A cold crisp morning greeted them the next day. No snow. No wind.
They were reluctant to move, but knew they had to. They loaded the horses up quickly, then clambered on to their backs and headed out in to the wilderness.
Distance was not important to them, finding fodder for the horses and wood to make a fire was. In the distance they could see a forest, and so they headed for it, then rode in, hoping to find shelter in the depth of it, somewhere to warm themselves, somewhere the horses could eat…where they could eat.
Coming up a hillside, expecting to go deeper in to the forest, they found an open plain before them, an opening in the forest, and a village in the centre of it. Trees encircled it, but the village had land around it. Smoke came from the wooden huts, children ran playing, women and men went about their daily chores.
They had horses in a paddock, goats too, cattle. Timber was stacked, wooden shelters full of hay, gathered in the summer.
Alexander looked at Hephaistion. "We haven't seen the lake, but that doesn't mean that we have not ridden past it. We could have, and gone either east or west."
Hephaistion nodded, his eyes remaining on the village. "I think that we went past it, but east or west, I don't know. It would be safer to head back, to ride past this village and find shelter elsewhere. Stegran's village is on the borders of Illyria - remember what he said about the tribes further north not being so cultured."
"If it snows again…" Alexander was concerned that they would find themselves without shelter, hungrier and colder than the night before.
Hephaistion gazed on Alexander. "We have only the rabbit to offer, but what if they want your shield, my sword, Bucephalus?"
"We could keep our distance at first. They won't catch us if we stay mounted."
Hephaistion was tempted, looking at the smoke rising in to the blue sky. Warmth and the comfort of a hot meal and a dry place to sleep. If they decided against it, then they would have to cover some distance to avoid any contact with the village; they too, would have tribesmen out hunting, to add what they could to their larders. Perhaps they should not be so wary. "If we keep our distance," he agreed. Following Alexander's lead as they headed down towards the village.
OOXXOO
What distance to keep, that was the problem. Too far, and it looked as though they were being over cautious, but riding right in to the village, in an unknown part of Illyria, was foolhardy.
Alexander halted Bucephalus at the edge of the village, by a pen containing fat goats, where chickens scratched about for grain lost in the snow.
"We're going to look foolish offering a thin, long dead rabbit," Hephaistion said, turning to smile at Alexander. "What would you like me to say?"
Alexander never got a chance to speak, as the situation suddenly took a turn for the worse. He looked away from Hephaistion to see men rushing towards him, he went to draw his sword, but was pulled from Bucephalus, kicked and punched, held still. His sword and dagger were taken from him and he was dragged up on to his feet.
He was encircled by men and brought in to a large, dimly lit, wooden hall. Long tables and benches appeared to fill it. In the centre of the room was a large fire, the smoke escaping up into a hole in the wood-beamed roof.
No chief had yet come forward. Alexander struggled to see Hephaistion, surrounded as he was by Illyrians, all who seemed to be talking at once, intent on pushing him forward.
Women and children gathered to look, the women giving what could only be taken as a victory cry.
Finally, Alexander was made to stand, and Hephaistion was brought alongside him.
"Are you alright?" Alexander asked him.
"You should have taken your chance, and escaped," Hephaistion replied.
"Not without you…if I had even had the chance," Alexander said, earning himself a thump in the back for his trouble.
Hephaistion turned, looking to fight whoever had dared touch Alexander. A shout went up and a man walked forward, dressed in gaudy, macabre clothing that marked him as chief.
His skin was marked. Blue. His hair long, uncombed; his beard straggly. He carried a club, strands of hair, in different shades, hanging from it. Notches on it. He talked fast, giving orders, then stood quietly studying the prisoners before him. He spoke to them, his chin jutting forward and upwards, his demeanour proud.
Alexander looked at Hephaistion. "What is he saying?"
Hephaistion shook his head. "He is talking too fast, his dialect is coarse. I don't know. Give me a moment."
One of the men who had captured them spoke. He grabbed at Alexander's hair, pulling him forward. Alexander struggled but could not free himself from the man's grip. The chieftan shouted, looking about the hall, he shouted again.
"Priest."
Alexander looked at Hephaistion.
"I know that word. He is calling for a priest."
