We Shall Meet in Babylon

By Novak Tatarevic

Preface

Alexander III, son of King Phillip II, rose to power upon his father’s death at the hands of an assassin, and from his humble beginnings as the young king of Macedon, went on to conquer the whole known world. His late father had subjugated all of Hellas, and from these early campaigns the young Alexander distinguished himself as a promising warrior. Soon, he would lead the Macedonian armies himself, as their king, undefeated in battle, to the edges of the earth. But the shining king must now turn west, towards the realm of the evening sun, where all the light of the world shall at last be snuffed out. And so the annals of history tell of a day when the young king’s light shall come to darkness, and all the realm shall weep at the coming of the night. 

So how could it be, that in his august years, the great king be cut off? And what of those brilliant men, whom he called his friends—shall they see one another in the dark? Or shall they, in their confusion, stamp out the torch he had laid down, so that none may lift them out of their ignominy? 

In this book, we shall join Alexander as he approaches the last days of his reign and follow the diadochi as the bitterness of succession at last spells the end of his empire. In a tragedy of all-encompassing scale, from the epic to the intimate, we shall see as old friends turn on one another, enthralled by power and greed, and finally dismantle the greatest achievement of their lives. As he returns from India, dark omens cast their shadows upon the king, but ever greater shall be the darkness cast upon his successors by the monument of his memory, and ever fiercer will their struggle be in its shade. 

Chapter I

It was the summer of 324 BC when Alexander and his forces were encamped on the long march back to Susa. Now entering the rough country of Persis, Alexander, repulsed from his ambitions in India at the Hyphasis, must seek new avenues for his ambition. There, they made camp on a level plain, hemmed in by stony hills and dense, thickly grown groves of palms and tamarisk. Alexander’s tent, grand and opulent, was perched atop a raised mound overlooking the rest of the camp, which splayed out in all directions like a sea of fire and cloth. The hypaspists of the king, ever vigilant, patrolled around the tent and stood guard at its vestibule. The thick walls of the tent, with its layers of ostentatious fabric, were dusted lightly with the dry, wayward soil of Asia. The muffled thrum of speech could be heard from within. 

A man came to the precipice of the royal vestibule, and as the two guards nodded and parted ways, he pushed aside the tent curtains and went inside. He was large and burly, of noble Macedonian stock, and looked to be near in age to the dear king. A tapestry of great men splayed out before him as he entered the royal offices. To the king's right were his somatophylakes, gathered around eight strong, and, to the immediate hand of the king, a beautiful young man, his peer in age and excellence. To the king's left, seated at a table surrounded by scribes, was a man busily drafting away, a witty smile lightly wrought on his Thracian features. Alexander, hunched over a table, was consulting with his generals, for he never could allow himself leisure and always had to be planning his next moves. The one exception he made was for drinking and games, but this was no leisure to him, as he participated in those activities most dutifully. 

The man at the door stood stiff and rigid, seeming quite out of his element. Then, one of the somatophylakes at the fringe of the crowd waved over the man at the entrance. The man’s face lit up, and he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. He approached the bodyguard plainly. 

“Seleucus, good to see you,” the bodyguard said to the man and reached his hand out for him to shake. 

“Likewise, Peithon, it is always a pleasure,” Seleucus responded, giving Peithon a firm handshake. Peithon looked much alike to Seleucus but was notably less physically imposing; still, his face betrayed a deep, intelligent, and sympathetic nature. Both of Macedonian noble lineage and of the same age, the two were always at ease in their manners despite Peithon’s longer and more distinguished service under Alexander. 

“Alexander’s still at it with his plans for the Arabian campaign,” Peithon said quietly, gesturing over to the throng of generals surrounding the king, “but I say he ought not to think so far ahead when we’re still days away from Susa.” 

“Well, I’m sure he can manage both; I’m sure you know he didn’t get this far without such foresight.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt he’ll manage it in the end, but it’s what end he is striving toward that worries me. The men are growing restless… but perhaps you’d know that better than anyone.” 

