Part IV
It was near the outskirts of Thermia when Bucephalas began to snort and rear. Alexander was caught momentarily off guard, but managed to remain mounted and immediately began scanning the area to see what had spooked his horse. The others all had their swords out and had formed a protective circle around him.
As soon as he was able to calm Bucephalas somewhat, Alexander saw what had spooked the animal.
"Xanthus?" Alexander murmured as he allowed Bucephalas to nudge his way between Perdiccas and Harpalus' mounts.
Even at a distance he recognized the chestnut gelding that was sharing a paddock with several less well-bred horses. Not only had it perked up at the noises Bucephalas was making, but, when it turned, Alexander could see a scar on its left shoulder. A single line of scar tissue that, when extended, lined up with one on Hephaestion's left calf. It was a remnant of Chaeronea, the arrow striking Xanthus first before embedding itself in Hephaestion's calf. Hephaestion had walked with a limp for weeks afterwards because of it.
Spotting a farmer near the paddocks, Alexander dug his heels into Bucephalas' sides, cantering across the relatively short distance, the thunder of the six other horses following him. Xanthus was prancing about at the fence, his massive head fixed on Bucephalas. All of the commotion had attracted the farmer's attention and he was slowly making his way towards the approaching horsemen.
"Joy to you," Alexander greeted the farmer, his eyes darting between man and beast. "Tell me, how did you come to possess the gelding?"
Scratching at his chin, the man eyed him skeptically. "And just why do you want to know?"
This time Alexander's gaze was focused solely on the man. "The horse belongs to the son of General Amyntor of Athens, a loyal servant of my father, King Philip. It has recently been discovered that the general's son is missing so I would know how you came by his horse."
The farmer immediately whipped the hat from his head, his eyes lowered. "I bought him from an Illyrian soldier a few weeks back. He said that it was no longer fit for battle. It is a fine beast, well cared for, so I purchased it. Figured I would sell it to one of the merchants in Thermia."
"Did he say what he was doing so far from his homeland?"
"Only that he had business in Pella."
He lay trembling on his bunk, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the thin blanket beneath him. He desperately wanted to cover himself with it, but could not coordinate his body enough to dislodge it from under himself. His grip was ineffectual, his arms shook too much to pull with any real force, his knees were too wobbly to support his weight, nor could he lay on his back for the ravaging that his back and buttocks had taken over the course of that too long day. He could vividly feel each of the welts that criss-crossed his back just as surely as he could feel the semen that leaked from his abused hole.
"Please come, my Achilles," he whispered into the soiled blanket. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that a few tears slipped past the lids. He pressed his face hard against the uncomfortable surface of the bedding, refusing to give into his tears. He could not afford to break.
Alexander would come soon and then he could end it all.
Alexander was torn. It seemed most logical that he would find information about Hephaestion in Thermia, but the fact that Hephaestion's horse had been in the hands of an Illyrian was hinting that his love could be in Illyria. He wished very much that he could split himself in two and go in both directions. The fact that they were only a few hours from Thermia made the decision at least temporarily.
However that was not enough to silence the voice in his head screaming for him to abandon Thermia and go to Illyria. It was only the fact that he would live forever with the guilt if he later discovered that Hephaestion had been in Thermia and that he had turned away which kept him headed towards the port town.
"Hephaestion will not have passed through Thermia unnoticed," Ptolemy tried to reassure him. "If he was here someone will have seen him. And if no one has, we return to Pella and start again."
It was a simple enough proposition and one that Alexander would not have thought twice about had the situation involved anyone other than Hephaestion. Where Hephaestion was concerned he found himself incapable of reason. For the present, Ptolemy and the others were acting as his voice of reason. It would free him up to listen to the messages his heart was screaming at him.
Hephaestion was alive.
He was in pain.
He was desperately waiting to be found.
Alexander would give his last breath if necessary to ensure that Hephaestion was found and brought home safely.
Olympias could not believe that Philip had allowed Alexander to run off in search of the Athenian brat. Did he not realize that without him Alexander would only grow stronger? It was a mere childhood infatuation that existed between Alexander and Amyntor's boy, nothing more. It would not produce anything lasting. Alexander would only experience the same heartache she had when she had first learned that she had no claim on Philip's affections. Dionysus had brought them together in order that she be placed in the position to make her son a king and for that alone she was willing to suffer the loss of a love she had once believed would last all her life. Alexander's infatuation would offer no such benefits. In time he would understand. He would learn never to place his heart in another's care because none would ever safeguard it properly. She was the only one who would not cast him aside.
"No, none of the Illyrians had a boy with them," one of the dock masters said, barely glancing up from his manifest. "No large cargo, either. At least not large enough to hide a body in."
Though the man had no idea of who he was speaking to—either as prince or lover –his callus words still filled Alexander with rage. That Hephaestion's life should be cast in such a trivial light disgusted him.
The dock master glanced up for a moment, his brows furrowing. "One of them was wearing a bit of jewelry just like that, though," he said, pointing to the medallion that hung from Alexander's neck. "Said he got it from a slave that was bound for the mines. Fool had tried to bribe his freedom with it. Bit of wood would never be worth the rice of a slave, regardless of who was carved upon it."