The chief gave orders and once again Alexander and Hephaistion were pushed forward. This time to the back of the hall where flaming sconces illuminated what could only be an altar.
A crude, wooden carving, a representation of their God, sat on a stone bench, two skulls on either side of it. Gold and silver coins, chains, rings and bracelets had been placed amongst them in offering. A small fire burned in front of the altar, then just in front of that four sturdy posts had been set in the ground, two on each side.
"This isn't good," Hephaistion said, looking at the altar.
The chieftan stepped forward, standing before them. He made a speech, which pleased the tribe immensely. A cheer went up as their priest stepped forward, the chieftan bowing to him as he stepped back, letting the man take charge.
The priest was tall, muscular, used to respect. His hair was more unkempt than the chieftan's had been, but his beard had been cut short. His dark eyes showed cruelty and the strong belief in his power to summon the God. He turned to the altar, his long tattered robes, dragging in the dirt. He held his arms up as he began to chant, invoking the God.
"Sacrifices," Alexander said, needing nobody to translate. Illyrians sacrificed children to their God. Their own children. Two strangers to their land would be an easy sacrifice to make. He looked at Hephaistion, just as men gathered round them both and stripped them of their clothing.
Once they were both naked, the priest turned and pointed at Hephaistion, muttering an incantation as he did so.
"No!" Alexander cried, as Hephaistion was dragged forward and forced on to his knees before the altar. Alexander struggled against the men who pinned him, held him so he could only watch. He held himself still, gathering his strength. If they went to kill Hephaistion, if they tried to hurt him, then he would give his all and die trying to save him.
The priest turned to the altar and picked up a pair of shears. He came over to Hephaistion and grabbed a handful of his hair. Hephaistion's eyes stared up at the priest as the shears were brought down to slice through his hair. Hephaistion struggled, the priest gave a curse and the men holding Hephaistion down, took a tighter hold to keep him still.
The priest continued cutting. Hephaistion tried to stop it, the shears cutting his scalp, making it bleed, a track of blood running down his neck.
"Hephaistion," Alexander called, as his lover's beautiful, silken mane was shorn. Tears filled his eyes, he loved Hephaistion's hair, the way it framed his face, the softness of its touch against his body. He watched it falling to the floor, unable to do anything to stop it.
Alexander prepared to move; prepared to fight, but Hephaistion was pulled to his feet. Then he was jostled and moved back and secured against the first wooden post to the left of the altar. His eyes sought Alexander, as leather straps were fastened around his chest, waist, legs and ankles.
Alexander was dragged forward, beaten down on to his knees. The priest gripped his hair, and he suffered the same humiliation as Hephaistion, as the priest used the shears, cutting close to his scalp. He looked down, seeing gold merge with chestnut brown, the locks caressing each other. Suddenly angered by the priest's actions he struggled, feeling his scalp cut by the blade, the blood running down his face on to his cheek.
He sought Hephaistion as he was pulled upright and secured to the first post on the right of the altar.
The priest gathered the shorn hair into a bronze bowl, muttering a different incantation over it, before emptying the bowl into the fire. The fire crackled, and the scent of singed hair filled the air. People called out, their voices approving.
The priest walked over to Hephaistion, talking to him. The priest turned. Hephaistion was watching him, breathing hard, not sure of what he would fetch.
It was another bowl, this one had a thick blue paste in it. The priest put his hand into it, bringing it out and placing it over Hephaistion's heart, while he muttered another incantation.
He placed his hand in the bowl, this time placing his hand on Hephaistion's face. Then he brought a fine silver dagger out from under the folds of his cloak and ran the blade over Hephaistion's heart, the incantation slowed, as if coming to an end.
"No!" screamed Alexander, struggling against the leather cords which held him firm. "Hephaistion!" he cried.
Hephaistion kept his eyes fixed on Alexander's. "It's alright," he soothed.
The priest stepped back, satisfied that Hephaistion knew his fate.
He turned to Alexander, who was still struggling against the leather ties. He placed his hand in the bowl, then over Alexander's heart. "I am Alexander, son of Philip of Macedon," Alexander stated clearly. He looked at Hephaistion. "I don't care what they do to me, but I won't see you sacrificed, Hephaistion."
His words went unheard. The priest placed his hand over Alexander's face, leaving his mark, claiming him for the God.
