Title: "The Persian Campaign"

Author: Baliansword

Chapter: 8, "Stockades"

A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews I am getting. If I haven't directly written you back I'm sorry! To all, if there is anything you need feel free to ask and I'll reply. Hope that everyone is enjoying, and here is the next chapter!

0

0

0

It felt as if his head had been smashed against the same tock over, and over, and over again. He felt the pain riveting through his entire body. He tried to ignore it, but found himself wishing that Cassander would be there, to put more of that foreign yellow powder in wine for him. As he lay there, letting the feeling come back to parts of his body, he felt that his wrists were tied. Tied, and his arms were pulled up in the air. He tried to pull his arms down but couldn't, and moaned, trying in vain to do so again. For a moment he thought he heard someone tell him to stop. Then he couldn't hear anything.

He tried to open his eyes, and did so, but couldn't keep his lids from falling back shut. Everything was a blur, from what he'd seen. All he could think of was being hit, over, and over, and over. It felt like he had been, but knew vaguely what had happened earlier. It came back to him in shattered images, vague sound bites, but he knew. Yet now he couldn't tell if the back of his head hurt more than the front. Trying to cling to consciousness he once again forced his eyes open.

He couldn't focus on anything. Thinking, he knew that his pupils had to be dilated and clouded over. There it was, that soft voice again. Blurry vision, head spinning, he looked up at his arms. They were tied at the wrist by a thick cord, and the cord was tied to a post high above the bed. Again he vainly tried to pull, but nothing happened. It just shot pain through his entire arm and made his head scream. Once more his eyes fell shut, and once again he heard that voice, just above a whisper it seemed.

Forcing his eyes open he turned his head to the left. Weakly his eyes met with dark brown orbs. He blinked once, his eyes watering in pain, and then turned his head away. The other spoke, but he didn't hear him. For that he was glad. The world above him was spinning and he could only look at his arms. He tried to pull once more, crying out in pain as he did so, but this time a hand reached over and pushed his shoulder back down.

"Stop," he heard him order. Hephaestion wanted to spit at him but couldn't find the saliva to. He turned his head toward him no matter how much it hurt. He kept his eyes open no matter how badly they wanted to close. He glared, telling the other that he had no right to tell him what to do. He had no right to give an order to anyone. Bagoas didn't look at him though. He was busy mixing different herbs and juices in a pot. The Persian didn't even see the glare that Hephaestion was working so hard on. After a few moments he glanced up as Hephaestion tried to pull once more at his arms. He succeeded only in digging the thick cord deeper into his wrists, rubbing his skin raw, and if he continued it would soon tear and begin to bleed. Bagoas reached over and pushed his back to the bed again.

"Don't touch me," Hephaestion ordered. If he'd been stronger he would have lunged at him, arms tied or not. But he couldn't even stop the spinning in his head. He turned his head in the other direction. It felt as if his head was about to split in two, but he did it anyway, searching for Cassander. No, he wasn't there, and Hephaestion realized he was in his room. He wasn't in the stockades or in the medics quarters.

"You must keep the arm raised," Bagoas told him as he continued to mix ingredients together. Alexander had refused to give Hephaestion anything for the pain. He wanted him to suffer for a bit. He'd also refused to have a surgeon stitch the bleeding wound at his arm. Bagoas had been there, in a dark corner, when Alexander had screamed his orders to Cleitus, Nearchus, Ptolemy, and all of the other Macedonians that listened. It was very clear that Hephaestion was to suffer until he said otherwise. Alexander had left in a blind rage. After a few moments the only one that had stayed was Ptolemy.

The man had taken a seat next to Hephaestion and taken his hand in his own. Bagoas had listened as he'd silently apologized for not warning him sooner. Hephaestion couldn't hear him, and Bagoas knew the Macedonian knew, but he knew also that Ptolemy would say it again when he woke. Ptolemy had also promised to see the other one, Cassander, and had then left the room. Only then did Bagoas leave his corner of shadows and come forward. Alexander had made a mistake in leaving the wound to Hephaestion's arm open. Blood still trickled from the edges and began to soak into the sheets. The blood was slowing not because the wound was healing but because Hephaestion was running out of blood.

Bagoas had tied his wrists together, and brought over a pole, and tied the rope tightly to it. Elevating his arms would keep most of the blood in his body from pumping upwards. Therefore the wound would not bleed so. When Alexander returned, which he would eventually to allow the wound to be stitched, at least Hephaestion wouldn't be dead. Yet Bagoas didn't stop there. It was hard to know that this general would wake and no sedative of any kind would be given to him. He'd thought about offering him wine, but Alexander would know if he returned that Hephaestion had drunk it. But Bagoas had also watched Hephaestion at the dinners he had attended. This one wasn't like the other pigs, he cared not for the drink, and more for the company. Most of all, Alexander's which he'd taken from him, so in a way he was in debt to the beautiful one.

