Note: This may appear to glorify violence. It is an attempt to understand Alexander's world, and does not reflect my personal feelings.
Alexander and his column had been benighted in the hills of Phoenicia, far from the siege of Tyre, led astray by an ill-informed guide as they came down from the hills to reunite with Craterus and the main column in the lowlands. The scouts had found a valley that they recognised and, knowing they were less than two hours from Craterus's camp, Alexander had decided to press on after dark.
One of the advance scouts had then caught the glimmer of a campfire higher in the hills and spied armed men around it. Alexander left the majority of his column lower in the valley and took a hundred men ahead on foot through the darkness to investigate. At the foot of the defile where one of the scouts was waiting for them, Alexander left Ptolemy and fifty of the men, then pressed on uphill with Hephaestion and the remaining fifty.
The moon had not yet risen above the hills to shine down into the defile as they moved silently upwards like shadows in the darkness. They had removed breastplates and greaves to facilitate stealth and crouched down as the scout halted them below the shoulder of the hill. He pointed to indicate the lookout sitting with his back against a boulder on the skyline, then held out his spread fingers to Alexander five times to indicate that there were about fifty men at the campfire on the other side of the rise. Alexander indicated the hillside to the left, asking if there were any lookouts there, but the scout shook his head.
Alexander motioned to two of his best men to move up and take the lookout. Stealthily, they crept up on him from the rear, yet he must have been half-asleep for they pulled him down from the skyline and despatched him with barely any noise.
At Alexander's signal, his men fanned out as they moved towards the top of the slope. Just as they topped the rise, Alexander stood up, uttered a full-bloodied war-cry and, brandishing his sword, charged downhill towards the men sitting around the campfire in the hollow below, Hephaestion and the others racing to keep up with him.
Bending with grace and fluidity, Alexander swept his sword two-handed against the midriff of the first man who came against him. Glorying in the power and strength of his body, he whirled and met the sword stroke of his next opponent with a clash of metal. Confidence sent fire along his veins as he twisted his sword, forcing the man off-balance and slashing his thigh open.
Alexander's feet scarcely touched the ground as he leapt forward, dodging a blow aimed at his shoulder, intent on engaging the captain of the Phoenician band. His heart soared proudly in his breast as he caught sight of Hephaestion dancing unfettered with death, weaving with grace and power as his sword glittered in the firelight. Alexander wanted to sing a paean of triumph to Apollo and Ares at that moment.
With a feral grin, Alexander stilled before the Phoenician captain, taking an instant to smell the man's sudden fear. With a taunting, cat-like hiss, Alexander's eyes widened and he launched blow after blow with speed and ferocity. The bigger man resisted gamely but, unprepared, could not match the energy of Alexander's assault. Alexander ended it before the man could overcome his initial uncertainty, and thrust his sword into his side.
The captain dropped to one knee, his eyes big with fear and surprise. Alexander lifted the man's chin with the tip of his sword.
"Yield!" he cried.
Cautiously, so as not to cause Alexander's sword point to wander, the man opened his hand and dropped his sword.
Alexander's sword swept away as he whirled to face the challenge of a roaring, black-bearded man running at him. In that instant of Alexander's distraction, the Phoenician captain swept up his sword and swung at Alexander's unprotected legs. His blow caught Alexander's shin as Alexander swung at the black-bearded man. Alexander staggered forward, inadvertently avoiding the black-bearded man's sword stroke. With a ferocious back-handed swing, Alexander buried the sharp edge of his sword between the man's ribs, aware out of the corner of his eye that Hephaestion's blade had sliced into the Phoenician captain's neck.
Alexander staggered as he tugged his sword free from the toppling body of the black-bearded man, and Hephaestion caught his elbow. They faced each other, sweating and wild-eyed in the darkness and firelight, intimate strangers.
"Scarey," Hephaestion said with an sudden grin.
Alexander shook him off and hobbled away from the bodies, surveying the situation. They were in possession of the immediate area around the fire, though there was still some skirmishing further off. It appeared minor and Alexander allowed himself the luxury of acknowledging the blinding pain of his wounded leg.
Hephaestion was at his side as he sagged. "I've got you, I've got you," Hephaestion said, his arm around Alexander's back as he carefully helped Alexander down onto the ground.