This time it was Hephaistion who struggled and called out as the priest lifted the blade to Alexander's heart. He could not be sure that Alexander would not be sacrificed first.
Hephaistion was talking, in faltering Illyrian, as if he were struggling for the words. The people were looking for their chief, the priest turned away from Alexander, shouting above Hephaistion. What Hephaistion was saying was having an impact. Hephaistion locked his eyes on the priest, the words flowing from his lips now. The priest turned to look on Alexander, he was unsure.
The chief stepped forward. The priest stepped aside. Hephaistion turned to the chief, speaking slowly as if wanting the man before him to absorb his words.
"What are you saying?" Alexander asked.
Hephaistion ignored him, his words were having an effect on the chief. The man turned and spoke to the priest. Their words became heated, the priest pointing to the altar. Hephaistion called out. An agreement was reached, both the chief and the priest seemed satisfied.
"Hephaistion. Talk to me," Alexander pleaded.
The chief gave orders. Men stepped forward, freeing Alexander, removing the straps before tying his hands in front of him.
"I can't understand them so well, but they understand me," Hephaistion explained, moving against the leather ties that bound him, as if in the hope he might free himself. "I told them you were a great fighter, that you will teach them to fight like the Greeks, that you can show them how to win in battle over them. That they should not waste their chance."
Alexander pushed forward, managing to get to Hephaistion. "And what of you?" he asked, urgently, his eyes seeking the answer.
"They need a sacrifice," Hephaistion replied.
"No!" Alexander struggled as the men of the tribe pulled him back. He forced his way forward with every ounce of strength he had. His hands reached out for Hephaistion, managing to grasp one of the leather ties. What if he only had moments to be with him? His lips met Hephaistion's, saying more than words ever could, while the world erupted around them.
He was dragged away; pulled away from Hephaistion.
The chief stepped forward, talking slowly to Hephaistion, his hands miming what he thought his words would not convey. Hephaistion nodded. The chief laughed, so unexpectedly that the room went quiet. He took his knife from his belt and cut Hephaistion free, ignoring the pleas of the priest. He turned to the tribe and made a declaration. Cries of delight went up.
Not believing what had just happened, Alexander was reunited with Hephaistion.
"You saved me with your kiss," Hephaistion murmured. "They think we are members of the Sacred Band, no doubt in exile since Chaeronea, and here to protect them from Philip."
Alexander gave a breath of relief. Smiling, his bound hands reaching up to touch Hephaistion's face, as best he could, he wiped the blood away, then studied his friend and lover. "You look a sight," he murmured.
Hephaistion looked on Alexander. "You have looked better," he replied, but tears were in his eyes for what had been done.
Alexander leaned forward and kissed Hephaistion's cheek, knowing it would do no harm. "We are alive."
They were pulled apart, once more, then allowed to dress. Hephaistion's hands were also bound before they were led over to a table where they were forced to sit. A bowl of thin broth was placed in front of each of them, stale bread pushed in to their hands and they were encouraged to eat.
Alexander managed to cup the bowl in both hands and drank the broth, which tasted rancid. He looked over at Hephaistion, to see him softening the bread in the broth before eating it; his face showing that the bread still tasted bad, despite having been wet.
It was hard to recognise Hephaistion. Alexander had never known him with his hair so short, it had always been long. The blue handprint on his face, disguised his features, made him look like a cross between the Macedonian soldier, he was, and an Illyrian tribesman.
Alexander put down the empty bowl, and reached up, feeling where his own hair had been shorn, short spikes of hair, to small clumps over his scalp. The wetness of blood from the cut of the shears. He moved his hands down his face, brushing at the blue paste, wanting to be clean of it.
A tribesman, seeing what he was doing, slapped his hands, cursing at him to stop. Others, who had been interested in their share of roasted boar, turned to look momentarily, before grabbing for the cooked flesh.
The doorways were still guarded, they were too far from them to be able to make it without being recaptured. Alexander looked at Hephaistion, he had been thinking the same, calculating their chances of escape.
"At least we are warm, and have been fed," Hephaistion said.
"We have to get away from here," Alexander said, stating what Hephaistion already knew.
Hephaistion nodded. "If you just keep them busy."