“Better than anyone, indeed. It is an honor to be in the presence of such men and the greatest honor to be allowed to be their commander, but they are just that—men—and every man has his limits. The Silver Shields may be the strongest of them all, but I fear the Hyphasis was theirs.”

“And so I fear it was Alexander’s, strongest of them all though he is. At this point, we should aim only to move the army back to Susa in one piece.”

“Yes, to Susa, but truly, the men will not stop at that. My experience is still little compared to yours, but even I can tell. The veterans want to come back home… and a good leader takes care of his men. Alexander is one and has done so, but I very much doubt he would grant them this.” 

“But stopping at Susa I fear might only make things worse; the last thing the men want to see right now is more Persian women. Perhaps not Persian women per se, but with Macedonian men… it might be a bridge too far for most. And now there are rumors that he has sold our philosophers for Indian sages. I’ve heard the men saying that he has abandoned Aristotle for the preachings of ascetics, like that Kalanos. Not in all my years as his bodyguard and general have I seen him so taut with concern.” 

Seleucus nodded, his eyes drifting away as if looking past the walls of the tent into a distant, unseen horizon. His brow furrowed with displeasure. He looked back at Peithon and suddenly renewed his heartened vigor,  returning to that place of his friend's counsel. Peithon, still concerned, though resolute, looked at Seleucus probingly, attempting to discern his true thoughts on the matter. 

“Perhaps this is why you’re out on the fringe here, friend,” Seleucus reassured jokingly. “I know it is not my place to advise you, but you should have some faith! Have faith, but do not be blind to the role men play in their own destinies. We must not shirk our duties but hold fast, and the men shall see what makes great their leaders: that they choose to lead. I can only hope that they’ll see me as such one day, and that my men will have admiration in their eyes for me as they do for you. Gods willing, we’ll make it to Susa without much trouble, and then we’ll be at Babylon in no time.” 

Peithon smiled a weary smile and scratched the back of his neck. “You’re right, Seleucus; I knew I was not a fool to worry. But I suppose it is not foolish to hold out some hope, either,” Peithon responded, still guarded but seeming moved enough to rejoin the group. Thus, the two moved in with their cohort, all debating enthusiastically around Alexander. 

“I’ve heard enough! We’ll resume the march to Susa the day after tomorrow,” Alexander shouted. Quite suddenly, all the huddled whispers and spirited talk were snuffed out like a candle. 

A bodyguard and trusted general, Ptolemy, Son of Lagus, dared interrupt the silence. “But, sir, the men look upon the Asiatics in our camp already with much suspicion, and now they must look upon their comrades with disdain if they are to remain their equals. I agree, my king, that they are surely mistaken, but they cannot fathom to look upon us as following the example of Cyrus, when we have overthrown his progeny, and his successors have slain their kith and kin and have been slain likewise.”  

 Alexander did not hesitate for a moment to respond, sharp as ever, but would not raise his voice. “Ptolemy, you know that I respect you, and ever since you came with me to the Oasis at Siwa, I knew you were upright and loyal; I would not have chosen someone less honorable to be with me then, be sure, so I believe you have said things as they are. But, despite these sayings being so among the soldiers, I must ask, are they true?” 

Ptolemy responded quickly and matter-of-factly, “No, sir, they are not true.” 

“Then why would we bother telling lies?” Alexander replied passionately. “Those men are ungrateful! I would have brought them to the very edge of the world if I had been so allowed, and I have won glory, naught but glory, at each of our thousandfold steps! I have made them rich, rewarded them at every turn, and made them into the finest, most praiseworthy men, and now they would give it all up! Let them go back to Macedon. If I can train a Persian to fight like a Macedonian, then I have no need for them! Such is the unworthy stock of ambition in our ranks…” He glared wildly all about, as if seeking an invisible foe, before bowing his head in disappointment. 

