THE IVORY EROS - CHAPTER 6

SUMMARY: It looks as though Alexander is due to lose Hephaestion all over again and he's tormented by loneliness (not to mention a bit of jealousy) but he's about to find that the decision is no longer his. If losing Hephaestion isn't the true price, then what is? Perhaps one of his favourite authors has the answer…

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you all over again for your wonderful reviews! Thank you to Parisad, Koalared, CoralDawn and Joyeeeee (I absolutely love long reviews, I also find them deeply flattering!) It means so much that you're all enjoying this! And to Baliansword - I don't much like Bagoas either; I hated "The Persian Boy" (sorry to all Renault fans but I had my reasons, Bagoas V. Hephaestion was only one) and the real person seemed to be a very shifty character, but he came across more sympathetically than I planned in this! Rest assured, he never triumphs over Hephaestion ( or gets much action from Alexander) in any of my stories! Basically, the poor lad is just a plot device!

P.S. glad Hylas isn't annoying anyone, you have to be careful with "new" characters!

"What's wrong?"

Perdiccas looked up briefly, then let his gaze fall back to the fountain as he trailed his hand through the sparkling water. "Nothing."

Ptolemy stepped closer, gazing down at him with a mixture of perplexity and amusement. "For a man who's just inherited command of the Companion Cavalry and to all intents just about every other honour once given to Hephaestion, you don't seem very happy."

"I'm not in the mood for sarcasm, Ptolemy," Perdiccas grunted, "so either go away or stop it."

"I'm not laughing at you, Perdiccas," Ptolemy replied, "I'll leave that to some of the others who didn't profit as well as we did from the restructuring. "And if it's any help, I feel just as embarrassed as you do. If Hephaestion had died, perhaps it would have been easier for all of us. Except perhaps Alexander himself, though even that's debateable. The dead can't look at you, can't smile at you… can't insist they're quite content as you strip them of all the honours they fought for. Instead, we could praise Hephaestion's memory, remember his courage and his loyalty… and not feel ashamed to admit sometimes he could be a possessive and argumentative bastard who stood directly in the light Alexander cast and forced the rest of us to stand skulking in his shadow. His, not Alexander's, which made it so much worse! None of us got as close to Alexander as we wanted to, not after Hephaestion staked his claim."

"And you really think that will change now?" Perdiccas demanded, shaking his head dolefully, "since he… got sick, died, Zeus! Whatever happened! Alexander's more attached to him than ever! Moving him into his room! Oh, I know it was hardly a secret when they'd sleep together on campaign, once we realised they were still at it long after Alexander became King it seemed almost natural, but now…? Even that little Bagoas is trailing around with his tail between his legs like a stray puppy – if Alexander hadn't assigned him to Peucestas' staff he would have pined away! The gods alone know what his wives think!"

"Well he's not sharing Alexander's room anymore; surely that's a good sign? And he'll be gone soon. Within a month, from what he's been saying. I'll miss him," Ptolemy said thoughtfully, "I'll miss him in a totally new way. I don't think any of us know quite what to make of him now, but I won't be pleased to see him go. Still, once the Arabian campaign is underway – "

"If it ever starts…" Perdiccas looked up at last, shaking the water from his fingers and eyeing Ptolemy shrewdly. "You really haven't noticed yet? Surely I can't be the only one."

Ptolemy squinted uncomfortably. "Noticed what?"

"Alexander! Come on, I know you've seen it too. Didn't you watch him in the meeting today?"

"He seemed quite calm."

"Exactly! He sat still all the way through it, he never once moved, he didn't fidget, he didn't interrupt, he didn't start any rows – he didn't even end it with one of his rallying speeches! He was listening, certainly, but he was… bored."

"Perdiccas – "

"He was bored. He doesn't care about this campaign, but that's not all this is about. It's Alexander himself. That flickering quality he had about him, that restless energy, the way he could never keep still, never even look at one thing for more than a few seconds… its gone. The fire's gone out. I saw the pair of them the other day, you know… holding hands and pottering around the gardens like… like my grandparents used to do back in Macedon! I could understand it in Hephaestion, he's still convalescing, but Alexander? It's as if whatever happened to Hephaestion happened to Alexander too. I just don't think he realises it yet."

"What are you saying, Perdiccas?" Ptolemy scowled sceptically. "That he's… found some sort of inner peace? That his demons don't plague him anymore? He had them; we all know he had them, long before Philip's assassination."

"Demons… inner peace…" Perdiccas shook his head. "You're beginning to sound like that Indian philosopher fellow Calanus! What would he say if he were here? That Alexander had moved onto a level where he no longer needed his fire?"

