We Shall Meet in Babylon - Chapter II

By Novak Tatarevic

Chapter II

The palace and bastions of Ecbatana rose over the squat foothills and plains below, their silver gilt roofs gleaming white as the snow-capped peaks of the Zagros mountains. The city was built like a citadel with concentric walls rising in series, and now it hosted Alexander and his victorious armies in joyful festivity. Having marched up into the highlands from Susa and having suffered at last another mutiny, Alexander sought rest and respite, as well as time to solidify the reconciliation between him and his men. In the innermost of the seven enfolding walls of the city lay the palace, within a magnificent room of which was seated Alexander amongst his companions. Alexander reclined upon a plush oriental cushion, lounging in the Persian custom, in Tyrian purple that might have been recognized as that of Darius himself. The companions were doing likewise and were merry like Dionysus, not sharp to the presence of the manifold guards at the premises who did not share in their enthusiasm—standing stiffly, their eyes pointing straight ahead, creases in their tight-jawed manner showing glimpses of disgust strenuously masked. But it would have taken a keen eye to see such a thing among the few and dissatisfied Macedonians, when now most of the guards at the doors of Alexander’s drinking party were Persian Epigoni. The Persians were trained as Macedonians and took on the costume of Macedonian soldiers; but as two from these estranged peoples would pass each other on patrol, most did not deign to look the other in the eye.  

“We really made off with a thief’s hoard, didn’t we, Alexander?” Leonnatus, somatophylax of Alexander, his face red, laughed as he drank from a wide-lipped chalice. 

“Marble is a pretty thing, but it sticks out like a sore thumb compared to genuine silver!” Leonnatus said, slapping the marble tile at the foot of his cushion. Alexander burst out laughing, and the companions roared with glee at his remark. Indeed, among all the silver tiles of the palace, it was hard not to notice where marble had to be used to replace them. 

“Even the damn rafters are made of silver, and the columns, too; one of them’s gotta go!” Eumenes sneered jokingly, leaning back by a window, and the room was filled with more laughter still. 

“Isn’t it nostalgic? I mean, it looks no worse for wear than six years ago, and we really roughed it up back then!” Perdiccas added. 

“Oh, why’d we ever leave here for India, of all places? Gods…,” Hephaestion said with a brief, sarcastic smirk aimed at Alexander, which quickly disappeared as a dark sea of wine rushed up to meet his lips, the chalice rocking back while he drank. Alexander chuckled and smiled only the warmest smile at Hephaestion, his eyes longing and distant. 

“Hush, be quiet, would you? Don’t you know he’s still not over it? I bet he’s angling to go back as well! Be silent, and maybe he won’t remember to bring you along next time!” Perdiccas said, following the same ironic vein as Hephaestion, and struck him playfully on the shoulder in mock reprimand. Alexander snapped out of his brief calm and burst out laughing again, caught off guard. Even Ptolemy, seated some ways away from Perdiccas, across from Peithon, managed a chuckle between pensive sips of wine. 

Lysimachus, who sat beside Peithon, looking weary, his eyes still dark around the edges, his hair disheveled, cried out, “Why don’t we bring in some dancing girls? Let’s spice this up a bit, shall we?” His shout startled a servant hovering about next to him, for it had now become necessary that a full amphora of wine be kept near him at all times.

“Gods, Lysimachus, didn’t that old man Kalanos tell you not to be so worldly? Just be careful you don’t follow in his example too closely, for I bet if someone struck a flint next to your mouth right now, you’d go up in flames too! What with all the wine on your breath!” Eumenes remarked pointedly. 

“I’m grieving, alright? I just need a woman’s touch to set me straight is all. Then I’ll go off into the woods and live off of acorns as you would like me to, Eumenes!” Lysimachus replied, and they both laughed. 

“Haven’t we all had enough of these Persian women and their exotic wiles by now?” Peithon asked and glanced over to Seleucus, sitting on a chair towards the edge of the room, his breastplate still on, keeping an eye on the guards. Seleucus rolled his eyes in half embarrassment and chuckled good-humoredly. 

“Only the truth, Peithon, what you say is all too true…,” Ptolemy whispered, and both exhaled through their nose in suppressed laughter. 