Perdiccas, the bodyguard to the right of the beautiful young man named Hephaestion, interjected: “They are fools, Alexander, but they will not be brought to reason; such is the hate of small-minded men. They do not see the brotherhood of all men, they do not understand your vision, and they would even say Persian gold is less than Macedonian silver. But you are wise in this and have shown them that gold is gold and silver is silver…”  He spoke in a stilted, unsteady way. Grasping the edge of his cloak tightly, he searched for the right words. Then, suddenly, as if having remembered something, he blurted out, “If they will not accept your gifts, then do not give them. I agree; they are ungrateful. They can kill the other but not speak with him, and the only language they speak is force. So be forceful. There is no use in ‘understanding’ them when they are mutinous and false. You have always been decisive, and I think you will remain so. Do not listen to their lies.” 

Alexander nodded slowly, imbibing in silence Perdiccas’ assurances. Perdiccas let go of his cloak, his unease dissipating somewhat. Ptolemy, meanwhile, glanced at Perdiccas coldly from the corner of his eye. Calm and composed, Ptolemy was not impressed by Perdiccas’ argument. Surely, he means only to get a word in edgewise and to make me look like a fool, Ptolemy must have thought. 

“Alexander, son of Zeus, I would not dare to disrespect your position, but I do not tell lies, for I am not trying to deceive you, unlike some others. It is true that the men say this, and it is also true that their sayings are wrong and mutinous. But I must say this in their own words, for to merely agree with you and soothe you would be contrary to those terrible sentiments which I must report. We must not turn an ear away from the men, for they are naught without us, but so are we nothing without their support. It would only be a lie if I were to not say as much—for those who try to deceive you say honeyed things to you, but they give you a mad honey, like that of Trebizond.” 

Ptolemy looked at Perdiccas smugly. Perdiccas, again, grasping his cloak tightly, looked outraged. He knew his tongue was impotent compared to Ptolemy's, and in the presence of Alexander, Ptolemy’s oratory was galling to him. The beautiful young man next to Perdiccas saw the frustration in his eyes and dissuaded him. 

“I know your fury, but Ptolemy is not one to anger—he is not covetous nor violent exactly, but he is ambitious in a different way… a more dangerous way,” that man whispered to Perdiccas. 

“He would not be dangerous if he and I weren’t equals. You count him as a rival, but he is no danger to you. It’s as if he has no desire to be in your place,” Perdiccas whispered back. 

“Exactly, and that’s why I advised you as such. He knows what my position brings. It brings rivals.” Hephaestion sighed wistfully, “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world… and he knows that, too…” Hephaestion whispered back. 

Perdiccas, shaken, eased his tense body, and when he looked back at Ptolemy, his smug glance had been swiftly dispatched as if it had never been. 

“The arrangements are made, anyhow,” the man surrounded by scribes reported. “All the women are assembled, and all the dowry to be paid is waiting for us at Susa. There should be no discussion about our next move.”  

“Thank you, Eumenes, that is true,” Alexander said to that man on his left hand. “Our move is made, and there is no use now busying ourselves with knots. We must cut to the heart of the matter.” Eumenes nodded in assent. “And, Ptolemy, I am well aware of what the men think of it, but I will not back down. If I must use force, as Perdiccas suggested, I will not hesitate.” Alexander looked at Ptolemy. Perdiccas did so as well, paying in turn a knowing eye, before looking back to Alexander. A clear look of respect was showing on Alexander’s face, but most of all of relief, as he glanced back at Perdiccas. 

“Very well, sir. The strong must lead,” Ptolemy calmly replied. Alexander was satisfied with this answer, and Ptolemy, for his part, seemed to be genuinely unoffended. 

The debate seemed to be disbanding just then, as all began to return to their work about the royal office, when a soldier burst onto the scene. “Alexander, sir, your Indian, Kalanos, he says something about wanting to burn himself alive? I don’t understand him well, he says he wants to see you right away,” the soldier said, clearly bewildered. 

