a beast and for inflicting much suffering on his bed partners. None of his pleasure slaves lasted more than a few months, either because they were discarded to the men for entertainment or, if they were lucky, because they succumbed to death.
'I would not dare, if I knew that your Majesty…' Bessos began.
'I do not!' Darius said forcefully, silencing Bessos with a pointed look. 'I have no desire to eat the crumbs from Alexander's table. What you do is your affair. But until such time as my family is back, I do not want him spoiled, do you understand me?'
Bessos bowed stiffly, but resented being treated like a child who is shown his treat and then told to be patient and wait for it.
'I understand, Lord King.'
Bessos made his way towards his quarters, the part of the camp that contained the Baktrian forces. He called a meeting of his officers and relayed the orders for the men to be kept awake all night. Under pain of death, no drink other than water was to be issued to the soldiers in the hours of rest forfeited. He reviewed special points of the strategy that he considered critical, especially since his forces would be positioned to the left of the Persian side, which meant that they would be facing the Macedonian right, the side from which Alexander always led.
Privately, Bessos held grudging respect for Alexander's boldness, but any fool could see that this time even someone as daring as the young Macedonian king would come short. It was not only because of the way he was outnumbered, but because the Persians possessed superior weaponry and their famed cavalry had no rival in the entire world.
With the meeting finished, Bessos ate a light supper in his tent then took a walk through the camp for an informal inspection. He trusted his men to carry out his orders, but he trusted his own eyes more. The men feared his temper and had seen on occasion what befell those that were on receiving end of it.
The inspection revealed nothing worth griping about, so, with time to kill until he deemed the next scrutiny necessary, he made his way to the prisoners' enclosure.
The open area was heavily guarded and it held two men only: Hephaistion and the boy. The prisoners had been stripped and chained and had not been fed or given anything to drink the whole day. The sun battered down on their bodies, blistering their exposed skin and scalding their insides. Bessos had ordered them to be kept awake and even when one of them showed signs of passing out from the heat or the lack of nourishment, they were shaken or kicked until they opened their eyes.
The two had been separated and the boy, by the looks of it, had been assaulted repeatedly during the day. Bessos had thought it wise to keep him alive for a little while longer, especially since the Macedonian had seemed to be very concerned about the boy's fate.
'He had no willing part in it,' Hephaistion had claimed when they had been dragged back to the camp. 'I forced him to obey under pain of death, and took him with me to show me the way.'
'I would believe you,' Bessos had said shrewdly, 'if I didn't know who this boy was. You see, I killed his three older brothers myself, for rebellion. They belonged to a tribe that refused to pay their levies. I kept him as a pleasure slave and to serve as an example to those who would think of mutiny in future, but I had his tongue cut out. He's still alive because I took pity on him even after I tired of him. He has plenty of reasons to hate me and help the enemy.'
The news won him a surprised glance from Hephaistion whose piercing eyes, the only part of him that was not covered in dust and filth, grew large and he seemed to suddenly understand a lot more about his young friend.
'Do you know what the punishment is for treachery?' Bessos taunted. 'I will have his nose and ears cut – to start with.'
Hephaistion grimaced, glancing worriedly at the area where the boy lay in the dirt, broken and lifeless.
'Please, spare his life,' he pleaded.
'Are you begging for mercy?'
Hephaistion's gaze burned into Bessos but his voice was quiet and unyielding.
'For him – I am. Do what you will with me, but spare him.'
'How very noble of you,' Bessos mocked, his brooding countenance twisted by a dark smirk. 'But sadly, it is not enough.'
No doubt, the young man thought he owed a debt of gratitude to the boy for whose fate he now felt responsible. His bright eyes fell closed for a moment, as if he were weighing his options, then rose to meet Bessos' once again.
'Does your offer still stand?' The Baktrian saw his resolve and found himself wondering where this man found the inner resources for such doggedness, starved and thirsty and broken as he was.
No, not broken, Bessos thought. Not yet.
Ever since the Macedonian had been imprisoned, Bessos had watched him with growing interest. Gradually, he had become intrigued then attracted to the proud warrior. His growing temptation had then become desire to possess and break the Macedonian. Relishing the prospect, Bessos thought about the welcome change Hephaistion would make from the terrified slaves and eunuchs he forced into his bed. This one will fight back and offer him a challenge. Nevertheless, Bessos was not a fool. He could not risk having the prisoner, even weakened as he was, trying to attack him. Hephaistion would be forced into submission. Bessos sighed inwardly. One couldn't have everything, after all.
