A/N There is no historical evidence that Hephaestion met Mazaeus at the Tigris but I read it somewhere and it sounded logical, so I've used it.


Chapter Fourteen

"I'm telling you Alexander, he is disloyal. Speak to his whore and she'll tell you." Craterus' huge voice boomed through the small room making a carved alabaster vase shake on its table.

Since our return to Memphis, under the expert guidance of Ty and Maks, Craterus had been taking every opportunity he could to denounce Philotas. Deep within me I sensed he spoke truth; the guides had returned with us but mysteriously disappeared soon after until, two days after our return, their bodies had been discovered near the city's wharves. It could have been robbery but the coincidence was too much for me to accept that. The only person who would want them dead would be the man who had employed them – to do what? Get us lost so we would die quietly in the desert on Alexander's 'crazy' trip? Perfect cover for a man wanting to seize power. Now I would never get any proof as I had aimed to one way or another.

However I was not prepared to condemn the man on the word of a prostitute and two dead men. Maks had found the bodies and reported the fact to me. All he said to me was "Watch the man Philotas. I hear things."

"What? If there is a threat to the king…"

"Nothing conclusive – he will not move against him openly but he won't be slow to take advantage of any opening offered by others to do harm."

I heeded his words from then on but I knew Alexander – he would not act against an old friend unless he was forced to.

"Very well, Craterus, bring her to me then."

Antigone was beautiful in an over-ripe way to my thinking but she was as sharp as a knife and her report was pithy and exact. I admired her for it but it told us nothing we did not know of the man already.

Philotas had always hated that Alexander was Prince, then King; often when drunk he would cry out that without his father, Parmenion, 'The Boy' would still be in Greece, which was patently absurd.

Whilst Alexander was beating the Thracians at sixteen Parmenion was stuck at Byzantium with Philip. When Alexander stormed down like a whirlwind to Thebes in the first year of his reign, Parmenion was being pushed back to the Hellespont. To say, as his son did, that the old man had won all Alexander's victories was delusional at best, treason at the worst.

Alexander heard her out and thanked her, using all his charm to ensure she reported anything else her lover might say or do. But I knew he would do nothing; keep a close eye on him to be sure but not arrest him. Craterus was livid and asked why he was to go unpunished?

"Because it is my wish, Craterus. I need his father's loyalty right now and I'll not risk it – yet."

There was also the matter of Parmenion's younger son, Hector, who had died here in Egypt when a boat he was in sank whilst trying to catch up the royal barge. Alexander had been grief stricken for the boy and had given him as elaborate a funeral as he could. I did not question his actions; perhaps on a lonely night he and the boy had taken comfort with each other. I didn't know, didn't want to know. Besides that the boy was from the most powerful family in Macedon and Alexander probably did not want to add to the man's grief at this time. As Parmenion also controlled half the army I could see the reasoning behind it.

We left Egypt to my deep regret. I doubt I will ever see it again. Many of us had enjoyed it there and I know Ptolemy has his eye on the province for any post Alexander may award him in the future. Nothing like planning ahead.

So many things had occurred there – the journey to Siwah, Alexander being hailed a god, and Cleitus. One thing I did take with me was Ankhtefi: he was a brilliant administrator and devoted to me for some reason. Well, I know the reason – Acte. I wasn't blind to their mutual attraction and would happily give her to him in marriage when they asked after the year of mourning for Solon was over. It would be one less responsibility for me to worry over.

As for Cleitus, we kept up a civil banter between us in public; I was wary of Alexander and waking any suspicions in him, though it happened nonetheless from a perfectly innocent encounter. I had met Cleitus in a corridor of the palace at Memphis soon after our return and he, quite naturally, asked about the journey and what had happened, which I told him.

"I've learnt to hate deserts, Cleitus. The sand gets everywhere and I mean everywhere! I think I'm still shitting part of the Libyan Desert even now."

He roared with laughter at that.

"Perhaps a friend should dunk you in the river again to wash it all out of those cracks you can't reach – or perhaps a swift probe with a sponge?"

"So long as it isn't a snake…"

Laughing together we rounded the corner and walked straight into Alexander. His eyes dilated at once and as soon as Cleitus had saluted and taken his leave, he turned to me, his lips a thin line of anger.

"You seem very friendly all of a sudden – quite close in fact."

"I was telling him of the desert and how it gets everywhere, which he found amusing. You're always telling me to stop arguing with my fellow officers. Are you now telling me not to speak with them at all?"