Hearing this, Lysimachus, somatophylax, looked at Alexander with distress. Alexander too looked shocked but, most of all, intrigued; it was unlike Kalanos to say something so rash, such a wise man as he was. “Bring him in right away; I, too, want to see him,” Alexander responded. Kalanos entered the room, an elderly Indian ascetic, slight of build and hunched over, with deep, wizened features. “You seem to have alarmed my soldiers, Kalanos, with your talk. I’m sure they misunderstand you, but please, do explain why you wish to see me,” Alexander told the sage. 

“Alexander, your soldier is wise beyond his words. He understood me well,” Kalanos responded, causing Alexander to furrow his brow with suspicion, unsure about what Kalanos was driving at. “The mountains of Gedrosia have ground my knees to dust, and the Persian sun has made me weak from traveling. I fear my health shall only worsen, and soon, I shall be crippled and, not long after, dead. I do not wish to be a cripple, Alexander. Instead, I wish to die now and to die as I wish. In short, I wish to be burned alive, as is the custom of my faith. It might seem strange to you, but not to me.” Not a streak of uncertainty was present on his face. 

Lysimachus looked horrified and began to plead with Kalanos: “Oh wise Kalanos, do not abandon your student! We are in need of your wisdom now, and just the day before, you were healthy. How can you be dying now? No, today, you were healthy; why do you wish to die?” 

“Lysimachus, you have much to learn if you do not see my point. You are wailing now, but to me, it is no sad thing that I might die. Before, I did not know when death might come for me, but now I do, and I do not fear what I know. I do not mourn for you, though I know you will die as well. We are both already slain by the god, and it is nothing for me to act as is demanded of me, even unto death, and it should be the same for you.” As Kalanos preached to Lysimachus, Alexander slumped back on his throne, his shoulders crestfallen and his eyes dazed. 

“Kalanos, surely you will not abandon me now? I am well aware that we have both sacrificed much in our journey up to this point, but there is nothing that time cannot allay once we’ve reached our destination at Susa. And so close are we to it! Anything you could possibly request, either means of healing or means of pleasure, will be at your beck and call! I cannot bear to be divested of your counsel now, when there are such murmurs and uncertain times ahead. If it is truly your creed, then I cannot bar you from it, but I cannot let you go so easily to your death. I am not blind, and I can see that your eyes are steeled to your purpose, so please, let my words not be in vain.” A note of resignation was already present in Alexander's voice. 

Kalanos responded, unwavering in his faith: “Alexander, when I left my brothers in the forest to follow you on my own accord, they said many jealous things about my character to dissuade me. And now that I am to leave life on my own accord, many things are said to dissuade me likewise, as if it is unnatural to leave and to die and to change. I cherish all that we have been through, as do you cherish all that I’ve taught you since that fateful day in Taxila whereupon our fates allied. I remember that day, when you heard tell of our holy place in the forest and you bravely came to meet with us. I remember also that thereupon you had been admonished most brusquely by the other teachers; and yet, still I chose to follow you, for I had seen not a mere slave to ambition as my brothers had insisted, but one who, despite his great power, could bear to humble himself as a student. And, as you know, just as they had been false to assume I’d sell myself to material lusts when I chose to join with you, so too are you false in thinking I shall be tempted by the same when I now resolve to leave this life. If you have truly learned from me in all that time, then you would know a king cannot cow death into sparing life. I am commanded by my lord of death, and he is higher than all kings. We all go so easily to our deaths, but we do not dare to think about it.” 

Alexander sat back, deep in thought, then turned to Ptolemy, standing off to the side, polishing his armor, looking on in silent interest. “Ptolemy, I will grant Kalanos his request, and I shall assign you to arrange that it is done. I want it to be a splendid occasion. I trust you will execute this well,” Alexander said to him. 

