A/N – Torture in this scene, some sex and a lot of angst.Entrance of Bagoas!
Chapter Sixteen
The King of Kings, Darius, was dead – stabbed and left to bleed to death in a mule cart whose beasts had been hamstrung. Maks had found the man dying and given him water. The mules he had humanely put down.
When Alexander came to view the body he covered the blood matted face with his own cloak and ordered the body to be sent back to Susa for the proper burial. The man had been a bad general but he was still a king and merited respect. We learned later from Artabazus, and another source, that Bessus and Nabarzanes had led a coup against a king they believed the gods had abandoned: as they reached the Gates to Bactria, Bessus' satrapy, they moved against him and arrested him, dragging him away eventually to such an ignominious death. Bessus soon acclaimed himself Great King, much to Alexander's fury. This was not to be born!
Whatever else happened we marched on. Bessus could not be left – he was a threat and an insult to Alexander who now considered himself Darius' rightful heir by conquest. It was at the plains of Hyrcanian, bordering the Caspian Sea that we first realised that Bessus' kingship was not as welcomed as he imagined. Into the camp rode one of the ring leaders of the coup against Darius – Nabarzanes; and he did not come alone.
He sued for pardon. Alexander respected him as a great cavalry commander and opponent but could not trust to work with a man who had already committed treason against one king – he accepted his parole and sent him home; at least he kept his head. He left many gifts for my king, one of which had meant much to the Darius – a eunuch, a young boy no more than sixteen summers, by the name of Bagoas.
I never took much notice of him in those first few days except to note he was very beautiful in a willowy, feminine way, with dark curls and darker eyes. He moved about Alexander's tent like a shadow, never raising his head. I saw little of him as Alexander and I were barely on speaking terms after Persepolis. He ordered me away on a supply mission to gather what we would need when we entered Bactria and to spy out the land. I would be gone over a month and had a tearful farewell, as well as an exhausting one, with my Circe. The following day I kissed her goodbye, mounted my horse and rode out of camp without a backward glance in her direction, Maks beside me.
The mission was hard and gruelling. We ran into small bands of Bactrians who harassed us, trying to get past us to spy on Alexander. It was tough, guerrilla fighting and my men proved themselves adept at it, as I did myself. Strangely I could never get into the mind set of a large pitched battle but this – it was more akin to hunting than battle; you had to put yourself in the mind of your prey and act how you believed they would; it stretched the brain as well as the muscles and I actually enjoyed it. Finally I finished setting up the forward depots, leaving a garrison to protect them and retraced my steps back to the main army.
We rode in at dusk and I found my tent only long enough to clean up a little before going to see my king. Acte was there and suggested I might want to send a messenger to announce my arrival first. Why would I need to do that? I asked. Alexander and I had argued but he had never closed his door to me before. Shrugging off her suggestion I headed for his tent and walked in unannounced. I heard the sounds of lovemaking before I ever reached his sleeping area and as I lifted up the curtain I saw him lying on top of the little eunuch, thrusting away until he came in a shout. I couldn't move. Pulling out of the boy he fell on his back on the bed and saw me for the first time.
"Hephaestion! I'm glad to see you back." He said to me, sitting up. "I will be glad to receive your report – in the morning, General. You're dismissed."
I saluted my king and turned to leave but not before I caught the glint in that little bastard eunuch's eyes – he was laughing at me.
I walked back to my tent seeing no one. Once inside I dismissed all my attendants and sank onto the bed. My heart was breaking through my ribs and I felt the tell-tale sting of tears in my eyes. What did I expect? He had taken lovers before this and they had had no affect on me. But we had not been estranged as long as this before and the eunuch was something different, I knew that now.
Getting off the small bed I stumbled over to the table to pour myself some wine and looked up to see my reflection in a mirror hanging there. I took a long hard look at the face before me; it was no longer the one I had looked at with admiration back in that hallway in Pella. The face was gaunter. I touched the scars on my cheeks and forehead, remembering when my skin had been as perfect as – yes the eunuch; he was ten years my junior, his skin smooth, his beauty unmarred by scars – and he would never argue with his king nor question his actions; he would be all loving softness, not an abrasive old school friend.