As the rest of the companions’ hysterics died out, Alexander’s chuckle, stifled and emotionless, tacked on to their trailing laughter, cold and rigid. As his heartless laugh tersely ended, the whole room was brought to heel, mute with the king’s silent disapproval. He donned a taut smile, and while his face was still flush red from the wine, a dark displeasure was subtly graven thereupon. All the companions stared intently at Alexander in timid anticipation, all but Peithon, whose eyes wandered from embarrassment. Ptolemy, however, stared Alexander in the eye resolutely, slowly and shamelessly bringing his chalice up to his lips, drawing out measured sips from it. Alexander glanced all about and suddenly straightened up, snapping his fingers to a servant nearby. The servant bent low, and Alexander whispered something into his ear. Alexander then stood and held his cup aloft, having changed his tune quite suddenly, much to the consternation of the companions. 

Alexander looked around once again, scanning the anxious countenances of his companions. However, as his eyes completed their circuit, he could not help but laugh, truly and genuinely, and his imposing nobility melted away instantly. 

“Friends! What have I done to cause such fear from you? Are we not all here gathered as brothers in arms, loyal and trustworthy one to another?” 

At this juncture, Perdiccas shot a dirty look to Ptolemy, who, unaware, continued looking towards Alexander with blameless ease. 

Alexander continued, “Why do you look upon me with such suspicion, or is it such reverence? Whatever it may be, your awe is misplaced, for in this room we are all brothers, alike in all ways.” Hephaestion, sitting not far from Alexander, began to look around nervously, his eyes darting across the room from corner to corner. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, catching itself in his brow, as he felt countless probing eyes fix on him at Alexander’s remark. He resisted the urge to wipe away the slick of sweat and sheepishly shrank back, scooting carefully away from Alexander. Seleucus, who had looked on from the sidelines, now sat next to Leonnatus and took another look at the guards, frozen in their tracks as Alexander spoke. 

“So says the son of Zeus…,” He overheard Leonnatus mutter. 

“We are now at last unburdened by the threat of mutiny and are gathered here to reflect on valor and to celebrate the reconciliation of our army. I know it had come up in jest afore, but the deeds of such peerless commanders as Perdiccas and Hephaestion during the campaign in India are the kinds of deeds we all now drink to. And to Seleucus, who had proved himself worthy on that very same campaign. In fact, let us toast now to all of us, who have remained brave and faithful on to the ends of the earth and back!” Alexander proposed, and all answered this toast with great relief and enthusiasm. 

“And let us toast also to those who have pushed farther beyond even the vast journeys of our armies on land and braved the realms of Poseidon to chart the unknown coasts of Asia; let us toast to Nearchus, who shall be joining us tomorrow, and shall relate such things firsthand!” This toast was answered in cheers as well. 

“And finally, let us toast to the union of our peoples, the Achaemenids and the House of Argos, the Persians and Macedonians, with the weddings at Susa and the incorporation of the Persian Epigoni with the Macedonian troops at Opis!” This toast, likewise, was answered loudly but not joyfully. Instead, it was responded to with a dutiful pantomime of celebration. Alexander was no fool to that, for a king knows well from experience the tone of men who praise only from necessity. As he drank down the last toast, he paused momentarily and made his face stern with contemplation. He looked up for a moment, seeing all the guards stock-still again, and was reminded of what he meant to say. 

“Are we all disappointed with that toast? Are we all now bracing for my fury?” He laughed, and for a moment, they did brace for said fury, but Alexander quickly pivoted. 

“No need to be disappointed; it is last only in name, the wine will continue to flow, I’ve just no more tongue for speeches tonight!” The rest of the men laughed in relief, but everyone knew that Alexander had found them out; but, gracious as he was, he spared them the confrontation. Whether from trust or from stratagem, they knew not. 

“Bring out a full amphora and set it down here!” A servant moved quickly to fulfill Alexander’s demand, placing an amphora upright in a bronze tripod stand before him. “Clearly, you’re all not drunk enough yet! Now, who thinks themselves man enough to drain this whole jug in one sitting?” 

Leonnatus sprung up and said, “I’ll do it; let me at it!” He approached the amphora, grasped it with both hands, and began guzzling the wine inside. Everyone started cheering, but it was not to last because Leonnatus, gasping for air, had to set the half-drunk amphora down.

“Gods, oh, I think I’m going to vomit—” He rushed over to a servant who was carrying a bucket and emptied his guts inside. This was met with uproarious laughter, naturally. 

“Just don’t let Lysimachus anywhere near that jug!” Perdiccas called out, still winded from laughter. 

“Yeah, I’ve already got my own; what of it?” Lysimachus shouted back, slurring his words, clearly more intoxicated than the rest. 