He had begun at once, working on the mixture he still held on his lap. It was hard to find all of the herbs in one area so it had taken too long for him to start. He'd hoped to get it done by the time Hephaestion awoke but knew that this would have to do. Again, as he ground another leaf at the bottom of the pot, the Macedonian tried to sit up. He pulled again at his wrist and this time felt the cord dig into his flesh. He screamed not in pain, but anger, and continued to tear at his hands.

"Stop," Bagoas ordered, pushing him back. For a man that could not see straight he was foolish to try and fight with him. But Bagoas smiled quickly. He liked the fact that this one was so headstrong. It reminded him of what he wished he could be. Hephaestion pulled again and Bagoas didn't try to stop him, for at least he was lying down. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Where is Cassander?" Hephaestion couldn't think of anything else to say to the Persian. He just wanted to know where Cassander was. What had Alexander done to him? Bagoas watched for a moment as Hephaestion wreathed in agony. Most men would have been screaming in pain, but this one was a true fighter, or a headstrong idiot. It depended on how you looked at the situation.

"The stockades," Bagoas answered quietly as he put the mixing grinder down. He then poured the mixture into a cup and came closer to Hephaestion. He tried to put it to the general's lips but he turned his head, despite the pain. Bagoas moved his arm closer but Hephaestion turned his head the other way. All the while he pulled at his wrists and tried to get away. Bagoas finally put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from wriggling in another direction. "It will lessen the pain. I swear it."

"No," Hephaestion said as he recalled the last pain deterrent he had taken. He tried to move again but Bagoas grabbed his throat. With the other hand he forced his mouth open and poured the thick liquid down his throat. Hephaestion tried to fight him, tried to pull free, but couldn't. It wasn't only his weak body, but he couldn't move his arms. Bagoas let him go as soon as he swallowed, for if he didn't he was going to choke to death. That wouldn't do anyone any good. Had he not cared about Cassander he would have let Bagoas kill him though, it would be far better than staying and having to look at him, waiting for Alexander to come and do it.

"See what you have done," Bagoas said as he tried to loosen the cord around Hephaestion's wrists. He pulled the cord down, getting it to where it had been. He then glanced at Hephaestion. His eyes were rolling back in his head, but he was still trying to fight, still not giving up. A fighter, not an idiot, he decided. "More sleep would be good for you."

"Go away!"

"I can't," Bagoas admitted. "If I leave, and Alexander comes back, he'll want to know why you are tied. I must watch you, should something happen, I must be here."

"Go back to Alexander," Hephaestion said weakly as he fought to keep his eyes open. "Tell him that I don't need his whore to take care of me."

"I'm not under his orders. I do this myself. If Alexander knew, he'd have me beaten, like your new lover. He's there now. The last thing I heard as I was collecting herbs was that he was trying to make him scream. That other one, Cassander, he won't scream. I wish he would scream," Bagoas then said quietly.

"Untie me."

"Your arm will only bleed worse. Besides, if I let you go you'll not do any good. You'll only risk your life to try to save another. It's good of you," Bagoas said in a whisper. "But it's foolish of you."

"Let me go," Hephaestion said as he pulled at his hands again. Bagoas looked away from him. He didn't want to see him in pain, even though he knew that the general would love to see him in pain. Bagoas merely shook his head and then stood. He crossed the room and sat facing the balcony so he could look out at the world. As he did, he tried not to let Hephaestion's screams disturb him. Soon, he would be asleep again. Then he could release him without fearing for his life at the same time.

0

0

0

He tried to remember the things that hurt. His head, the entire thing, felt like it had been smashed by a Titan's fist. He could feel the copper taste of blood in his mouth, and could not decide if it was from his tongue, or from his lips. The top lip was cut at the left. The bottom was split at the right. His right eye was swelling shut, his jaw was likely broken somewhere, but he couldn't feel it. He knew that two of his fingers were broken even though he'd lost the feeling in his arms long ago. His back had been lashed and he knew that some of the lashes of the whip had sliced through the skin, others had left welts. What else hurt?

His chest, where it had been slowly cut, that hurt. It had hurt more when Alexander had dug his fingers into the cuts and tried to tear the flesh back, but it still hurt now. His right ankle was broken, or at least he thought that it was. He knew that his left thigh had at least thirty small cuts, each one from the tip of a dagger being dug into the flesh. It hurt terribly, but luckily, he was loosing consciousness again. There was a pause in his thoughts, no he wasn't, he was awakening from being unconscious. That's why it was all beginning to hurt again.