I fell to my knees and wept.
It was over. We would no longer be lovers; I knew this with such certainty. But, my mind screamed, he still loves me and I acknowledged that; it was time to change our relationship and I had to recognise that fact as he had already done. I was still his Patroclus, he was still my Achilles – no boy would ever come between that, nor woman either. Now I had to set my mind to give him the love and loyalty of a dear friend, the dearest of friends; I would not abandon my role as advise or counsellor – he needed me too much for that; he needed someone he could trust to tell him the truth and I would always, I hoped, do that. I would learn to accept the limits of our relationship in anyway he wanted them.
"I love you, Alexander." I whispered, still on my knees. "I love you my king, my soul and I'll be whatever you need. But father Zeus; don't let him send me away!"
The following day I re-entered his tent, after having myself announced. He seemed happy and relaxed and I smiled at him, which he returned. I gave my report and he asked a number of questions then complimented me on my excellent work – in a tone of voice he used for every other officer on his staff. My report complete I saluted and left when he dismissed me.
It did not take long for the news to spread about the camp and within the Staff that I was no longer sharing his bed; my reputation was such that no one dared question me to my face about it but I saw the snide looks and heard the whispers. Only Cleitus, though saying nothing, signalled his sympathy to me with his eyes. I held onto that like a lifeline for I was truly lost and abandoned without my Alexander at my side. He was no longer that and I had to get on with my life; after all, it had lasted far longer than anyone would have thought possible. Olympias would be pleased at least.
We were about to head into Bactria and Alexander chose this time to give Parmenion a post that would mean no more combat duties; he was seventy after all and he deserved a rest so he was put in charge of a third of the army and given access to the treasury at Ecbatana; his job was to cover our rear as we went hunting Bessus.
Nearing the lands of a tribe called Mardians, some bandits struck at the horse lines and stole away a number of mounts, including Bucephalus. The whole army was outraged and when Alexander sent heralds to announce to the thieves "Bring him back or I'll burn you out and crucify you all, women and children." They were fully committed to follow his orders: Bucephalus was the same age as I, nearly twenty-six, and though no longer of use to Alexander as a warhorse, he was still cherished for what he had been rather than what he was now – much as I was now.
They brought him back. Garlanded and caparisoned in a gaudy horse blanket he re-entered the camp to the hoarse cheers of all Macedonians there; he was as much a part of the legend of their king as the king himself and they loved him as much. For his part, Bucephalus knew when he was centre stage and pranced to meet an openly crying Alexander, where he then, without an order, bent his knee, so he would once more be the seat of godhead. Alexander mounted and rode through the camp to the cries and tears of the men. I watched the faces of the assembled Persians, all of whom looked completely confused – why were we making such a fuss over an old horse that didn't look anything compared to their Nissians? Only Artabazus stood with tears in his eyes – he understood. As Alexander trotted back he stopped before me and we shared a smile, meant only for us two. We had also come back from a dark place, lost and bewildered; now we could go on in our new life together.
About this time Alexander began to act as Great King before the Persians – it was politically astute and required – they understood that and would follow him. The Macedonians also accepted it whilst it was kept within the bounds of his dealings with the Asians. It was when he started to come to dinner with us wearing a form of Persianised dress and then wore it in public that tongues started to wag. He wore no trousers, but a long robe of silk tied with a sash – not much but it wasn't Greek. Many believed it was a fad, as was sharing his bed with the eunuch, one he would get over, but others realised it was no such thing. He liked these Persians; he liked their culture and their manners, so different from the boorishness of Macedonians; he liked their clothes, to a point, and their way of showing deference to him; and he liked his eunuch.
One morning I walked past the tent Callisthenes used as a school room for the pages and overheard a conversation he was having with Philotas.
"It's gone beyond reason. First of all he demotes your father and now he struts about wearing barbarian clothes! Next he'll have us bowing to him with our arses in the air the way they do."
"He's been heading this way since Egypt, Callisthenes. At least that Athenian whore, Hephaestion, was at least Greek but to kick him out for a Persian, and one that isn't even a man anymore…"
"True, true. But now the General no longer shares his bed he's less likely to get any further promotions he is not fit for."
