Chapter Nine
Knowing that immortals existed, knowing that I was such an immortal, inflamed my young king. "How do you know I'm not one of you?" Alexander challenged me one day as he was preparing his plans to circle through Asia Minor and down the cost. He planned on liberating the Greek cities on the mainland from Persian control.
"I don't know, my king, but I'm not willing to take the chance and find out," I explained.
"Take the chance?"
"The only way to know for certain… is for you to die. Neither I, nor your men, nor your people… can chance that. Not now. This war we wage is too important."
For the moment… that seemed to satisfy him. Then we were both caught up in the march from Macedon, east into Asia Minor and down the coast. The history of the battles is well written… how one by one the Persian army under the Persian king Darius was bested time and again… and kept withdrawing. Theirs was a bigger army, but Alexander's was better trained… and he planned his battles well, choosing the best locations so that even if he held the low ground, he had other things in his favor… like the angle of the sun.
You can read the histories if you want to know his strategies… his benevolence to the freed cities… and his terrible wrath at those who put up too big a struggle. Like Philip, his wrath at those who brushed aside the hand of friendship or who rose up against him… not seeing him as liberator but as conqueror… was terrible to behold.
His focus in many of the battles was to acquit himself nobly by fighting as if there were no tomorrow. He learned that from me, I suppose. I followed where he led… and watched his back as I had in the previous campaigns. I feared for him… for all of us… should he fall in battle.
But it didn't happen. Darius fled the field time and again… taking his forces east… back into the heart of the Persian empire. Many of Alexander's generals wanted to pursue him then, but my young king had other plans. He needed to fully subdue all the city states we'd liberated… making certain that there were no pockets of resistance in his rear… pockets that could disrupt supply lines and communications. He wasn't conquering just to be conquering… he truly wanted to build a better world. That he learned from Aristotle.
His journeys along the rim of the world around the Mediterranean Sea led him at last to Egypt where he was proclaimed god and pharaoh as he entered at the head of his triumphant army. "See Philotheus," he laughed. "Now here are a people who know divinity when they see it."
In Egypt, he put into action his plans for the unification of the world under one language, one culture, and one government with himself as king. Not finding the Egyptian cities pleasing, with their narrow twisted lanes and haphazard building, he drew up plans for a new capital city… one worthy of this ancient land of pyramids and the "golden mean". His new city was to be called Alexandria… after him, of course; and it was to be only the first of many he would found throughout his empire. But it was the best of them… the only one that lasted… the one that to this day still hearkens back to his Hellenistic World Order. Alas… he never saw it completed. His journeys and his campaigns kept him forever moving onward.
Before he left Egypt, to pursue Darius and his forces in Persia, he worshipped the Egyptian gods, and feeling that he needed a sign from them to assure his throne, he traveled south to the Oracle at Siwa. Once more, his desire to learn if he were truly a god… the son of a god… was stronger in him than common sense. The journey into the desert was a harsh one for the forces he took with him. They could not carry enough water, and the heat blazed down upon them with unremitting force. Alexander likely lost more men to that journey than he had in battle… but it was done.
Arriving in Siwa, he proclaimed himself before the priests and dutifully gave offerings to the gods and followed the protocols of the temple. At this temple, the penitent at last wandered through a maze of rocky corridors to an inner chamber open to the sky… and there alone asked his question of the gods. On the way out… the oracle would give him the answer revealed by the gods. I don't know his question, but I can guess. He wanted to know if Zeus-Ammon… the Egyptian name for Zeus, was truly his father. The oracle proclaimed him so. Of course… all pharaohs were supposedly the children of Zeus-Ammon.
I likewise wanted to ask a question of the oracle. Once my king had finished with his… I traveled in through the maze and stood in the small grotto… staring up at the cloudless sky. A hawk keened as it flew overhead. Lifting my face to the heavens… I let the brilliance of the sun overhead blind me for a moment as I spoke aloud the question on my heart. "Is there a purpose to my life?" I remained for a moment, listening to the hawk and then turned and made my way out. As I approached the oracle I bowed and dropped humbly to one knee. There was no feel of another immortal about. This oracle was mortal.
"To teach and to serve. To be guardian of the future, and champion of the righteous," came his words. In hindsight… they were a bland pronouncement that could apply to anything. I fixated on the word champion at the time… the task my lady had once asked of me. I bowed humbly and left. Now I realize that archeologists, who have studied the site at Siwa, say that words spoken aloud in the grotto could be heard by the oracle, if he stood in the right spot. That way he always knew the question asked of the gods. Yet even now, I wonder if they knew even more. Did the gods give them extra knowledge? I have no answers.