He crouched beside the chained man and leaned closer to him. He could smell the sweat and the dust caked on Hephaistion's skin in and he became instantly aroused.
'Do you remember when I told you that you would beg for mercy? I was right, wasn't I?'
Hephaistion's expression was unreadable, but not defeated.
'And do you remember when I said that when you begged for mercy you should know that I only make such offers once?'
This time, a grimace of hatred spread slowly onto Hephaistion's dulled features.
'You have nothing to offer anymore that I cannot take whenever I please. You are no longer under King Darius' protection.'
He stood abruptly, enjoying the despair he saw growing in Hephaistion's eyes.
'But I feel merciful today,' he added as an afterthought, 'so I will grant you this one wish: it is in your power to keep this boy alive. If you resist me in any way or even think about attacking me - he dies. Slowly.'
'I understand,' Hephaistion replied. With an effort, he straightened his back as much as he could with the heaviness of the chains and the exhaustion grinding his bones.
Smiling, Bessos ordered Hephaistion unchained with a curt command. 'Clean him up and give him something to eat.'
He turned to Hephaistion. 'I'll be waiting.'
Less than an hour later, Hephaistion was shown inside Bessos' tent. The dirt had been washed off his skin and his hair hung wet but even with his hands bound and knowing himself to be at the mercy of Bessos, Hephaistion had a defiant air about him. Good, Bessos mused.
He beckoned to the guards who pushed Hephaistion towards the back of the tent and secured his tied hands to a hook attached high onto a supporting pillar.
'You are like an obstinate horse that will not be broken,' Bessos murmured into Hephaistion's ear. 'But in the end – they all break. Some just take longer than the others.'
Bessos stepped back to admire the lithe body stretching upwards like a taut spring and he felt a shiver of anticipation jolt through him.
Hephaistion's arms twisted at an awkward angle and he was forced to throw his head back as if in rapture, his wet hair hanging like strings halfway down his back. Heeding an impulse to ravage and inflict pain, Bessos shoved his bulky frame against Hephaistion's back, digging his fingers into the younger man's upper arms. He felt the younger man's body stiffen in resistance, trapped between him and the pole.
'If you struggle, the boy dies,' Bessos reminded him.
'Tomorrow morning, I will ride into battle with the knowledge that you submitted to me. And when I've broken and grown tired of you, I will send you back to him so he can see what price in sorrow he must pay for his conquering greed.'
Bessos seized a fistful of Hephaistion's hair and bit greedily into the flesh at the base of his neck. The Macedonian's body arched in agony but no sound escaped him.
'Very brave of you,' Bessos crooned, 'but don't waste your energy. You'll be screaming long before I'm done.'
Hephaistion squeezed his eyes shut.
Within the confines of his mind, Hephaistion willed himself away from the torment of the flesh.
His eyes filled with the sky and he found himself lying on a soft bed of grass, his arm protectively wrapped around a body. A head of bright hair rested on his chest and he buried his nose in it, inhaling the earthy, familiar fragrance. He felt warm breath on his skin and with his fingertips he traced the outline of an arm then a neck, feeling the life throbbing there.
He knew that he was home, where he belonged, more complete than he had ever been.
'You are the first and the last,' a voice whispered with infinite sadness and Hephaistion could not be sure if it had come from outside or inside of him. This divine being clinging to him had become part of him as he was indeed part of it. Tears of gratitude coasted his cheeks and streamed into his hair.
Suddenly, an urge to crush his lips against the other's and to lose himself into his eyes seized him. But he could not – would not – move, such was the comfort and protection that he experienced.
To break a moment like this would be to commit a mortal offense. But what was he after all, if not merely mortal? Temptation gnawed at him with excruciating intensity. He wanted to have one glimpse only of this man – no! this god - who blessed him with his embrace. Surely, he could not suffer the fate of Orpheus for daring one single look.
Sadness shrouded him at the thought of shifting his body even for the instant that it took to lift and turn the other's head towards him to recognize the features. But even as his neck muscles began to obey the command, he knew that it was wrong.
The sky darkened at once to a sickening shade of purple before he even finished his thought and the warmth surrounding him was gone: he stood naked and alone, shivering in the cold wind and blind in the rising darkness.
TBC
Quote taken from Mary Renault's "Fire from Heaven"