"Um – don't be so sure of that. They're no longer lovers but Alexander still trusts Hephaestion. Whatever else that bastard is, he's loyal however often the king kicks him in the teeth."
"I hear he sent that Corinthian whore back to Susa! How did the General take that?"
I hadn't even thought about Circe since I got back so I was hardly angered at what he had done. Walking quietly away from the tent I vowed to keep an eye on both men more closely from now on. But what they had said worried me and I decided to talk to Alexander about what he was doing and how it was affecting the morale of the Staff.
I asked to see him that night and when I entered the tent there was no sign of the boy and I silently thanked him for his tact there at least. We took our wine and sat at his work table and I told him some of the things I heard about the camp, but mentioning no names. He listened attentively and said he understood how the men felt but he had to integrate the Persians into the command as they were now his responsibility as well as the Macedonians.
"I understand that Alexander, but it seems to some as if you are favouring them over your own countrymen."
"Would you have me do as Aristotle has written 'commanding' me to do? Massacre or enslave them? After all he is more your mentor than mine."
I put down my cup on the table and leaned on it to lock his eyes with mine.
"That was unfair and I said no such thing. I am telling you to go slowly on this Alexander or you will lose the army over it."
"The army? Or you? This is about Bagoas, isn't it? You're jealous!"
"Oh, by Hera's tits man, I'm no such thing. I couldn't care if you fill your bed with sheep – which you appear to have done of late – but I will still advise you when I think you're making an ass of yourself, as you are doing now! Will you listen to me?"
It was a brutal, silent fight, but I saw his eyes lighten and he nodded curtly. Good, he wasn't entirely lost to me then. By the end of the night he agreed never to wear Persian attire about the Greeks anymore and be less open in his affection for the boy.
We moved on, I believed, mistakenly as it turned out, in a more understanding mood between the king and his Staff. Arriving at the stronghold of Drangiana we settled in for a few weeks of rest under a proper roof instead of tents. I looked forward to catching up on some correspondence and working with Tefi to reorganise the supply administration to be more efficient; it would cost more and Eumenes was not happy and let me know in no uncertain terms – as I was no longer 'favourite' he felt he could dismiss my requirements out of hand; Alexander disabused him of that fast enough.
I had just risen when a messenger arrived at my door with instructions from my king that seemed strange to me; once they were completed I was to report to him immediately. I did as bid, dressed in armour and headed to his rooms. There I found him in shallow conversation with Philotas, marking the whiteness about his mouth, always a sign of impending anger, and nodded quietly to him that his instructions had been carried out: the camp had been sealed.
At this he called for the guards to come in and announced to an astonished Philotas, not to mention myself that he was under arrest for treason.
"Treason? What are you talking about Alexander?" he cried, still with a sneer in his voice.
"You were told of a plot against me by a man called Dymnus and you did not report it to me. Why?"
"I was told no such thing…"
"His lover says different. He tells me his brother came to you, twice, and each time you said I had been too busy for you to mention it to me – on a day when you and I had gone hunting and you had every opportunity to tell me! I want to know why."
Philotas shrugged. "I didn't consider it important – it was no threat."
At this point I saw red, literally, before my eyes and would have attacked him but for my king's restraining hand. He ordered the guards to take him away.
"Hephaestion, I need you and Craterus to do something for me. I need to know if his father knew of this, in any way."
"Yes – my king." We both answered, as did Coenus; he was married to Parmenion's daughter and was in deep trouble here if he couldn't persuade Alexander of his loyalty.
He pulled me aside for a moment as the others left.
"I need you to be a part of this examination, Phai. I can trust only you to give me the truth. Craterus has worked too long against Philotas on his own agenda and Coenus is terrified. Get what I must have, Phai."
"Yes, Xander. I know exactly what to do."
Dymnus had killed himself when he was arrested and the others in the plot were lowly officers of no great rank; except for one of the Royal Bodyguard and that was what Alexander was worried about. He needed to know names.
