Hephaestion had just about reached his limit. He spent his days patrolling with his men for escaping Malians, and trying to keep order with an army of men who were, quite frankly, scared and on edge. It was as he had feared; most of them didn't believe the letter and were convinced that it was sent to assuage them and cover up the truth. They were afraid of what would happen if Alexander truly was dead. How would they get home? They were in a difficult place geographically, surrounded by natives who would like nothing more than to move against them to recapture their cities and defeat the great Alexander's army.
Hephaestion was quite aware that there was a good deal of skepticism regarding his ability to lead them, thanks in part to the poison words of Craterus, Eummenes, and a few others who sided with them. Craterus was obviously bitter that Alexander had put Hephaestion in charge, rather than himself, and was dividing the army and further worsening morale. A high percentage of the men simply wanted to take their chances and leave. The already unhappy troops were threatening mutiny. They had never wanted to be here in the first place.
In private, Hephaestion continued to hold his emotions in. He refused to give in to them, afraid that if he allowed himself to cry he wouldn't be able to stop. A cold fear gripped his heart that he could not shake. He still barely ate or slept. He knew he had lost weight and, as Ptolemy had so eloquently put it, looked like shit. Not that he much cared. He maintained his stoic façade and kept his tenuous hold over his command, being quick to discipline anyone who acted to disrupt the thin thread of order that they clung to. He did not like being such a harsh disciplinarian, but he had little choice. If he loosened his grip on what little control he had, it would be as if the Furies themselves would be unleashed. Chaos and disorder would reign.
It had been nearly a week since they had received word that Alexander was supposed to arrive, if indeed the letter was accurate. Hephaestion was on edge, even more so than he had been of late. He didn't want to get his hopes up, yet he tried to appear positive and hopeful for the good of his men. His head hurt, his heart ached, and he secretly feared the worst. If he lost Alexander, he lost everything. They all did.
He sat at his table, surrounded by paperwork and administrative matters that demanded his attention. As tired as he was of paperwork, it was almost a welcome change from patrolling the surrounding area for Malians. He would have been happy to never see another Malian as long as he lived. Truth be told, he didn't want to be here, either. He would never confess this to Alexander. Supporting Alexander, with all his dreams and ambitions, was Hephaestion's life…a life he had willingly chosen. That did not mean, however, that he was not at times plagued with doubts and trepidation. So far the gods had blessed them, at least until now. Now, he wondered if the gods had abandoned them. Had Alexander gone too far this time? Only time would tell.
He finished his third cup of wine and sat up, stretching his sore back and shoulders. He knew he should probably eat something, but he had no appetite. Medius had been scolding him lately for not taking care of himself. He would eat, he promised…later.
"Commander!" his page Damon ran into the room, obviously excited about something. "I have word…Nearchus sent me to tell you that King Alexander's ships have been spotted up river, heading this way. They should be here by this evening." The boy gave a tentative smile. "It's really true, isn't it? Alexander lives?"
Hephaestion forgot to breathe for a moment and felt a lump form in his throat. Forcing himself to stay calm, he stood. "It would seem so, Damon. Thank you for bringing me this news. Please, go and tell the others."
"Yes, sir." Damon trotted out of the room, heading for where the other generals were gathered for their morning meal.
Could it be? Was the letter true after all? For the first time in quite a while, Hephaestion allowed himself a glimmer of hope and felt a tear escape the corner of his eye as emotions fought to come to the surface. He brushed away the tear and kept himself in check. He had to maintain his composure, no matter what. Vulnerability would be his undoing.
With a sigh, he threw his cloak over his shoulders and left his tent to meet with the others. He said a quick prayer as he walked. Alexander just had to be okay…he HAD to be.