Just when he thought that perhaps Alexander was not there he heard a noise. Then, a liquid was thrown onto his chest, a rich Persian alcohol. Cassander bit his tongue rather than scream because he knew that that was what Alexander wanted him to do. But he wasn't going to scream, wasn't going to let him win. As he bit his tongue he felt the burning sensation of the alcohol in the cuts. It burned and he wanted so badly to pass out again.

"Well," Alexander asked as he punched the side of Cassander's face again. He hit him three more times, each blow stronger than the other. Cassander almost fell, would have fallen, if his arms wouldn't have been chained up. Alexander laughed and quickly hit him again. Cassander's legs gave out and he then hung only by his arms. Alexander picked up the dagger Cassander had been in possession of earlier and slid the blade over a muscle in his arm. "How does it feel Cassander? Does it feel good when people tear from you all that you have?"

"Oh," Cassander said with a pained laugh. "Are we still talking about Hephaestion?"

Alexander punched Cassander again. He grabbed him by the face then, the bloody face that he had left at least, and jerked his head forward. Cassander stared back at him, one eye fine, theand the other slowly swelling shut. He dug his fingers into his pained flesh and thought again of just killing him and getting it over with. This was much more interesting though.

"You took him from me," Alexander screamed. "You took the one thing that I cared about! You could have killed me, taken the throne, and I would have still loved you in death. But not now Cassander! You crossed a line you were never meant to even look at!"

"What hurt more," Cassander asked. He'd decided long ago that if Alexander was going to kill him, he might as well taunt him before he did so. Alexander could hurt him with weapons and his fists, but Cassander knew how to hurt him. All he had to do was use the right words. "Was it that Hephaestion left you, or that you found out I was a better lover?"

Alexander hit him again. Cassander let the blood pour from his mouth. He spit what he could out before laughing. It wasn't a time to be laughing. But the pain was so great Cassander knew he was on the verge of hysteria. He kept going with Alexander though. A few more hits and he would return to blackness. Blackness, where nothing hurt, and he could at least be left in peace to think of Hephaestion. Where was he? Cassander knew Alexander would not beat him, wouldn't kill him, but he'd still like to know. He'd like to see his cerulean eyes again before…

"Shut up," Alexander screamed as he punched him in the chest, directly over a cut this time. The force and rush of pain pulled Cassander from his thoughts. Again he felt the pain in all of his body. It was so lesser a pain when he thought of Hephaestion.

"Is that why he left, I wonder," Cassander only continued, blood still oozing over his lower lip. Maybe he shouldn't have bit his tongue so hard. That was probably where most of the blood was coming from. "Was it because you hit him, or because you couldn't satisfy him?"

Again, another hit. Cassander's back hit the stone wall. He tried to stand, tried to bring his legs up, but the strength was still not there. It hurt, everything, and he knew that he was about to die if it didn't stop. He needed another break. He needed to go back to the blackness for awhile. Why wasn't he going back to that place? He suddenly felt his body growing tired again, the numbness, it would be soon now.

"Don't even begin to talk about him," Alexander ordered. He had turned, gone back to the table, picked up the dagger. Cassander knew that there was only one thing that Alexander could do with that blade to really piss him off. Luckily Alexander had not thought of that though. Cassander laughed in his head. Give him time, maybe he would.

"Maybe its you," Cassander continued. "Is that why there is no heir? Is something not working?"

Another slice to the inner thigh with the blade. He wanted to die. He knew what the scars would look like. He would actually welcome death at this moment. Cassander wondered where the reaper was when you needed him. Off taking mothers, young babes, warriors in far off lands, but not him. Had he ever asked the gods for much? Couldn't one of them just come for him yet?

"Alexander," a voice screamed. Even with his eyes closed Cassander knew who it was. A slight smile played at his lips as he heard the new man rush forward and grab Alexander.

"Cleitus," Cassander whispered as he hung from the wall. "How nice of you to stop by."

"Alexander," Cleitus said as he shook the king. "What are you thinking? You fool! You cannot do this Alexander. This is wrong. The gods will curse you."

"They already have," Cassander said with a laugh before more blood spilled from his mouth. He tilted his head back and tried to swallow it instead. He wondered where blood went when you swallowed it. Was it like wine, would it pass through, would it reenter his body somehow? He'd have to ask a wise healer about that if he lived to get the chance.

"Stop," Cleitus warned Cassander. "You're already in enough trouble without that tongue of yours."

"Who said I didn't use my tongue?"

Alexander rushed past Cleitus and drove the dagger into Cassander's shoulder. Cassander bit his lower lip, but still didn't scream. He felt the blade being removed. So, this would be the last blow. Cassander opened his eyes and turned his head to see the wound. No, not fatal, just painful. Again the world spun and blood poured from his mouth. Still, no reaper, no blackness to fall into.

"Alexander," Cleitus said as he grabbed him, "you are burning with fever. Stop this, you don't know what you're doing!"

"Yes I do!"