Craterus had finally gotten Philotas where he wanted him after years of constant campaigning. My reasons for being there were far simpler, or so I thought, more personal and much deadlier. Before the other two arrived I went to see the prisoner alone.
He was no longer the dandy in his fine clothes but a terrified, sweating, soiled piece of a man chained to the wall. His eyes were huge, almost bulging out if their sockets but I distinctly heard him breathe a sigh of relief that it was only me and not Craterus. Even now, the man continued to underestimate me.
"Hephaestion, please! Talk to Alexander! I'm not guilty of treason or plotting his death!"
"I know, Philotas, I know." I replied, my voice calm and soft, gentling as I stood before him. But I was remembering a conversation I had had with Maks in Egypt.
"Thank the gods." He whispered.
"I don't believe you had any hand in this plot but you did know they were planning to try something, didn't you?" it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my hands by my side and not rip his lying tongue from his throat.
"Oh, they told me but they would never have gone through with it."
"You know that, how?" my voice still gentle and lulling.
"How? Well – look at them, Hephaestion. Not one is of noble birth!"
"I see."
I stood as close as I could to him without climbing into his skin with him and finally saw what I was looking for – fear.
"You decided to risk the life of our king on your ability to judge people; people you wouldn't stop to piss on.
"YOU decided to risk the life of MY love because you didn't think this plot was worth MENTIONING on the grounds of their social status?"
I grabbed his chin in my hand and put enough pressure in it that I heard cartilage crack and his jaw dislocate.
"I know you are innocent of plotting his death and I know your father is too. And I don't care, Philotas. Silence is as much treason as a knife in the dark but that is not the reason I'll see you die. When you stand at that stake and feel the thud of the spears entering your body, die in the knowledge that your truly innocent father will be dead barely days after yourself – and the reason you will die is because you very nearly took my Alexander away from me. Oh, I know, you think we are no longer lovers – and physically that is true – but he is my heart still and you wanted that heart dead."
I twisted his chin sharply and hit him hard across the face, putting back the dislocated jaw, we needed him to be able to talk after all. Credit where it is due, he never uttered a sound but the tears were there, silent; silent as the waters of the Styx.
Craterus and Coenus then arrived and we set to work. Fists, fingers, whips, knives and hot irons; we worked on him for twelve hours but got nothing – as I had expected, he knew nothing of it save of one boy who gave him a message about a plot. We left him at dusk a bloody mass of flesh and bone. Craterus and Coenus went to get a drink for very different reasons and I reported to Alexander what he did not want to know.
I went back to my room and poured some wine but my hands were shaking so hard I spilt all of it on to the ground. I was in shock, not for what I had done but for suddenly realising the truth behind why I had done it. And it had nothing to do with Philotas or my hatred of him anymore, but everything to do with Alexander. I had enjoyed it, inflicting the pain, seeing the blood and the bruises, hearing the bones break but not for his sake, not for his crime.
I realised as I sat there holding an empty cup that the man I had wanted to hurt in that cell was Alexander himself; for the humiliation he had put me through; for my jealousy of that bloody eunuch that he had replaced me with so publicly. Oh, how I wanted to crush his ribs and hear him cry out! But I didn't want that, not really; I loved him so much that my anger was at war with my terror at his nearly being killed by Philotas' snobbery.
Philotas was tried and condemned before the Army Council and executed the same day, along with six others in the plot. If anyone tells you his death sent shock waves through the army it is true, but not for the reason that they believed the King was becoming a tyrant; we were Macedonians, we recognised a man's right to blood feud and vengeance if attacked. This was no different. Nor was the death of Parmenion, which was announced a week later. His men had accepted that he was responsible for his son's treason as head of the family and his fate was justified. This made it no easier for Alexander to come to terms with. He may not have got on with Parmenion but he respected his abilities as a soldier; he also recognised his own responsibility as king to deal swiftly with rebellion.
One outcome of all this was his sensible decision never to put the Companion Cavalry under the command of one man again – he split it between Cleitus and me; one to satisfy the old guard, the other a more personal choice. I was content with the reasoning and knew Cleitus was a better tactician and strategist than I, whilst I could deal with the organisation and administration side far more effectively than he could – our personal skills complemented each other as mine did with the king.