Ptolemy nodded. “Of course, sir, I shall have it done.” Kalanos, satisfied, left the tent to prepare, and the whole group scattered to attend to their tasks. Lysimachus followed Kalanos back to his tent to bid his teacher a proper farewell. 

“Lysimachus, you must understand that the body is but an unseemly necessity, and it is no trouble for me to part with it, just as you have no need for a dirty shirt and feel no sadness at tossing it away. The soul is altogether higher, and all worldly things are transient, unnecessary, and even burdensome to its betterment.” 

Lysimachus was not relieved, and he wept, for he could not bring himself to listen to such grim things. “I am sorry, my teacher. I weep because I fear that I am but a worldly man; I cannot be rid of these things as you can,” Lysimachus complained. 

“Perhaps, then, you are. That land upon which your needless tears fall and upon which your feet rest are the only lands you will ever truly own. And when I die, I shall claim as my own only the dirt it takes to bury me. Perhaps, when I have passed away, you will forget these things and become a slave of ambition. But if you need me alive to remind you as much, then you have not truly learned what I have said. I have already taught you all I can.” At Kalanos’ admonishment, Lysimachus nodded bitterly. 

Alexander had entered the tent moments before and stood watching silently at its threshold. Kalanos now, at last, turned his head upwards to acknowledge him. Alexander said, “Kalanos, friend, I have come to say goodbye. You have taught me many things, such wisdom unknown to our philosophers, so I thank you. I only wish you could have witnessed our arrival in Susa, but alas, I know it is not to be, and I respect your decision without bitterness.” 

“Alexander, I thank you for being willing to place yourself as a student and not a master, and I praise your wisdom for not denying me my wish. But now I fear I must be off; goodbye, Lysimachus.” He stood, ready to leave. He turned back to Alexander and there was a long silence. Kalanos’ wise old eyes pierced Alexander’s heart, and the king winced in anticipation, but there was only silence. Then, Kalanos said, “But to you, I will not say goodbye, for we shall meet in Babylon.” 

Kalanos, divested of all his clothing and clad only in garlands of flowers, was resting atop a litter, too weak to mount a horse, as the funeral procession marched through the camp. The horse he was meant to mount, a beautiful stallion of royal Nisaian stock, had to be led alongside his litter. Hoards of treasure and beautiful gold and silver drinking cups were carried in chests beside him, and mournful cries of trumpets rang out like a wailing choir. As he passed the soldiers, he meekly said his goodbyes to them, and soon the camp dispersed. On its outskirts was the unlit bonfire, and the anticipation and uneasiness of the soldiers only grew stronger as they drew closer to the fateful site. As the sounds of the camp died away, the solemn procession was silent, and the only voice was Kalanos, chanting devotedly and unceasingly. 

Finally, they reached the pyre, and as Kalanos prepared to ascend to it, he distributed all his possessions to his friends and followers. Lysimachus, now grave and resigned, was given the reins of the beautiful Nisaian, and all the cups and treasures that Alexander had meant to burn alongside Kalanos were given to his students. Kalanos mounted the pyre, and looking on from a distance, Ptolemy ordered it to be lit. Kalanos continued to chant, his face uncontorted by pain or fear as the flames danced up his legs. He continued to chant without so much as a quiver in his voice until the blazing inferno fully consumed him. 

To Be Continued…

Bibliography

Arrian. The Anabasis of Alexander. Translated by Edward J. Chinnock. London: Butler & Tanner, 1884.

Diodorus. The Library of History Volume VIII. Translated by C. Bradford Welles. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1963.

———. The Library of History Volume IX. Translated by Russel M. Geer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1947.

Justin. Epitome of the Philippic Histories Book XIII. Translated by John S. Watson. London: G. Bell, 1853.

Plutarch. Parallel Lives Volume VII. Translated by Bernadotte Perrin. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919.

———. Parallel Lives Volume VIII. Translated by Bernadotte Perrin. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919.