I could feel a cold sweat beginning to form on my skin and I knew the best way of dealing with it was to play the injured party. He smiled then, apologised and all was right again. Though I did not love Cleitus I realised then he was 'dear' to me in a peculiar, private way. Strange.

We took something else from Egypt: a regiment of Egyptian soldiers who had been in the service, albeit forcibly, of the Persian governor. It came as little surprise to me to find that their commanding officer was none other than Ty, with Maks being his second in command. Alexander left orders for the recruitment of young boys to be trained in the Greek way of fighting – after all, he would need replacements and what better than enthusiastic recruits, trained to his own specifications. This did not sit well with some of the Generals – they were beginning to realise that defeating Darius may not be the end of their Asian adventure after all.

It was now time to turn our attention to the Persian King who was building a massive army according to Paremenion's reports. But as we rode to meet him the normal routine of the day carried on; prays in the morning, administrative reports to go over; justice to be administered; a hunting expedition in the afternoon and then a banquet. We were travelling in a mobile court and he had the additional concerns of reconnaissance and supplies for the upcoming campaign to worry about – the latter he gave to me and over the next weeks I spent more time away from him than with him. To say I enjoyed my small taste of freedom would perhaps lead one to believe I found our relationship – tiring. Not so. We both needed a break occasionally and in our hearts we were never apart.

As soon as I would return from one of my trips he would read me any letters he thought I needed to know about, as well as a few I could have done without knowing about – those came mainly from his mother; she was not their in body but she certainly was in spirit – as well as copious amounts of ink. Alexander was constantly sending her gifts and wrote to her regularly but it was not enough, especially when he never did as she asked.

She wanted Antipater replaced as he was her enemy – he stayed put; she couldn't understand how he had re-assigned Harpolas to a financial post after he had absconded with part of the treasury after the Battle of the Issus and fled to Athens – neither could I if it comes to that: he replied Harpolas was an old friend who had learnt from his error and was truly repentant. Ha! We discovered how wrong his judgement had been there many years later.

And of course she railed against his friends, me in particular: 'I couldn't be trusted', I was 'causing discord with his other generals' and, the best for last, I was 'stopping him from begetting an heir'.

"Put him aside, Alexander, in some minor administrative post, somewhere in your empire where he can do no more harm…"

I read this leaning over his shoulder one afternoon, much to the vocal disgust of the assembled Staff. Hearing this Alexander looked around at them, kissed his signet ring and then offered it to me to kiss too, then went back to reading his letter. There was absolute silence in the room – by that small action he had re-iterated what he had said at the Issus 'I, too, was Alexander.' No one mentioned it again.

The news from Greece was not all good. Antipater was fighting a revolt by the King of Sparta, Agis, backed by Athens and yes, you've guessed, Demosthenes. Macedon had to have its own standing army and garrisons for the strategic points along the border so we needed to attract foreign troops to keep up our fighting strength. Nor was it all bad: a letter soon reached us that Agis had been soundly defeated at Megalopolis by Antipater. Alexander on hearing this denigrated it in public as a 'battle of mice' which I felt was totally inappropriate and told him so – in private. It led to one of our rare physical fights, causing the guards to come rushing in at all the noise.

"Get out!" Alexander yelled at them, which was quite good as I had my arm round his throat in an arm lock, mainly to stop him biting me. The man has very sharp teeth.

Afterwards he threw a nice feast to honour Antipater's success and sent him a lavish gift as well as a letter gushing with praise – which was overdoing it somewhat.

We were coming up towards the Euphrates River, the first major geographical obstacle between Darius' forces and ourselves. I was sent on to bridge the river, watched from a distance by enemy forces – they made no move against me and as soon as Alexander came up with the army they retreated. I was then sent to follow them with a small scouting party. We needed to know the lye of the land and the exact strength of any opposition as we came up to the Tigris.

This river was swift flowing and deep and I could not see anyway of bridging it in time for the army to cross. The idea of doing so fired my imagination and if I had had the time I would have attempted something of a more permanent nature than my usual pontoon-bridge – but they have a great advantage on campaign: you can pack them up and take them with you.

What I was not expecting to meet there was a small delegation from the satrap of Babylon, a man called Mazaeus. I was even more surprised when Damon entered my tent and announced the man himself. He was as tall as myself, slim, bearded and heavily perfumed which in a confined space such as my tent dried my throat out so I offered wine, as a courtesy of course, but also to wet my gullet so I wouldn't sound like a frog. First impressions in a diplomatic situation are very important. Take a dislike to how a man looks at you or the tone of his voice and it won't matter what he's actually saying. After we had sized each other up enough to get an idea of the other man we began to talk, Tefi acting as interpreter.

