Chapter Eight

Macedon, circa 351-338 B.C.E.:

Hiring myself out as a mercenary, I came to the attention of Macedon's king, Philip, during a battle with the Thracians, wherein I saved his life. An enemy's sword sliced into his shoulder during a fierce battle, and I managed to rebuff the enemy soldier and rescue Philip. I carried him from the field of battle on my shoulders, fighting attackers much of the way, and deposited him with one of our physicians. When he recovered, I was sent for.

From his bed he looked me over carefully with his one remaining eye. He'd lost one in a previous battle, yet its loss did not hinder him… if anything, I think he saw more clearly with one than most men do with two… at least about some things. Struggling to an upright position, he thundered, "You seem free of wounds."

"I was lucky my king," I said from one knee, my head bowed.

"My generals tell me you are skilled with a blade. They say they've never seen one finer."

"They do me great honor," I replied. I'd been working with some of the men to improve their skill. I'd been teaching them to work as a unit… not just each man for himself.

"I hereby make you a general," Philip ordered, evidently thinking I'd be pleased with such a promotion.

I shook my head. "I am not so skilled, my king. I prefer to lead men into battle, not design campaigns."

Philip stared at me thoughtfully. "When we return, you will come when I call you. I will leave you as you are for the time being… but if you promise to serve me faithfully… I may have a job for you… more important than you can ever imagine."

After he dismissed me, I returned to my unit. Some months later, I'd all but forgotten the meeting when I was called to attend the king in his palace. Putting on my best leathers, and polishing my brass until it shone, catching the eye of Apollo, I entered the columned throne room of Philip of Macedon and bowed before the king on his throne. It was simple throne, little more than an ornate camp chair, but set high on a dais so that there was no doubt he was king.

"I am here at your command, my king," I said smartly from my bow.

"Ah… Philotheus," he said, for that was the name I was using at that time, "prompt and courteous as always. My generals tell me that you are the finest swordsman that they have ever seen."

"My king and his generals honor me," I replied.

Philip rose and haltingly descended the dais, one of his legs had never fully regained its strength from a battle in his youth. Yet upon horseback or in his chariot… he was as fearsome a warrior as I had ever seen. He clasped my shoulder. "I have a job for you, I think."

"Whatever my king demands of me," I replied.

"Am I?" he replied quizzically. "Your king I mean. My generals tell me you are not Macedonian."

"I was a boy in Thebes, my king," I admitted.

"But am I your king? For how long? You are a mercenary and… forgive me… but my queen wishes to know how loyal you truly are."

Now an oath and a promise was a heady thing in those days. If I said until my dying day… a day that despite twenty-two hundred years or so… has not dawned… I would be compelled to always serve him. "While Philip is king of Macedon," I replied at last… "I am his man."

His single eye glittered in merriment. "And after I am dead… whom then will you serve?"

I was silent. Behind me I heard the great bronze doors open and the patter of small feet. A boy with golden curls raced into the throne room and was scooped up by Philip with his one good arm. He staggered slightly as the boy settled into his embrace. The boy's legs hung down and he peered at me with one blue eye and one dark eye. It was a startling gaze and I must say I was quite surprised as he regarded me.

Stepping to their side was the boy's mother and Philip's queen, Olympias in all her proud dark beauty. She gazed at me haughtily as if I was a worm beneath her feet. I'd heard the whispers in the camp that she was a witch… a servant of the mother goddess… and a handler of the sacred snakes. She belonged to the old religious cult that had been old in this land before even the Mycenaeans of Aspasia had come here to rule. I saw in a glance that the boy's face and mismatched eyes bespoke the struggle that Philip and Olympias would carry on throughout their lives for the heart and soul of this child. Each loved him… and hated that he was the child of the other. Each sought to mold him into the man they wanted.

"I ask again Philotheus… after my death… whom will you serve," Philip shifted the boy and let him drop to the floor where he stood leaning against his father and staring levelly at me.

I knelt. "As long as I live, I am his servant," I said brazenly. I meant it then… and though I did not always agree with him in later years… I am to this day proud to have been his swordmaster. For it was that job Philip wished me to attend to.