"No he doesn't," Cassander shot back. He continued, speech beginning to slip into insanity, mind wandering, not caring if anyone else listened. "I already told you Cleitus, he is a broken man. He doesn't…I need to see…Hephaestion…blue eyes…before…"

0

0

0

Even in his sleep he felt his arms fall onto his chest. He then felt something being tied around his arm. Was it a tourniquet? Slowly he tried to open his eyes and turn his head. He looked at Bagoas, who glanced up at him as he untied his wrists. For the first time it had occurred to him to wonder why he was helping him. They hated each other. Why would Bagoas go through all this trouble and risk a beating to save him?

"Alexander sleeps," Bagoas informed him. Hephaestion glanced around the room. Yes, candles, night. The Persian continued to untie him, unbinding his wrists, and continued to speak. "Cassander is badly hurt. You need to go to him, get yourselves out of here. The other friend of yours, Ptolemy I think, says his offer is still good. I think you should take it."

"Why are you helping me?"

"What do I have to loose?"

"What do you have to gain?"

"Alexander I suppose," Bagoas said with a shrug. "If you leave, you leave Alexander behind. That means that I will have him to myself. But if you leave you also take Cassander with you. He may or may not love you. But you'll be free of Alexander. I hear them speak, while I listen, and they say he's slowly killing you from the inside out. Is it true?"

"A little."

"Then I advise you to go. If you ever want to come back, you will find him. He'll let you back. But right now you must worry about Cassander. Alexander is angry with him, and the others talk. They speak of what Alexander will do to him. Few have golden daggers on how long it will take Cassander's body to burn."

Hephaestion was standing, and it was as if he'd never done it before. After a moment, and a steady arm supplied by Bagoas, he wasn't spinning anymore. He was exhausted. He was dehydrated. His body ached and it was hard to stay awake and stop his eyes from closing it seemed. But it was better. He knew now that he had to get to Cassander. As he began to leave the room Bagoas held him back, stepping out first, and then motioned for him to follow.

"Come," Bagoas said as he led him to a door. He pushed the door open, motioning for Hephaestion to wait. He entered the room, then came back and grabbed Hephaestion's wrist. He pulled him into the room and shut the door quietly. "He is over here."

Hephaestion entered the room and as soon as he did let out a horrified gasp. He had to turn back around, grabbing his hair, and kneeling to the ground. For a moment he just breathed heavily, wheezing almost, coughing. He then, crying, stood and turned back around. The sight of Cassander would have been enough to make anyone cry. Hephaestion went to his side, sinking down on the bed beside him, and tried to look him over without feeling sick. Each would that covered his body was not only stitched, but also black and blue all around the area. Hephaestion lightly touched his brow above the puffy flesh that was forcing his eye shut. The other has a cut running just by the corner, millimeters away from taking the eye.

"Cass," Hephaestion said in a tearful whisper as he took his hand. He was careful not to move the broken fingers, which had been set in small splints. Hephaestion wrapped his fingers around Cassander's, felt the cold in his hand, and squeezed it softly. With his other hand he tried to wipe his tears away but they kept coming. This was his fault.

"You're touching," Cassander said weakly after a long silence where only Hephaestion's tears could be heard. He didn't try to open his eyes. Instead he continued to be in both worlds, the one where blackness surrounded him, and one where there was his myth. Hephaestion's head shot up and he leaned closer, placing a kiss lightly on Cassander's lips.

"I'm sorry Cassander," Hephaestion said as he brushed a lock of hair away from Cassander's forehead. Cassander lightly squeezed Hephaestion's hand and then shook his head.

"I'm alive," he said, his tongue swollen and aching. He wondered if Hephaestion could understand him. He held onto his hand and smiled, even though it tore at his lips. "Don't cry until I die."

"He won't die," Bagoas whispered. He was nervously looking over his shoulder. "His wounds will need the salve in the bag at the end of the bed. I put things in there, should you get fever, or more injuries. There are needles in there. You can see to your arm yourself?"

Hephaestion nodded.

"Hurry," Bagoas told Hephaestion. He came forward and helped Hephaestion pull Cassander out of the bed. Cassander tried to stand, to help Hephaestion more than the Persian, which brought up another question. Why was the Persian here?

"What are we doing," Cassander asked instead.

"Away," Hephaestion said. "I'm not sure yet. But we can't stay here. The horses are still at the west gate. We just have to get you to them and I promise that we'll go wherever you want. I won't let Alexander come between us. I won't let him have you. He won't find us, even if he looks, I promise."

"You think I look bad," Cassander laughed as they fled down the hall. "You should see him."

Hephaestion glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming from behind. He knew that Alexander had guards. He knew that they could be caught again. But it couldn't happen, not again. They needed to get out. He could only hope that this time the Fates would be on their side.