"Everything will be all right once Hephaestion goes and the campaign begins," Ptolemy firmly declared. Perdiccas' oddness was beginning to make his head ache. First Hephaestion, then Alexander, now Perdiccas. Perhaps it was in the water…

He was being cruel and he knew it but he couldn't help himself. He could not look at Hephaestion without wanting to scream and stamp his foot and wave his fists like a child in a tantrum, denied what he wanted. He couldn't look at him and smile and wish him well. He wanted him. He had to keep him. Hephaestion had not even left yet and already Alexander's felt as though his heart was being torn out. When he thought of Hephaestion's absence his body throbbed and ached as if it was being ripped in half. That sense of dismemberment persisted day after day, surfacing vividly in his dreams. It was as if Hephaestion was physically tearing himself from Alexander's flesh. Ridiculous, yet time and again, between waking and sleeping, he could feel the lips of the ivory Eros upon his own, could feel the energy being drawn from himself… could feel, quite tangibly, that strange rush of warmth as the gilt-haired creature breathed life back into his beloved. Had he really used some of Alexander's living energy to draw Hephaestion's shade back into his body? Fanciful nonsense, Aristotle would probably have said, yet Alexander believed fervently in the gods, was this any harder to believe? And if it was so, what was happening now? Were he and Hephaestion somehow linked in a way they never could have been before? And if that was so, what would happen once Hephaestion went home?

It was too much; he had no answers, logical or theological. He tried to concentrate on state matters; he tried to think of the new campaign, but could find neither meaning nor blind comfort in any of it.

As he let Bagoas undress him that night, Alexander cast a resentful glare at the ivory Eros who gazed dreamily back. Hephaestion had left it behind, insisting Alexander should keep it. To Hades with it. He would give it to Hephaestion the day he left; he never wanted to see it again!

He had not gone to Roxana the night he had left Hephaestion; nor had he gone to Bagoas or any willing youth or palace courtesan - instead he went to Stateira, the only lover he had ever taken purely as a matter of policy. Initially it was perhaps because he knew so little of her and she, more to the point, knew very little of him. He had never lost his head over her, even temporarily, never made stupid declarations of devotion in the heat of passion. But after that first night it became more than that. For such a young woman she seemed wise beyond her years.

On a few nights they made love; in this Stateira conducted herself as she did in all things, with the quiet, gracious dignity of a princess. Alexander was deeply grateful for it; he did not think he could have borne anything more demanding without thinking of Hephaestion and losing the will to perform. Most of the time, however, they lay together and talked, the shadows of the night allowing them a rare chance for both intimacy and honesty.

"My father was a great man," she had whispered, her dark eyes glittering in the dusky light, "clever, charming, dedicated and loving to his family. But he was not a man of blood and war, like his namesake the Great Darius or Xerxes… perhaps, after all, he should have stayed as he was, Satrap of the Uratians and not have been tempted to higher things by the schemes of others… so my mother believed, and so I believe too."

"Do you hate us?" It was a question Alexander knew he would never have thought of asking before Hephaestion's death. "Do you hate… me?"

Stateira smiled enigmatically and stroked his hair. "I accept the will of the Great God Ahura-Mazda, my husband, just as you accept the will of your gods."

"And Drypetis?" The question escaped him before he could stop it.

"Drypetis loves," came the soft reply, "she was a child when we joined our father on campaign against the invaders; she has known little certainty in her life. So she has put her faith in love." There was no reproach in her voice, though somewhere inside both sisters must surely think it Alexander's fault that Hephaestion was about to leave. He could make arrangements for Drypetis to go with him, or at least ask her what she wanted - but he didn't even know what Hephaestion wanted, because he hadn't been near him.

Still, Stateira's love had been a desperately needed comfort when, as each day passed without Hephaestion, it became harder and harder to sleep alone. But then Alexander had seen Hephaestion walking in the private palace gardens with Drypetis, Stateira sitting discreetly nearby. As Alexander watched, unseen, Hephaestion had lifted his wife's veil flirtatiously and kissed her. Then the two had embraced long and deeply, like lovers. And jealousy had choked Alexander, hardening to resentment against both Hephaestion's wife and his own. From that night Alexander had slept alone, no matter how miserable it made him.

"How can I help you, Alexander?" Bagoas asked gently, breaking into Alexander's thoughts and gazing hopefully into his eyes, "I long to ease your unhappiness… let me please you…"

He shouldn't have taken the boy back into his personal service; he had flourished under Peucestas' friendly instruction and excelled in his new duties. Eumenes was not impressed, convinced Alexander intended to replace him with Bagoas as his secretary, but Alexander had not much time for his opinions these days. Yet when Bagoas had come to him, asking to serve him again, he didn't have the heart to refuse. Or was it his heart which had made the decision? Had he really only wanted to trigger some jealousy from Hephaestion? Did he want his lover to think he had already been replaced? He hadn't – at least not yet. But maybe it was time he was.

Slowly Alexander took Bagoas into his arms, kissed his brow, then his cheek. For some reason he could not go so far as to kiss his mouth. The eunuch was pliant in his arms but Alexander felt him tremble. "Sweet Bagoas…" he whispered, "how I've neglected you…"

"I am yours, Alexander… only yours…"

Alexander sighed under his sensual touches, let him rub his shoulders, caress his back and arms, run his fingers through his hair the way he knew Alexander liked. Why was it not the same? In the last few months his appetite for sex had risen dramatically – but only for sex with Hephaestion. Before he had set such little importance upon sex yet he had enjoyed it with Bagoas, Roxana and several others along with Hephaestion. Sometimes on campaign he had returned to his tent, dirty and exhausted, yet Bagoas had managed to soothe him and to awaken his lust. Was this Hephaestion's parting shot – not only to leave him but to leave him impotent to anyone but him?