The boy was being tutored by Leonidas, a thin waspish man who was a member of Olympias' family. The boy's skills with a sword had already exceeded his tutor's, and while Leonidas was to continue as the official tutor, Philip wanted his son to receive the best of all possible training. Thus my life and my sword were joined to the boy's for all my days.

He was an eager pupil… and under Leonidas' watchful eye, I taught him more than I'd ever taught a mortal. He was like a sponge… soaking it all in and then asking for more. He was this way about all his studies and about all he ever attempted.

When he was twelve, he saw a horse that none thought could ever be trained. He trained it… and rode it into battle until it was too old and died. He wept for that horse like one weeps for a beloved child or companion. When he was fifteen, Philip managed to oust him from Leonidas' overseeing eye and placed the young prince under the tutelage of Aristotle of Athens. I'd known the teacher of his teacher… Socrates, briefly before his death… though I'd cared little for Plato, Aristotle's teacher. Too solemn a man was Plato… but a wise one though I was seldom in his circle.

It was when Alexander was sixteen, and already a cunning strategist that he learned about immortals.

We were on a jaunt through the countryside… my young prince and his guard. Already he had gathered to him several sons of Macedonian nobility whom he called his Companions. They were a close-knit unit… and I'd had some small success in training them to work as one. Their real test of battle-readiness would not come for two more years, however, when Philip led his troops south into Greece.

On that spring day, however, our hearts were light. Although I was the "old man" of the group… in more ways than one, and Philip's man to keep them all in line, I was one with them. As we neared a flock of sheep running wildly on the hill-slopes, I felt what I had not felt in years… the feel of another immortal. "Wait here," I ordered them, and went in search of the source of the quickening.

Standing above the slaughtered bodies of the young shepherd and a small boy, I found him. Streaked with blood, wild-eyed and dressed in rough animal skins, he snatched a metal spiked club and rounded on me… roaring into the late afternoon sky. I had never felt such power.

He dropped into a stance and swung the club while he laughed. It seemed an odd weapon for one immortal to use against another, but I saw how he'd used it on the boys. He'd crushed their skulls and pounded them to pulp. If I slipped up… he'd do the same to me. And while such treatment would not kill me… I had no doubt that while I was down… he'd find a way to remove my head. And after finishing with me… he would make short work of my young prince and his companions. For they would not know what they were dealing with. I drew my sword as I leapt from the back of my horse and slapped his rump to speed him off to one side.

"Ah…" my opponent said. I could smell the fetid stench of him. "A young one? Do you know what you are boy?"

Now at this time I was about two hundred years old, and having died in my late-thirties, it had been long since anyone had called me a boy. Not even Nestor with his great age had thought to do so. Nor had the beauteous Aspasia. "Old enough to take your head for these crimes!" I shouted, feigning an anger that was only partly pretense… for I was angry that one of us had killed children so thoughtlessly. It was one thing to kill other warriors in the course of battle… it was quite another to kill those who could not stand against us.

"You think this is murder?" he laughed uproariously at me… as if caught in some horrid memory. I closed in on him and then backed away from the reach of his heavy club. I had to keep an eye on that. If he landed a single blow, I would be down, and the battle over.

I crouched, shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet as I watched him lunge and swing at me. I eluded him easily three times. The fourth, he feinted and the metal spikes grazed my freearm, tearing long gashes in it. I blinked away the pain, ignored the flow of blood, and concentrated on his moves. Danaë had taught me how to defend myself against many weapons… but this monster's club was something I had never faced. I had to get the gist of its moves… its weight… and how fast he could change the direction of a swing… before I could launch my own attack. If I closed in too soon… it would be the end of me.

I suffered two more glancing blows, the last one sending me sprawling; my side already beginning to blacken from broken ribs. Nevertheless I had his number now… I knew what he'd do and how he'd react. I rolled onto my wounded side, noting as I rose and scrambled to my feet, the slick wet blood on the grass. My face must have reflected the anger and danger of attacking me that Amphitrous' statue indicated, as he paused and his mouth made a small "ooh!" sound. I hefted my sword with my swordarm, my bloodied freearm held against the spreading blackness on my side. I felt in my sword's familiar weight, the move and the power I would need to take his head. As expected, he raised his club with both hands and lunged toward me. I waited until he was committed, turned, shifted my sword into my freearm and swung. My sword seemed to sing as it cleaved the air… and his neck.