Alexander lay back on his elbow, rigid with pain, his face glistening with sweat, breathing heavily through clenched teeth and flared nostrils as he reached out a hand to instinctively fend Hephaestion off his wounded leg.
"Let me," Hephaestion ordered, swearing under his breath as he surveyed the gash in Alexander's shin. He could see the white gleam of bone even in the firelight as he reached for the bandages in his satchel.
"Watch your back," Alexander snarled.
"Leonnatus has got it," Hephaestion muttered, pressing a pad against the wound and eliciting a hissed curse from Alexander. Hephaestion started wrapping a bandage tightly around the pad as Leonnatus hovered over them, bloodied sword in his hand, watching the darkness around them warily. There were sounds of fighting around them as Macedonians moved about despatching the still resisting enemy.
Hephaestion knotted the bandage over Alexander's calf, retrieved his sword and stood up.
"Stay there," he ordered Alexander and Leonnatus, and he moved away into the darkness to where there was still fighting.
"Get me up," Alexander ordered Leonnatus and with Leonnatus' arm around his waist, stood on one leg as other Macedonians moved up around them, surveying the dim figures further off. Alexander held out his free hand and someone put a sword into it.
"Move!" Alexander ordered the men around him as violence suddenly erupted in front of them. A group of Phoenician soldiers appeared, running downslope and slamming into Hephaestion's band. Alexander lunged forward with Leonnatus' support. He caught sight of Hephaestion breaking away from the group and run after a fleeing soldier. The Phoenicians broke as the Macedonians hammered into them with blood-curdling yells.
"No!" Alexander screamed, as he saw Hephaestion go down, overwhelmed by fleeing Phoenicians. Then he lost sight of what was going on as Macedonians streamed past him and Leonnatus. Ptolemy had brought more men up in support.
"Secure the area! No further!" Alexander yelled, lunging forward and forcing Leonnatus to move him in Ptolemy's wake.
Ptolemy's men rapidly had things under control, any further Phoenician resistance ended as they either surrendered or escaped into the darkness, no Macedonians being foolhardy enough to pursue them.
Torches were being kindled from the Phoenician campfire and Alexander allowed himself to look for Hephaestion. He caught sight of him lying on the scrubby ground with a soldier squatting beside him, talking to him. The soldier wasn't administering first aid so maybe Hephaestion wasn't injured, but neither was he making any attempt to get up.
Alexander dropped to his hands and good knee beside Hephaestion and hung over him, trying to assess his condition. Hephaestion grinned and met his eyes.
"You bloody fool!" Alexander said. "What the hell were you doing?"
Hephaestion grinned giddily up at him. "I got you a message satchel," he said, moving his hand to indicate the leather bag he was clutching.
"You could have been killed," Alexander said. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm alright. Just got the wind knocked out of me."
"Good boy," Alexander said, patting Hephaestion's cheek. He relaxed with relief into a flood of pain from his wounded leg, which suddenly didn't seem so bad as he eased himself into a sitting position beside Hephaestion.
"Hephaestion, you're bleeding," Leonnatus said, kneeling on the other side of Hephaestion.
"Am I?" Hephaestion said, raising his head to look. "Where from?"
"The top of your thigh," Alexander said, inspecting it. "It's messy, but not deep."
"Oh, that's what it is. I thought I'd disgraced myself."
Alexander chuckled, and Leonnatus grinned into his beard. "Here, let me," Leonnatus said, reaching for a bandage.
As Hephaestion raised his knee to let Leonnatus wrap the bandage around his thigh, Alexander looked around to see Ptolemy had men facing outwards into the darkness, the wounded were being tended to, and Ptolemy himself was searching through the Phoenician baggage.
"Ptolemy! What's the count?" Alexander called.
"Two of ours dead, eight wounded, including you two," Ptolemy said, coming nearer. "Or are you just resting, Hephaestion?"
"Winded."
"Who's dead?" Alexander said.
"Meleager and young Hector."
"Damn," Alexander muttered, wiping a hand over his face. "Hephaestion's got a message satchel. Anything else?"
Ptolemy held out a small money bag. "About thirty gold talents."
