A/N Hephaestion, in this story, is suffering from typhoid fever; in the second and third weeks of the illness the patient has a very high fever, pulse weak but rapid. In the third week the diarrheoa starts, containing blood. If perforation of the bowel occurs in this week the prognosis is death. He is, therefore, dying, and so his memoir has to be rapid now.
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Chapter Nineteen
I found blood this morning in my movement; my fever is so high my pages jerk back from touching me as though I have burnt them. Alexander is here as often as he can so I can only write sporadically and I am so weak I can barely hold the stylus. So I must be brief…
The Pages plot was instigated by Callisthenes preaching his Athenian austerity against Alexander's wish to integrate his people. He found a fanatical follower in Hermolaus, a trouble maker ever since he had arrived from Macedon. Thinking himself slighted when rightly reprimanded for taking a boar before the king could strike, against all protocol, he let his mind spiral into hatred at the supposed attack on his honour and managed to persuade another five disaffected youngsters to join him. They were smart I'll give them that; they worked hard for a month to arrange for them all to be on the same night shift guard so they could assassinate Alexander when he came to bed; by now it was known throughout the camp that he was unlikely to be spending the night in the harem with his wife – he had found she had too much spirit. He had also realised how much like his mother she was, only too late.
But the gods were still with him that night; coming back to his tent after a party with another of the officers we were stopped by this crazy old Syrian seeress he had found who had given him correct prophesies in the past. Here she told us it was a bad omen to retire and to go back and celebrate; so we did. I didn't get him back to his tent until dawn. We found the relief guard on duty but the previous guard, including Hermolaus were still hanging round and Alexander thanked them for their diligence and gave each a present – then I got him to bed before shakily finding my own.
I was shaken awake by Perdiccas having barely closed my eyes.
"What?"
"There's been a plot against the King."
I was fully awake by the word plot and dressed in seconds, racing to his tent where I found him confronting a tearful page who was spilling his tale of treachery as quickly as he could – he had had a change of heart when Alexander had thanked them for their extra duty and had gone to his lover with the tale; the lover had dragged him straight to the King, who could barely be woken, to tell his tale. Names poured from him and they were all arrested – including Callisthenes.
The Pages were Macedonian and had the right of a trial. Here Hermolaus castigated his king as a tyrant and as an Asian lover who had abandoned the true philosophy of the Hellene – he was quoting Callisthenes practically word for word. He met his death heroically as did all the other five; the boy's confession did not save him though Alexander tried.
As to Callisthenes, well he was not Macedonian and had no automatic right to a trial. Craterus dealt with his torture to find out if Athens was involved, then he had him hung. I have no sympathy for the man: he used young, vulnerable minds to do his dirty work for him because he hadn't the back bone to try it himself. I wrote this to Aristotle who stopped corresponding with the king completely and me for about a year.
We moved into India with an army of 120, 000 men, mostly new levies which fell to my lot as Perdiccas and I took half the army, including the harem and Roxanne, through the pass of Kyber whilst Alexander protected our flank with lightening campaigns against the tribes. We reached the Indus which we proceeded to throw a pontoon bridge across in time for Alexander and Ptolemy to rejoin us. On the opposite side we took the allegiance of our first Indian king, Omphis of Taxila. He met us with a procession of huge war elephants that sent the horses crazy. The men weren't very keen on them either.
Omphis told us of a rival king, more powerful than himself, called Porus. Envoys were sent to get his allegiance but he refused. So we marched to the River Hydaspes to confront him; my pontoons were only good as rafts here as it was far too swift. It was raining non-stop, thunder and lightening mixed with it and the river was rising by the hour. I had never felt so depressed – wet and hot and lethargic.
Here Alexander conducted a campaign of bluff and counter bluff to keep the Indian guessing to his intentions. One moment we were stock piling supplies as if we were digging in; another time he had us marching up and down blowing war trumpets as if we would attack. Porus kept moving this way and that not sure where the attack would come from. In the night Alexander crossed the cavalry over the river, as well as most of the infantry, leaving Craterus with the reserve. We knew the horses would never attack the man's war elephants head on so we worked behind them, the Thracian mounted archers shooting the men off their huge backs before disappearing into the infantry ranks. Finally Porus came after us and that was when Craterus moved into attack with the reserve. The battle was won; but this man was no Darius – he didn't run but fought on bravely, his elephant being as courageous as himself. Finally he admitted defeat and surrendered to my King who accepted graciously and re-instated him in his province. He also made sure the elephant was well treated.