For a moment he followed through with his blow, the club coming to rest imbedded in the earth. Then he seemed to stare at it as if in confusion. I waited. Slowly his head peeled away from his thick neck and the quickening rose from the stump of his neck in a great torrent of lightning.

I fell to my knees as it arced over me and then plummeted like a great bolt from the sky overhead. His name was Kouris… he had walked the earth… mad for untold millennia. He'd slaughtered children by the dozens once upon a time. He was one of the old ones that Aspasia had told me of… the ones who were before the game. I was lifted into the air and buffeted by the power. Around me, trees burst into flames, sheep were roasted alive… and the bodies of the dead were consumed until only ash remained. And still the power spent itself. Above me was only darkness… about me, beneath the roar of the lightning, I could hear the torrents of rain which fell. The power coalesced into me… and then spread outward in all directions with a great boom!

I fell to my knees again as the power released me from its grasp, gasping for breath in the pouring rain. Hearing footsteps, I rose unsteadily and lifted my sword… ready to fight once more.

It was my prince. He stared at me with wonder, then smiled. "My parents both think you are one of the heroes… a child of the gods. It is why they agreed to let you teach me. My father believes you are Herakles returned to us. My mother thinks Zeus sent you to me to raise me up."

I'd heard the gossip at court over the years. I'd heard Olympias and Philip argue throughout the palace. Olympias claimed that she was descended from Achilles and that Alexander was not Philip's son… but the son of Zeus. A blind man could see he was Philip's, however. He had the same fine wide brow, the aquiline nose, and the broad shoulders. He was his father's son… but he was also his mother's. She had filled his head with the belief of his divinity. Now he'd seen the aftermath of my battle with Kouris, and had interpreted it as a sign that his mother was right..

"One day," he said clasping my arm, "I too, will feel the fire from heaven and know the touch of the gods."

He had it all wrong, but I wanted to believe it was possible. At that time I did not know how it was that some men and women died and became immortal. I had never felt the gentle hum of a pre-immortal… not all of us do… and it would be long before I felt it and knew it for what it was. But at the time… I wanted to believe that my young prince would be one of us. He kept my secret… telling the Companions only that I had fought a criminal who had killed the shepherd and his brother, and that the storm had broken out immediately after.

He wanted me with him from then on… and he plied me with questions when we were alone about what it meant to be touched by the gods. I wanted only to fade back into the ranks of the army and be unknown. I begged him to make certain no record of my name or exploits ever made it into the records that the chroniclers of Philip's court kept. He agreed, and managed to purge my name from them, if not my existence.

In 338 B.C.E. by the modern method of dividing time, Philip was ready to invade Greece… and Alexander at eighteen, was ready for his first command.

"Keep him safe," Philip charged me as we readied to attack my old city of Thebes. I was to fight at my young prince's side and make certain that no blow fell which could destroy him. But keeping that boy safe was a hard job. He was always in the thick of the battle. He fought without fear. He would not send his Companions anywhere that he would not also go. His exploits were the stuff of legend. He truly believed that if he died in battle… the gods themselves would raise him up as they had me. The city-states fell to us one by one until we ringed the gates at Athens. I trembled within… wondering if the city I had grown to love would now be ground under the conqueror's heel. But Philip regarded Athens highly… and sued for peace. He sent Alexander… glorious, beautiful Alexander… into the city as his emissary.

The boy prince… his golden hair kissed by the sun, his youthful countenance pleasing to the eye, was received with great applause and ceremony. Athens surrendered to Macedonian rule to spare herself and her temples. Athens… the birthplace of democracy… the jewel of the old Mycenaean culture was Philip's to rule… and Alexander's to walk.

He roamed it all. He climbed to the Acropolis and stared out at his lands. "I will one day rule all I can see," he said with certainty. He knew enough to humble himself before the gods… and to do whatever was necessary to appease them… or the local priests wherever we went. The Greeks loved him. He was exactly what they believed men should be… beautiful, fair, and perfect. They believed that a man who was fair and pleasing to the eye… was so because the gods smiled on him.

I held my own counsel on that and stood silently by his side… ever watchful for the dagger in the hand of an assassin, or the poison in the offered cup. Silent and all but invisible… I was at his side as I would be for the next fifteen years.