Some weeks later as we moved further on, we camped near a small river for a few days and I was invited, unexpectedly, to visit my king for a private supper one night. As I arrived he dismissed Bagoas and the other servants; it truly was to be private.
We talked of work and how I was getting on with Cleitus and the troops reactions to all that happened, then we fell into a strained silence as we had never done before.
"Phai – what has gone wrong between us? Why have you become so – distant?"
"It was always going to happen, Alexander. No relationship stays the same for ever. It took me some time to accept that we will never be – intimate – anymore. Part of it was my fault, I'll readily admit and I'm sorry for flaunting that bitch in your face. But nothing will ever change my love for you and you will always have my loyalty and total devotion to your dream. Sleep well, my king."
I rose to take my leave, lifting his hand and kissing the Royal Signet, but he grabbed my hand and would not let me leave.
"You are so wrong, my love. I have never stopped wanting you. What has happened to make you think that?"
I couldn't believe my ears! He was denying it all; the eunuch, the dismissive way he had treated me for weeks and now he was laying all the blame on me?
"Damn you Alexander! You know why – it walked out of here barely an hour ago!"
"Bagoas? Is that all?"
That was not all but it was the final straw as far as my emotions were concerned for the past few weeks; his attitude to me, the boy and Philotas all swelled up until I could barely see or think straight. Which is when I found myself ripping the robe off his body and throwing him down on the floor with no more consideration that he was my king than I would have shown a whore. He fought me for awhile but finally my brutal kisses, biting his lips and neck till blood flowed had him as aroused as I was myself and I rammed into him with all the force my anger could give me, pumping his cock with no other thought than to feel him come when I wanted – he did, at the same time as I filled him with my own seed.
After we had eased our aching bodies onto his bed, I held him fast in my arms. Quietly we began to talk, really talk, and so eased our pain and once again understood each other.
"It was that woman, you know." He said to me.
"Circe?"
"I was so jealous of her hold on you and I thought I'd lost you to her. When I sent you on the supply mission it was as much for me to come to terms with your loss as my need for supplies. That's when I took Bagoas to my bed."
"You took him to your bed because of that damn woman? What did you do with her?" I asked, not letting on I already knew – I wanted to see if he would be honest.
"I sent her to Susa as soon as you left. Should I bring her back?" his voice was quiet and I detected a hint of fear as to what my answer would be. Good.
"No – but you can get rid of the damn eunuch."
"I will not, I enjoy him too much."
"Of course you do! Because he's young, and beautiful and soft to touch, unlike me. Now you see what I mean." I sat up and grabbed my chiton attempting to pull it over my head, but he tore it out of my hands and threw it away.
Pushing me down, he straddled my hips, locking my arms above my head.
"No one, NO ONE, is more beautiful than you! Even when you're sixty, no one will be as beautiful. He's nothing but a body, Phai; a pliant one and a pleasant one, but he has no part of my heart, or no more than any servant who is my responsibility – in fact I think I have less 'love' for him than I do for Peritas."
"That must put me somewhere, then, between the dog and your bloody horse!"
"About there, yes."
He made love to me, far more gently than I had to him, and I could not hold back my cries as I felt him once more inside of me, branding me as his own as I had him. The two halves were once more conjoined, a little better for the maturity we had been forced to add to our relationship. But we had weathered this storm and I felt my strength renewed again. It was fortunate Philotas was already dead – he would have been so pissed.
"I won't send Bagoas away, Phai. He's teaching me so many things about the etiquette of the court that the Persians expect from me."
"That's what it's called now…"
"Phaestion!"
"Well, that little manoeuvre with your tongue down there was definitely new…"
"And how you enjoyed it, my slutty General."
"Well – maybe he does have his uses. But keep him away from me and don't flaunt him in my face."
To this he agreed. The following morning, late, I returned to my own tent. On the way there I met Bagoas, looking red eyed and unhappy. Winking at him I walked off whistling very much aware of the hole he was burning in my back. The gods I felt good!
TBC