"I assume Alexander is on his way."

"Assumptions are a very personal thing but he's not too far away."

"I understand you are his adviser?"

"Perhaps."

"Let me be plain. I am Babylonian not Persian. They conquered my people barely a century ago and it sits ill with us. We are an ancient race and to bow the knee to such – horse breeders – is an insult."

I did not mention that the Macedonians were only herding sheep themselves when Cyrus conquered them; that was not of consequence now.

"Alexander's mandate here in Asia is to free the oppressed (I ignored the bit about it only being Greek cities) and if you ask for our help then I am sure an arrangement can be made similar to that agreed with the Egyptians who came to us."

He looked at me warily, then at Tefi and they talked awhile without relaying the conversation to me – but I understood it without a translation; he wanted to know how Alexander had acted in Egypt and whether what I said was truth. Evidently the reply was to his satisfaction and we then got down to the real business of the meeting – treason.

Three days later and Alexander arrived with the army. That night a strange event occurred, an eclipse of the moon. Many of the troops said it was a bad omen and Alexander agreed it was – for Darius. We crossed the Tigris, the infantry wading across between two columns of cavalry to stop them from being washed away. My scouts returned with two Persian spies in hand and they 'volunteered' the information that Darius was at a place near the River Arbela and was busily smoothing the ground there – he had chosen his battleground and, obviously, had no intention of moving.

With this news Alexander decided he could afford to give the troops a rest. He knew the battle coming would be the most important one of the whole campaign so far. The scouts and the spies had told of an opposing army of hundreds of thousands; perhaps exaggeration but against our barely fifty thousand it would still leave us outnumbered at least two to one if not more. Alexander also needed the time for Maks and Ty to get back as they had volunteered to get as close to Darius' army as they could and report back how his forces were deployed. In the meanwhile I explained my meeting with Mazaeus and the smile on his face was more than enough to make me optimistic of our chances.

"Phai – you've just given me the battle."

I surely hoped so.

When Ty and Maks returned they told us the spies had not exaggerated the numbers – some two hundred thousand troops, forty thousand of which were cavalry. Their deployment put our left wing against their heavy cavalry, the Cappodocians whose horses even wore armour, as well as scythed chariots. The rest were all massed behind them, chariots in front – hence all the time he had spent smoothing the battlefield.

Some of the officers were ready to attack without hesitation, their belief in Alexander's ability to win over whelming. Older heads were not so enthusiastic. Parmenion pointed out, quite rightly in my view, that as Darius had prepared the ground it could hold traps for us – pits for the infantry, caltrops for the horses. Maks said he saw no evidence of this but Alexander decided to ride out and take a look himself.

He rode up and down at a leisurely pace in full sight of the enemy giving them a beautiful performance of ' I couldn't care less what you have – you don't frighten me' message. They frightened the rest of us though. I'd never seen so many cavalry in one place before and they would be a problem. We only had barely seven thousand and they outnumbered us three to one. But Maks was right too – there were no traps laid.

Alexander dismissed us all to get a good night's rest and he spent the night thinking how to combat Nabarzanes advantage in numbers. I know this because I couldn't sleep and sat in the opening of my tent watching the shadow of his pacing figure until the dawn came and I moved inside to arm.

That morning Alexander sacrificed to Phobos – something he had never done before. Fear is an integral part of a soldier's life but though it can encourage you to great feats of courage it can also creep up on you like a wall of dread and engulf you – then you die or run and be dishonoured. Alexander recognised this and the fact that in this battle we faced such overwhelming odds it was common sense to placate this god.

Our last meeting was short but his words have stayed with me all these years:

"Gentlemen, you have no need for speeches to inspire you. Your courage, and your pride in it, will be enough. Encourage the men under your command is all I ask, so they can see their own courage as reflected in you."

He then reiterated the standing orders and the need to follow them exactly: silence as we move up and then raising the battle cry to the heavens when the time was right. The men were well rested unlike those of Darius who, expecting a night attack because of our smaller numbers, had kept all his army in battle order all through the night. Hopefully they would be exhausted enough to give us an advantage.

"Seleucus I want you to join Nicanor with the Hypaspists; Hephaestion, you will command the agema. What is it Philotas?" he asked on hearing the choked gasp.

"You're putting him in command of the Royal Hypaspists? Alexander he has never commanded in battle before. Surely Craterus…"

"I need him with the infantry in the centre. He is my rock there as your father is to my left."

"Alexander!"

"Philotas – hold your tongue, boy!" Parmenion roared at him.