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Once the treaties were signed, we made our way back to Macedon at the head of a long retinue of tribute. Slaves… gold… grain… whatever we needed was ours for the asking. Alexander thought he was returning home as the triumphant "golden" boy of his father. But in our absence… the marital bickering between Philip and Olympias had reached murderous proportions.

Philip had his eye on the daughter of one of his advisors as a new wife. At the same time, Olympias said a few times too often and too loudly, and in front of the wrong people… how Alexander's success was due to his being the son of Zeus… and not Philip's son. Their arguments escalated until Philip set her aside as queen… planning to make the young Cleopatra his queen. Philip always did have an eye for the young ladies. He'd gone through a succession of them over the years… and there was no reason to think that his marrying the daughter of one of the Macedonian nobles would end up changing so many things. But it did.

Now Philip could have as many wives and consorts as he wished… but he could have only one queen. Her children were the official heirs. His setting Olympias aside was a harsh blow to the woman's hopes and dreams for her son. For if Cleopatra were to have a son… that son would inherit Philip's kingdom… not Alexander. Once again I stood helplessly by as the two of them fought over Alexander's heart and soul. Each wanted him to be the son they wanted. Neither ever understood that Alexander was his own man… and had his own dreams. And yet… he needed his mother's love and approval as one needs breath. Also, he wanted his father's approval more than anything else. The state of affairs between his parents was literally ripping him apart.

I found him often at that time… sitting alone and glowering in contemplation. "I will show them both," I overheard him say one day. "I will become so famous… so powerful… that their names will be remembered only because of mine." In a way… that's what happened. Most schoolchildren have heard of Alexander the Great. But Philip and Olympias are little more than footnotes in his biographies.

As Philip's man, I was not welcome in Olympias' quarters. The only reason I was still tolerated in Alexander's retinue… was because my prince wished it. I had sworn my life to his at Philip's request… and an oath in that day and age was something men took seriously. While I drew breath… I would remain loyal to my prince.

The tale of Philip's wedding banquet is likely well known to you… how Philip drank too much… a trait Alexander also shared. At any rate… both were drunk… both simmering with anger. Alexander did not like that his mother was being set aside… nor did he like the insinuation that he was now illegitimate. He was the prince of Macedon… and its champion. He wanted respect. Specifically… he wanted his father's respect… and his love. He insulted Philip. Philip… too drunk to control his rage… grabbed a sword as he attempted to impale his son. He tripped over the feet of one of the party-guests… perhaps he was intentionally tripped by someone attempting to prevent him from murdering his own son. Alexander laughed at his father on the floor, commenting that Philip couldn't lead them in battle as he couldn't even cross from one couch to another. Philip exiled him.

It took the combined efforts of all of Philip's advisors to lift his pronouncement against Alexander. Philip's advisors knew who was the real power on the battlefield now… and whom it was that the soldiers of Macedon would follow. They hoped to prevent a civil war that would mean the end of Macedonian prominence. It worked… but things were hardly better between father and son… especially after Cleopatra gave birth to a son. Alexander felt his kingdom slipping away… and knew there was nothing he could do.

I have always believed that it was Olympias who seduced Pausanias and encouraged his anger at Phillip for slighting Alexander. Pausanius assassinated Philip in the late summer of 336. Alexander pursued the young man as he fled… and ordered him killed by Phillip's bodyguard. Whether he knew of his mother's plans… or whether he was a part of them… my young prince successfully rid himself of the one person who might have shed light on the affair… and… with the support of the army… proclaimed himself king.

I cannot shed light on these matters as I was in the dark on them. Olympias distrusted me. Philip was dead… and Alexander never spoke of these events in all the years that followed.

I watched him crowned and stood quietly to one side in silent agreement, as he spoke of fulfilling his father's pledge to conquer Persia and to unite the known world under the Greek system of government and culture. I recall wondering if his reasons for conquest were any better than the ones Nestor had once held. But Nestor had not conquered to acquire… only to create pandemonium. Alexander would spread the light of Greek culture and peace throughout the world… and his reign would usher in the Hellenistic Age of the world. Unfortunately… my prince would know little peace in his own life.

Even today, in the far corners of the known world at that time, his name is still known. But most never knew of his search for the proof of his divinity… and his immortality. Of these things… I knew all that transpired. For I was there.