Buoyed by their calling him the son of a god, Alexander's face shown brightly for some time… as if the gods themselves had lain a mantle on him that proclaimed him one of their own. Filled with exuberance and plans for the future… he returned to Alexandria, set governors in power as he'd done at all other major stops along the way from Macedon, and gathered his troops for the journey east.
His army, by that time, had been filled with the addition of mercenary troops who'd been left behind by the Persian withdrawal, and troops from each of the "liberated" lands. His Macedonians were in charge, however. He and his generals continued to plan battles and strategies. I continued to train groups of men to become unbeatable units. These I would order to be arranged about our king as he fought. So far, other than an immortal I had sensed in Darius' forces, but had not identified… I'd felt no others on our way. For that I was grateful, for Alexander wished to meet another. At the time… I didn't know why.
As we traveled east, into lands I'd helped pillage while part of Nestor's army earlier in my life, I could still see the ravages of chaos on the land. These lands suffered under attack after attack of opposing forces… and their few resources were used up or destroyed by the armies that battled over the sand. I've often wondered why the gods set it so that the people least able to survive these depredations, were the ones who seemed to be in the path of them. Why should this barren land be the focal point of so many campaigns?
Again, you can read all of the histories to learn which cities Alexander attacked, where the battles were fought, where he again and again founded new cities, and how he dealt with the local populace and the local gods. You don't need me for that. His chroniclers were always there… always writing things down… always portraying him as the salvation of the world. Further and further we traveled into Asia… and further and further from Greece. Wealth beyond imagination was ours… even the lowly foot soldier's portion of the booty was… after a time… more than could be imagined. No wonder the Persian court was supposedly so fantastic if this much wealth was everywhere. We liberated much from the remnants of Darius' stragglers. In time, we were the ones with the massive retinue of gold, slaves, silks, and camp followers. We were like a city on the move.
Most of the Macedonians began to long for home. They wanted to take their wealth and retire to estates as was their right. Yet still Darius retreated before us… and still Alexander followed. He'd captured the Persian royal family… Darius' mother, wife, and daughter… and treated them with respect. He wanted Darius to surrender and bow to him as the greater king. In the end… it never happened. Darius fled and was at last betrayed by one of his counselors. He died before Alexander ever caught up with him.
My king's anger knew no bounds after this. He determined to destroy Bessus, Darius' successor. Just as he had angrily destroyed cities that had betrayed him, or refused to accept him, now his anger was focused on Bessus. What he didn't know… what I wanted to keep from him… was that Bessus was an immortal like me. Likely the one whose presence I'd felt since those early battles in Asia Minor.
Once he finally captured Bessus… the Persian's men spoke of his arising from death… Alexander looked at me… as if to know the truth. I nodded with some worry. Although I knew Bessus would return from death… it was for me to face him… alone. I told my king so.
For whatever reason, my king 's anger at Bessus was so great that he wanted to be certain that the Persian would die. He devised a death so devious… that no immortal could have escaped. He found two sapling trees and ordered that they be tied down toward each other. He tied Bessus to both trees and then smirked with satisfaction as he ordered the restraining ropes cut. The trees snapped upward and back to their original positions. Bessus was ripped in half. It did the trick. Alexander and his forces saw the quickening that erupted and managed to find me. Thankfully it was a minor one. Bessus must have been only recently an immortal… perhaps in one of the battles we'd fought. He might not have even truly known what he was… I learned little, if anything from his power.
I am told that as the storm erupted, most eyes were on Alexander who stood in the midst of it, arms raised. "See!" he yelled to his men. "The gods themselves approve of my actions! The fire from heaven proclaims my divinity."
I was helped to my feet by one of the Companions, Ptolemy, who looked at me strangely, as he'd been one of the few to see the lightning strike me. I brushed at the smoldering scorch-mark on my armor and shrugged. "If one stands too close to a god," I gestured at our king, "one sometimes gets burned." I never thought he'd remember that day… the fire from heaven hitting me… but, as I learned centuries later… he did… and left the tale of it for his descendants. Later, in private, I dared to argue with my king about purposely arranging such displays. "We immortals are to meet one on one in battle! No one else should ever interfere! Our battles and our deaths are not for public view!"
"Who says?" he asked. I could see that all of this was going to his head. "He didn't deserve an honorable death and I was not about to let you take the glory. Did you see Philotheus? Did you see how the power surrounded me? I will be one of you! I will live forever and bring peace to the world! I will travel, if I must to the ends of the earth to accomplish this! I will be god on earth! This game… this gathering is nothing! It is foolishness itself to kill one another off! He was a criminal and I gave him a criminal's death!" By this time… his voice was so loud, I'm certain others heard it.