The price will be high… Did he still not understand? Had he still not paid it?

"I'm sorry, Bagoas…" Alexander drew away, stroking the boy's cheek as he reached for his robe and pulled it on before getting into bed.

Bagoas lowered his large black eyes, pain creasing his delicate brow. "What is it you wish, Alexander? Please tell me so I can grant it!"

I want Hephaestion! The spoilt brat inside him screamed. "There's nothing I want, Bagoas."

"Should I leave you?"

"I – " Alexander hesitated, his eyes alighting on the scroll lying by the bed. Had Hephaestion left it there? He did not remember seeing it there before. "No," he said suddenly, "no… you can read to me. How are your Greek letters?"

"Much improved, Alexander!" The boy brightened just a little.

"Read to me from the Odyssey…"

Bagoas read tirelessly into the night. And Alexander listened, though he didn't want to. Something about the story had always unsettled him, Odysseus' voyage to the Underworld most of all. There he had spoken to Achilles… and found him regretting his short and glorious life. Being King of the Elysium Fields seemed worthless compared to being nobody and nothing in the living world. Only his son's glorious exploits had cheered him up. It was not something Alexander much wanted to hear, while ambitious dreams pursued him waking and sleeping. He had never doubted Achilles' choice, even when it cost him his beloved Patroklos.

As Bagoas read these passages, Alexander's head began to ache harder and harder. At last, unable to stand it, he clutched at his temples. "Enough!"

"Alexander?" The eunuch glanced worriedly at him.

"Forgive me Bagoas, I'll be fine, but I need to rest. No – leave the lamp on, go ahead to bed. Bagoas – "

Bagoas turned, came forward as Alexander beckoned. Gently the King kissed him. "Thank you."

Frowning slightly, Bagoas left.

Alone, Alexander continued to rub at his head. Achilles had chosen a short and glorious life over a long and unremarkable one. More than once he had threatened to leave the Trojan War behind, to gather up Patroklos and his Myrmidons and go home to Pthia; he could have done it, spent a long, uneventful life in the company of Patroklos, his own father Peleus, his immortal mother and maybe Briseis too, eventually becoming King of Pthia. It was not as if he would have returned home to loneliness and poverty. Only a year ago Alexander could have seen no attractions in such a choice. But then he had not yet had a taste of the agony Achilles suffered when Patroklos was slain.

Achilles had known if he stayed at Troy he was going to die young. He had known – at least he had suspected – that Patroklos would too, hadn't his mother Thetis warned him that while he still lived the best of the Myrmidons would fall? Had he kidded himself it might not be Patroklos? Yet he had sent his gentle friend into battle alone!

The arrogant bastard!

But he had paid for it; he admitted to Odysseus that he had paid for it. He had made the wrong choice, despite the comfort Odysseus gave. A glorious son seemed cold comfort to Alexander – he had never shared his mother's dynastic ambitions; what mattered was here and now. Odysseus knew better. He had never wanted to go to the war and when it was over all he had wanted was to sail home to the person he loved most. He had lost almost everything but his life on the journey home, even when he had reached home he had to face his wife's suitors and the havoc they wreaked over his kingdom. But he reached home. And was happy. Home…

Compared to him, Alexander thought through the throbbing in his skull, what do I have to complain of?

Home…?

No, no, it's too insane! It goes against everything I've ever wanted! I can't, I can't even think about it!

Yet there it was, it would not leave him alone.

He sprang out of bed, not sure if he was leaving the room just to escape the serenely knowing gaze of the ivory Eros.

"Alexander...?" Hephaestion's astonishment turned very quickly to delight. "Alexander!"

"Don't say anything," Alexander gasped as he threw off his robe and pulled Hephaestion from his chair by the bed, undressing him and pushing him down. "Just let me make love to you. Don't stop me, no matter what happens. Not even if I hurt you!"

"You can hurt me…" Hephaestion gave a giddy laugh as Alexander clambered onto him, "you can do whatever you like…"

It was a long time before either of them could find the energy to speak.

Finally it was Hephaestion who managed it, raising himself onto one elbow to look down at Alexander, who was lying on his back, eyes open, staring into space. "Did you win?"

Alexander blinked. "What?"

"You looked as if you were fighting a battle. Did you win?"

"I don't know, yet." Suddenly Alexander sat up, kissed Hephaestion with something of his old fiery energy. "You should leave soon, before the weather changes. Give me just a few more weeks to make the arrangements, there are some new complications I need to settle."

Hephaestion frowned, then looked away. "Of course."

"Get some rest, I have things I need to do, I won't sleep tonight." Kissing him again, Alexander leapt up, threw on his robe and left.

TBC