We moved on fighting tribe after tribe and for what? We were being used to settle their personal quarrels and the rain…gods, the rain!
Bucephalus died here and a grieving army came to pay him their last respects as Alexander founded another city naming it after him. Peritas had died a few weeks after the Pages incident – they had drugged him and he had never recovered fully. He had lost his dog and his horse and he was now about to come perilously close to losing his lover and his army as well.
I blame the rain. It seeped into our bones and very consciousness, sapping us of all logical thought; else I would never have gotten into that quarrel with Craterus. Ever since Cleitus' death he had been hounding me; he had hoped to get the Companion Cavalry command when Philotas' had been executed but he didn't. Then it was split into hipparchies and he didn't get one of those. He would never have gone up against Cleitus but once he was dead he saw me as his main obstacle to promotion to the highest rank because he felt I always came first with Alexander.
Alexander tried to calm him by saying Craterus was the King's friend and I Alexander's but the man did not like that at all. He belittled me, out of Alexander's hearing, all the time saying I was not fit to command and I only got my rank because I kept the king's bed warm. After the beating I had taken at the time of Alexander's wedding he had waited for me to whine to the king of what he had done, but the admiration I had seen for my forbearance soon turned to contempt.
We were making camp on some rain soaked plain, my men on one side, his on the other when he came over to complain of something. I had just lost Damon to a snake bite and was grieving quietly for him and this over grown thug was berating me over something inconsequential; my temper snapped and I told him what I had kept pent up for years to his face, at the top of my voice, in front of the men. He yelled back now, safe in the knowledge that I had shown myself the aggressor, as he had no doubt planned, and we found ourselves facing off with drawn swords, our men following our lead – it was going to be ugly and bloody except a furious whirlwind hit us in the form of a King in a murderous rage.
"What the Hades is going on here? Put up those swords NOW."
"My king," Craterus spoke up. "He began this for no reason…"
"Enough! I will not have my officers brawling in public like drunken mercenaries. I expect better of you. You especially Hephaestion!"
"Alexander I can…"
"I don't want to hear it. This bickering will stop now. If either of you start it again I will have the man who began it executed, whoever he is. As for you, Amyntoros, I didn't put you where you are for this kind of stupid display. Remember, you'd be nothing without me!"
He was right to castigate me for my foolish display and for letting Craterus play me so well. No king or military commander can allow his officers to cause such a breach in discipline, especially before the men. I understood the 'why, it was the 'how' that hurt. Those words are engraved on my soul and I will take them to the grave.
Craterus backed off but he had what he wanted – my humiliation in front of my men and his; as far as he was concerned Alexander had openly acknowledged what they had all being saying for years – I was nothing except what the king had made me. Later I heard Alexander had torn a strip off the big man as well, only in private.
He came to me too, in private, later that night as the thunder crashed and the lightening cracked the sky.
"Phai I had to do it. I'm sorry for the choice of words; they were the first that came to mind."
"Yes, Alexander, I know that – and that is what hurts; in anger we blurt out the truth…"
"No… you are a great officer…"
"I'm good at supplies and building bridges; those are not the accomplishments of a real Macedonian soldier! You believe that as much as they do."
"Hephaestion, please…"
"I'm sorry for my actions today. I would never endanger your command, sire. But I can't forgive you yet, Alexander, for those words – you make me nothing!"
I turned from him. He put a hand on my shoulder which I did not shrug off but covered with my own briefly – but he knew I wanted him to leave. For the next few days we stayed politely distant. My men, however, rallied about me and made me know, in small ways – a gift of an apple; my sword being cleaned better than usual; a flagon of wine appearing without my ordering it – that they respected me and, dare I say, loved me a little? It comforted my heart until I could be the same with my king once more.
The one thing he did do was split Craterus and I up. He had, apparently, made it clear to the man that whatever he tried against me would not work – I had his trust and no Craterus could shake that. I genuinely believe the general finally accepted that in his heart as well and we never argued again. Having a death sentence hanging over your head helps a lot too.
Our quarrel was only the opening salvo in a building battle of discontent that spread through the army until it exploded in a sort of mutiny. Alexander had announced we were heading even further east to the Surrounding Ocean; between us and this fabled waterway were tribe upon tribe of Indians, prepared to fight to the death rather than submit to a foreign conqueror. The men were tired, home sick and very, very wet.