I should have left him then. I should have moved on and faded back into obscurity within the army of some other would-be conqueror… but I didn't. I remained true to my oath. I stayed with him throughout all the battles and campaigns that remained. I watched over him… still uncertain if he truly were one of us. If he were… he would need my help during the time he died his first death. I'd have to watch over him until he revived. I prayed often during that time that it would be a swift revival… that I would have the time and the cleverness to arrange it all. That he'd have to leave this life and disappear… never occurred to me… not then.
He continued to drink heavily, becoming more and more like Philip as the months and years passed. He married to secure the peaceful addition of another kingdom to his. He dealt with rumors of dissatisfaction in the Macedonian ranks with deadly force… often wiping out entire families as a warning to others. I saw him turn from the golden-haired savior of the world, to a half-mad despot as the wealth and power of Persia gradually corrupted him. Everything was just too easy for him. And his demons… those voices of his parents from his youth… compelled him to strive ever harder. He needed to be the best. He needed to be the strongest… the fastest… the most clever. He needed to achieve more than any man alive before or after him ever would. He drove his men as hard as he drove himself.
In the end, they turned on him. Oh… not by attacking him… but by simply refusing to go further. The change in him was remarkable. Something seemed to go out of him as he sulked like the legendary Achilles in his tent. He seemed depleted somehow. Perhaps it was the fever… likely malaria… that he kept suffering from. It seemed to rob him of his strength. Day after day he seemed to sweat away his power and life force. And yet, he rallied from it again and again… and kept on. He had a wound that festered in the heat. Combined with the fevers… he became pallid, his brow drenched in sweat. He lay listlessly about… raging in a delirium for days. The days stretched into weeks. Again he rallied. We moved on. Again he fell ill.
His chroniclers record that at the last audience he willed his kingdom to whoever was the best… the fastest… the most clever… the strongest. Those about him could not wait for him to die. Many gathered their forces and immediately left to take control of some part of the empire. Others had the decency to wait. He'd rallied before… they had faith he would do so again. And they feared what he would do to those who had left.
But this time, he did not rally. I heard in those words he spoke, the truth of what he hoped… that he would arise immortal… and be one of the chosen ones… the quickened ones who would reign forever. His fevered gaze fell on me.
I was with him when he finally died… as were others. I swept them all out of the tent and stood guard. I heard them scream through the tent that they had to tend to the body. They had to embalm it in the Egyptian manner before the heat of that cursed land made it impossible.
Still… I believed and I waited… keeping watch throughout the night and into the next day. I felt nothing in him. I now know that one who dies of fever or illness, even if the immortal potential is a part of him… does not revive. I didn't know it then. And… as I said… I never felt the potential about him. But at the time… I was determined to give him that chance.
Finally I admitted defeat and let the priests who would handle the embalming in. I retreated to the edge of the camp and stared out at the world spread before me. I was free again. I had fulfilled my oath to remain as long as he ruled. I had not deserted him even in death. I could go where I wished and do what I wished. I, like many of the others, had a great deal of wealth. I could buy myself some kingdom and settle down for a time. Instead, I exchanged most of my wealth for fine jewels, which were easier to transport and hide. I accompanied the body of my king back to Alexandria in Egypt to pay my final respects at his tomb before setting my face to the south… and wandering for a time into lands I'd never known.
In later years, I heard that his wife Roxanne gave birth to a son, but as to whether it was truly his, I have no knowledge. Both came under the protection of Olympias for a time. But both died early deaths. His kingdom was divided among his generals. They were welcome to it. I had no wish to rule anyone.
Aspasia had told me that each life we live should make a difference. Somehow we should take what we'd learned and make the world… or at least the life of someone better for our being there. I wasn't certain I accomplished that with him. The world he conquered was better off, for the most part while he lived and for some time after his death. As he'd hoped, his name and his deeds lived on after his death. He achieved a more mortal… immortality than we who must live in the shadows.
While I would fight in wars for many more lifetimes… while I would take mortal lovers and care for them… he owned my heart. I sometimes wonder though, if he'd been better off never to have known me… or what I was. His parents formed him. He was the child of their hopes and dreams… and the inheritor of their failures and weaknesses. Yet somehow, he is remembered. He believed in his divine destiny and he reached for it with both hands. That it eluded him… or at least an immortal life did if not immortality… does not diminish his achievements. He was never satisfied with things as they were… he strove always for something more… something better… something beyond the next mountain. The world will probably never see his like again.
I am proud to have known him.