All of the breath escaped Alexander's lungs as though he had received a punch to the gut. Hephaestion was in one of the mines along the Illyrian border. It was no coincidence that first Hephaestion's horse and then the medallion Alexander had given him were found in the hands of Illyrian mercenaries. What remained unknown was the fate of the Athenian escort. Had they been a part of the plot or were they victims as well?
"We leave. Now," Alexander ordered once he had breath enough to speak. "Already we have stayed too long here."
So many thoughts crowded in his head as they rode from the city. The mines. A most wretched and vile place, a living embodiment of Hades. The only fate more terrifying that that he could conjure up would be for Hephaestion to be made a slave in Persia. His beloved Hephaestion, loyal, stubborn, strong and brave to a fault, was trapped in a living torment. Torments that had been haunting his dreams for weeks. Morpheus had tried to reveal Hephaestion's fate to him and Alexander had allowed himself to be convinced that it was only his own fears plaguing him.
"We would have never discovered where Hephaestion is had we not come here," Ptolemy spoke up as they rode a brisk pace along the road that would take them back to Pella and, beyond it, to Illyria and Hephaestion.
Alexander's left hand strayed to the medallion that hung around his neck. He had had both it and Hephaestion's commissioned especially when their time at Mieza was coming to an end. Their time separated from the concerns of the world was coming to an end and he had wanted there to be a physical reminder of those years. He was the one who had slipped the leather cord about Hephaestion's neck just as Hephaestion had done for him. Alexander had never taken it off since that day just as he knew that Hephaestion had not until it was ripped from his neck by the Illyrian mercenaries.
Alexander arched his hips, grinding himself against Hephaestion's stomach. Hephaestion was lazily tracing patterns over his chest, pausing periodically to place soft, open-mouthed kisses on his skin. He could not help but cry out as Hephaestion's blunt teeth scraped over his nipple.
"Gods, I love you so, my Alexander," Hephaestion gasped, rolling them over so that Alexander was now the one on top. "More than my life."
Alexander stared down at the other boy in wonder. There was no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda. When he looked into Hephaestion's eyes all that he could see was love. Hephaestion loved him and his trust in him was absolute. Alexander had never experienced anything like it in his life and he feared what would happen when they returned to Pella.
Pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to Hephaestion's cheek, Alexander heaved himself up onto his knees and reached back to where their clothes lay in a heap. Hephaestion's toes running over his calves was utterly distracting, as he was sure it was intended, but he was able to find his belt and the pouch attached to it. Alexander sat down on his heels and held a hand out towards Hephaestion, drawing him up so that they were face to face.
"Before we lose ourselves entirely and the day slips away from us, I wanted to give you something," Alexander murmured as he unfastened the ties on his pouch.
Hephaestion lifted a hand to cup the side of Alexander's neck, drawing him closer so that their foreheads touched. "You are tense as a bow string. You do not need to be so nervous with me, Alexander."
"I am not nervous," Alexander insisted as his fingers closed around the objects he was searching for. He drew them out slowly, glancing down at his hand for a moment before uncurling his fingers. In his palm were two wooden medallions tied with leather cords. "I want there to be something that will bind us together even when we are apart. Something physical that can be touched."
Hephaestion's wide smile was enough to silence any lingering doubts. "I will willingly bind myself to you in any way."
Passing Hephaestion one of the medallions, Alexander started to place his own head when Hephaestion's hand on his wrist stopped him.
"Let me."
Leaning forward, Hephaestion looped the pendant over his head and when it fell, laid his hand over the wooden disk and pressed it to Alexander's chest. Exhaling heavily through his nose, Alexander returned the gesture. They stared at each other for several long minutes, hand pressed to the other's chest. Hephaestion inclined his head and Alexander met him halfway.
"I will love you until the end of my days and beyond," Hephaestion moaned against his lips.
"You are the other half of me," Alexander echoed, slipping his fingers into Hephaestion's hair and drawing him closer. "My Patroclus."
The following morning they had left Mieza and were no longer boys. Their time together was limited after Mieza, but Alexander had always taken comfort from the medallions that they both wore. He had hoped for them to be a talisman that would keep the two of them safe. They had escaped Chaeronea relatively unscathed and he had hoped that the spirits of Achilles and Patroclus would continue to protect them.
"I will be with you soon," Alexander whispered as he closed his fist about the wooden disk. "Wait for me."
He stared at the inside of his left wrist. Even in the dim light of the barracks he could make out the faint blue lines that passed the blood through his body. It would be so easy. A deep enough cut to the delicate skin of his inner wrist and it would all be over. He would be free.
Only he could not leave Alexander. He could not, not while the chance remained that Alexander would blame himself. The world was heavy enough upon his shoulders already, balancing himself between his parents and their never-ending war. He refused to add another burden to his beloved's already heavy heart. He would die first.
Closing his hand into a tight fist, he pressed both of his wrists against his knees. "Stop thinking like this," he growled under his breath. "It does not matter. Not to him. He will not care."
And while in the end it might not matter to Alexander, it would to him. Forever would he remember the feel of those other hands upon his skin. Fingers squeezing his hips, rough nails scoring his back and thighs, teeth knowing at his shoulders. Even now, when he was alone in his bunk, he could feel those hands upon him.
"Please come," he whispered, turning his face into his right shoulder to hopefully mask the sound of the sob he could feel building up within him.
All that he wanted was for it to be over.