Like a lover they stamped their collective foot and refused to go on. Alexander talked, cajoled and then sulked for three days, (always Achilles) but to no avail: neither side were going to back down. So he did, grudgingly and not with a good grace. I was not there having been sent by him to found two cities and see to their construction. When he joined me I had three days of his raging against the men's ingratitude and lack of belief in his knowing what was best for them. They had hurt him in his heart as much as he had hurt me with his own words – it was the beginning of our reconciliation. Never again would we argue so or our souls be in torment for what the other had done. We had crossed some point in our relationship that strengthened it beyond breaking again.
His relationship with the army took a longer while to mend in the burning furnace of the Gedrosian Desert.
Before that we marched back up the Hydaspes and headed west, not north as the men had assumed. "Allow me to leave India, not bolt from it." He growled at the Officers and men who had queried why we were not heading back to Sogdia.
Craterus with part of the army went on to Carmenia; I took another part and marched five days ahead of the fleet which Alexander was with; Ptolemy brought up the rear with the remainder of the men another five days behind. Alexander was going to conduct lightening campaigns against the remaining disaffected tribes and Ptolemy and I were to 'catch' any that ran our way.
It was on one of these forays that the distance that had grown between Alexander and the men came dangerously apparent. I was not there but Perdiccas was, carrying the old shield of Achilles from Troy.
They had reached a small hill fort of a tribe called the Malli; their walls were easily climbed with scaling ladders but the men hung back. Alexander ran up the nearest ladder, followed by Perdiccas and two other officers until they reached the top of the wall. Looking back he was astonished to find no one else even ready to mount a ladder. So, in his usual manner, that is not thinking about it, he jumped down – into the fort, alone; Perdiccas and the other two soon followed. Which is when the men realised he was alone in a fort of hostiles; they raced for the ladders, some breaking under the weight of numbers. By the time they got to the top and had jumped over, their king was down, as was one of the officers who had gone with him, being protected bravely by Perdiccas covering him with the shield – I was so grateful that day we had lugged the thing all the way from Troy with us.
He had been struck in the side by an arrow that had punctured his corselet and entered his lung, fighting on until he collapsed. Pulling him on to the shield the men carried him back over the wall to safety – then they went to work: grief, shame and anger built up their bloodlust to a pitch where nothing could survive, certainly not a small Indian tribe facing an army of furious Macedonians. The men believed he was dead.
He wasn't. The man has remarkable healing power, but he was in danger for many days as the physician sewed up lung, muscle and skin to stop the air from escaping. It was the worst wound he would ever receive to my knowledge and he has not fully recovered from it as I also know.
The rumours coming down to us at the base camp, where I had been joined by both Craterus and Ptolemy's forces, were desperate. He was dead they said. The body was being brought down by boat. I was unable to command myself let alone my men and Seleucus took over for me. Even Craterus said nothing but looked at me with sympathy and understanding. The men walked about me as if I was the corpse – which I was; if he was truly dead I did not know what I would do. My first instinct was to join him but then I had responsibilities to my men and his army; get them back to Babylon first, then I could go…
The shouts reached my ears first, so strange in a camp of mourning; they were coming from the troops lining the river bank and Ptolemy rushed into my tent to tell me he was coming, he was alive! My legs gave way and I sat, thankfully, on the bed. Ptolemy laughed and patted my shoulder before racing away to greet the king at the landing stage. Cheers and cries of joy were getting louder and louder until I thought my head would burst. Getting on my feet I went outside to the front of the command tent to look and there he was – mounted on a horse, waving to the men who touched the animals flanks, his foot, any part of him they could to be sure he was not a phantom come to taunt them; their tears were mirrored in his own. The lovers were together again.
Seeing me he halted the horse and, to my horror, dismounted and walked the remaining distance. He grasped outstretched hands and arms, kissed bearded old men on the cheek who came to him weeping like children; then he reached me and I saw the white about his mouth – he was barely holding together and I stopped myself from running to him and picking him up bodily. This was his moment. Slowly I came to him and offered my arm as naturally as a friend would for another. He took it and I felt his weight press down on it with full force. I got him to the tent entrance where, ever the performer, he turned one last time to look out upon a sea of faces; the other Staff had now reached us and we stood, once more, a united Macedonian army under their King, Alexander 'the greatest of them all' – for awhile at least.
Once inside and out of sight he dropped like a stone.
TBC