Alexander waved it off. "Send two thirds to Meleager's widow: she has six children. And the rest to Hector's mother."
Alexander was distracted as Philip the physician arrived, dropping his heavy bag beside Alexander. "Check the more seriously wounded first," Alexander told him.
Alexander glanced back at Hephaestion, who still hadn't sat up. "You alright?" he asked.
"Actually, I think I've cracked a couple of ribs. Could someone help me up?"
Leonnatus slid his arm under his shoulders as Hephaestion clamped his bottom lip between his teeth in pain. He held onto Leonnatus' shoulder as Leonnatus lifted him, his hand on Hephaestion's shoulder blade. Leonnatus carefully disengaged until he was sure Hephaestion was steady.
"Let's get your corslet off," Leonnatus said.
"Let me look in this satchel first," Hephaestion breathed. Moving his arms as little as possible, he lifted the end of the satchel and a scroll slid out.
"Alexander," he said, "this letter has the seal of Melkart on it. Tyre has been sending out messages."
"I can't read it."
"It's Phoenician. But I recognise that," Hephaestion said, indicating an indecipherable word in the torchlight. "That's Judea. Tyre must be asking Jerusalem for aid."
"We'd better pay them a visit then, and dissuade them."
"You're not going anywhere by the look of that leg," Philip the physician said, squatting by Alexander's side.
"See to Hephaestion's ribs first. Ptolemy, start moving everyone back down to the valley. We've been exposed up here for too long." Ptolemy nodded and moved off.
Philip knew better than to waste time arguing and moved to Hephaestion's side. With the aid of his young assistant, he got Hephaestion's corslet off and his tunic down to his waist, moving the injured man as little as possible. His expert fingers felt swiftly over Hephaestion's ribs.
"You've cracked at least four ribs at the back and two at the front. What happened?" Philip asked, already beginning to wrap a bandage tightly around Hephaestion's ribs.
Hephaestion's breath hitched. "Cudgel, then someone jumped on me."
"Ah," Philip said, his curiosity satisfied. He finished bandaging Hephaestion, pulled his tunic up to stop him chilling, and then moved around to Alexander's side.
He unbandaged the blood-soaked pad from Alexander's leg and made an exasperated sound at the depth of the wound. He packed the wound with ointment from a jar in his bag, placed a fresh pad over it and bandaged it tightly in place, his assistant holding Alexander's ankle off the ground for him.
"Alexander," Philip said, "I can't stitch that wound until we get enough light and safety for me to search it properly for bone fragments. And you can't ride until I stitch it or you'll lose too much blood. And you, young man," he said sharply to Hephaestion who had got himself onto his knees and was about to try to get to his feet, "are not riding either. You'll fall off."
"No, I won't," Hephaestion muttered defiantly.
"Yes, you will. And I'm not picking up the pieces when you smash those ribs and pierce a lung. You're both confined to stretchers," he said looking firmly at Alexander, whom he knew was most likely to disobey him.
"I never said otherwise," Alexander protested innocently.
"Ah!" Philip warned, holding up a finger. "Silence! And no pretending to obey me until my back's turned either."
Alexander grinned wildly and shifted himself onto the stretcher that had just arrived with Ptolemy. Philip moved out of the way, heaving his bag onto his shoulder.
Hephaestion couldn't breathe, couldn't move as he sought the strength to push himself to his feet. But he knew they couldn't wait for him any longer and he let himself be lowered onto the stretcher.
"Miraculous!" Philip said as he surveyed his two patients on their stretchers. "Young men obeying their elders! There is hope for the world after all."
He moved off into the darkness, followed by his assistant, still exclaiming about reckless young men who wouldn't listen to him for their own good.
There was the whoosh of an arrow, a thud, and then silence followed by the fall of a body out in the darkness.
The silence erupted as Alexander screamed orders, Ptolemy began shouting, the campfire was kicked out, torches extinguished, and men began running in the direction of the arrow shot, while Leonnatus and his bodyguard closed up around Alexander, picking the stretchers up in readiness to move quickly. But nothing happened, there was only silence.
"Philip!" Alexander screamed out into the darkness, but there was no reply, only the sound of desolate cries from Philip's young assistant.