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IIIII
There are many days when I should like to take hold of and rip out every last strand of fine dark hair from his pretty head.
Those are the days that Alexander and I have quarreled. And he knows it. And he revels in it. And I hate him for it.
But then there are the other days. When both of us are neutral and both of us are content and secure in our standing with Alexander.
Those are the days when I should like nothing more than to hold him. And he knows it. And he uses it against me. And I hate him for it.
But I cannot hold it against him. No matter how much I would like to.
We are not so different, Bagoas and I. In fact, we are very much the same. The thing is: our differences are so vastly different that we cannot be compared on very many levels at all.
Today is one of the days when I would like to strangle him with the pretty silk sash he is wearing. All day he has been following Alexander about. Chasing after him and practically openly begging for attention. I thought a eunuch's place was to wait at the foot of their master, come when they are called or otherwise disappear. Apparently it is not so.
Alexander ignored me through the day and worst of all, saw it fit to throw a party tonight. I hate Alexander's parties worst of all. I hate seeing Alexander drunk. He is so very much like Philip when he is drunk. If he knew what he was like under alcohol's influence, I doubt very much that he would drunk so much as he does.
But more than seeing Alexander drunk and more than seeing the soldiers stuffing themselves on the food, wine and sex these gatherings offer, I utterly loathe seeing Bagoas dance.
Watching Alexander watching him. Watching the soldiers watching him. Watching him watching me and loving the knowledge of my powerlessness to stop them all.
And yet I would not deny him it. It is his only moment to truly do something of use outside of Alexander's bed.
Outside of mine.
IIIII
The large crowd laughed and swayed as the music began. Cups of wine clanked together, mouths caught one another in drunken kisses, the arms of Alexander's men were linked about one another as they carried on happily.
From the back of the crowd, a lanky figure emerged. If not for his bare chest that did not have the breasts of a woman, he could have very easily been a woman. His dark eyes were alight as though he alone held the secrets of the entire world and only by looking into those eyes would one be able to find out what they were.
His body moved fluidly to the music, possessing an almost lyrical quality. He danced mostly near his King. And Alexander watched him hungrily.
This was the Bagoas that aspired to be at times. It was when he was in this perfect state of harmony, when he was dancing, that I knew what it was about him that captivated my Alexander so.
But moreover it captivated me.
I had earlier discussed with Alexander the delicate subject of his marriage to Roxane. I compared her, in passing, to Olympias and Alexander grew sore with me.
I now knew the reason for this night's festivities. It was a form of revenge.
I watched Bagoas dance closer and closer until the song ended. He was on the ground before Alexander. Every man present was thrown harshly back into reality and the reality was that even if they did not prefer the sexual company of men, they could not help being drawn in by his dance.
If the siren had a male counterpart, I imagine that it would be the eunuch; a eunuch that could lure a man to his very death, not by song, but with dance.
I found myself lost in my thoughts again and when I looked up, it was directly at Alexander who held my gaze.
Everyone in the circle was chanting for Alexander to kiss Bagoas.
He would not. He could not possibly.
With a glance to Bagoas as he pulled him into his arms, Alexander looked back up at me and proceeded to kiss the eunuch full on the mouth.
I turned away and to my goblet of wine. Still full.
Within a few moments, it was empty. Thrice.
I got the distinct impression that my bed would be cold tonight.