He glared at his son with as much fury as I was doing. How dare he question his king! How dare he cast doubts on my ability in public! Cleitus caught my eye then and almost imperceptively shook his head – 'don't lose it.' Alexander pressed my arm reassuringly to tell me the same thing and that he had every confidence in me.

Philotas apologised to his king for his temerity in questioning his assignments and then added: "And he'll actually be under your command so he won't really be commanding anyone…"

That was the last straw and I moved so fast that Alexander hadn't time to stop me before I reached him and could start choking the life out of him – but Cleitus did; holding me firmly from behind, pinning my arms to my side, he whispered viciously:

"Don't be a bloody fool, Hephaestion. Think of where you are and of your King."

The silent messages that were passing between Philotas and me were the promise of hatred to the death – for both of us. He would pay for this days work, I swore. As I shrugged Cleitus off and turned away I saw Craterus watching the whole incident, eyes glittering – with pleasure.

We waited, the Companions and the Agema, Alexander at our head, ordering the army to move to the right relentlessly. We waited as the Persians struck the left flank and Parmenion pushed back. We waited as the centre was engaged, the right battle still moving inexorably to its own right. We waited.

And then Darius, concerned with this move to our right and that we would try to outflank him, ordered exactly what Alexander had been waiting for – he commanded the Bactrians under Bessus to oppose our 'flanking' movement and opened up a gap.

Then Alexander changed horses and mounted Bucephalus for what would be the old horse's last battle. We lined up in wedge formation behind him, I directly to his left to watch his back. He raised the paean and the cry was answered by thousands of voices rejecting Phobos and crying their belief in their own son of god who lead them that day. We charged out at a thunderous pace right for that gap he had so assiduously worked to open and the Persians crumbled – Mazaeus, away on the left, put up a cursory attack but never pushed his advantage.

Once again the King of Kings saw the shining figure, sun blazing from his helmet and raised sword, astride the small black devil horse and he panicked – again, running from the field. At this Mazaeus, as agreed, led his men from the field and retreated back to Babylon. Nabarzanes and the bulk of the Persian cavalry soon followed their hastily disappearing king.

Alexander was determined to capture Darius this time and called for fresh mounts to start the pursuit when a messenger came breasting through dust and struggling bodies to find his king and report that Parmenion needed help. Screaming his frustration to the heavens, the king turned us back to help his beleaguered left wing. If that crumbled we could still have lost the battle.

We had to fight our way through the remaining Persians, some of whom were the legendary Immortals who had become separated from their king and were fighting to cover their shame and humiliation at their king's flight. It was hard and bitter and they fought with such determination and courage I could do nothing but admire them. Staying as close to my king as I could my arm was aching as I brought my sword down time after time after time on heads, arms and legs. I smashed skulls, lopped off arms and slashed into unprotected thighs. My ears were deaf to the screaming as I saw a man aim a spear at Alexander's back. Booting my horse viciously I cut through the arm holding the spear, then took off his head as another man speared me in my left arm. Cutting through the wooden haft I saw the man go down under Alexander's sword. I nodded to him as we then turned together and finally broke through to Parmenion's men – who had now got the enemy on the run, thanks in part to the Thessalian cavalry, and didn't need our help at all; we had left sixty Companions dead and as many wounded behind us and for what? I couldn't stop the surge of fury at the idea their deaths had been for nothing. I wanted to know who sent the recall message and why so many had to die for it.

I led my men after Alexander who now made for the camp to see to the wounded and orderly withdrawal of the army from the field. There we found a group of Persians who had been captured whilst trying to rescue the Royal Family, but Sisygambis had refused point blank to leave: why would she choose to leave her 'son' who had just won the battle for a man who was nothing to her now?

I saw to the comfort of my men, getting the wounded to the hospital tents, ensuring the grooms took care of their mounts and looking to the cooks to get them fed. When all was done I headed to Alexander's tent – I wanted to talk to Parmenion. He wasn't there, having been wounded and neither was Philotas. Craterus was and he confirmed my suspicions: Parmenion had been wounded and had withdrawn to have emergency treatment; Philotas had sent the message but his father, on returning to the battle, had turned the tide in his usual sure way. He had gone now to have his wound properly treated.

"Alexander." I growled low. "He cost the lives of over sixty men because he panicked. Surely this has to be – dealt – with – this…"

"Phai?"

There was something wrong with his voice; it was so quiet as if coming from far away – gods, he was falling!

But it wasn't him falling, it was me. I'd forgotten my own wound. It had been bleeding profusely, despite the piece of torn cloth I had quickly wrapped about it and now I hit the floor as everything about me went black.

TBC