“Well, go on, who else dares?” Alexander goaded the men. Perdiccas looked about and saw Ptolemy still sipping slowly as he had done uninterrupted throughout the whole party. Agitated, he began to stammer but did so wordlessly and quickly calmed himself, seizing the opportunity to possibly humiliate his opponent. 

“I think…I mean, it looks like Ptolemy hasn’t drunk much of anything…why don’t you go up there and show him?” Perdiccas suggested smugly. 

“Well, what business is it of yours, Perdiccas?” Ptolemy retorted. 

“Oh, nothing; I only petition you as a concerned citizen, my lord, that, perhaps, you are too sober at a drinking party! But really, it is none of my concern,” Perdiccas replied sarcastically and was met with laughter and support. Ptolemy looked around reluctantly and shrugged his shoulders, but as the others began to cheer his name and urge him on, he set down his own cup, mostly full, and went up to the newly full amphora which had been swapped in. Ptolemy drained the entire vessel with apparent ease, much to Perdiccas’ chagrin, and everyone cheered again. 

“I’ll hand it to you, Leonnatus, you have no shortage of ambition; but how often do you start things, and how often do you carry them through?” Ptolemy jested, savoring his victory as he went back to sit down, where he came down hard, disoriented from his rapid intoxication. Perdiccas, seeing Ptolemy’s unassailable composure torn away at last, smiled but could not help but feel the need to reprimand himself. How foolish are these games? We are jealous like youths! And so the words of Alexander’s speech rang true in his mind: We must not succumb to divisions for the good of the realm if nothing else. 

“Let me finish that half one Leonnatus started. Would be a shame to let it go to waste, no?” Hephaestion interjected. Alexander invited him up and had the servants fetch the half-finished amphora. Hephaestion drank it without so much as a break and, seduced by the cheers of his fellows, finished another half in the same manner. 

“Looks like I still got it, huh?” Hephaestion said to Alexander as he began to walk down from the royal platform, but as he took the step down, he suddenly clutched at his side and grit his teeth in pain. Alexander and Perdiccas rushed to his aid, holding him by the shoulders and lowering him down the step. Standing on two feet again, he swayed weakly, still clutching at his side. 

“Gods, Hephaestion, are you alright?” Alexander asked him immediately, his face contorted with dire concern.

“I’m, ah, I’m alright, it’s just the wine…The physician said to lay off it for a while, but what does he know? I’ll not listen to such womanish advice,” Hephaestion replied. 

“Hah! That’s right, you’re a warrior! What’s wine ever done but fortify the spirit of a strong man such as yourself? But I swear this on my heavenly father Zeus that if, gods forbid, anything happens to you because of it, I’ll never have you touch so much as a grape! You may as well listen to the physician tonight, just in case,” Alexander advised him, his rapid heartbeats slowing down to a calm pace with every word. 

Perdiccas implored his friend, “Exactly, Hephaestion, you proved your manhood up there more than enough. You had me worried, friend! Come, have a seat.” Alexander let down Hephaestion from the platform and gave a nod of sincere appreciation to Perdiccas before returning to his own seat. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Perdiccas reassured Alexander. And so the festivities continued with Alexander at their center. Clad in Persian regalia, reclined in the Persian fashion on cushions of luxuriant Indian cotton, and surrounded by eunuchs and Asiatic Epigoni, the last thing that marked him as a Macedonian king was the royal Argead diadem bound around his head. Or, so it seemed to most, but not even the blessings of Zeus and Dionysus were enough to lift the burden of that air heavy with distrust, silent in its perniciousness, that lay upon the back of every man in that chamber. 

Seleucus, sober and attentive, sat glumly now in the center of the room, imbibing from the delta at the river of ambition, wherein all the generals sailed out to sea by different branches to do battle upon the open water at the river’s mouth. He saw Ptolemy and Eumenes in their drunkenness sneak jealous, unsubtle glances at Hephaestion, who was always within arm’s reach of Alexander; Ptolemy, in particular, reserved a special distrust for Perdiccas, who sat practically at the ear of Hephaestion, and, consequently, Alexander. He saw Perdiccas, at the other end of the room from Ptolemy, scoffing with a self-satisfied grin as he stood up and poured his wine out the window, no doubt knowing he had finally gotten one over on Ptolemy. 

And he saw, too, Peithon, who murmured with Leonnatus. Surely his concern had not crossed the line towards criticism and then sedition? Surely not, Seleucus thought. 

As the evening wore on, the faint music that crept in through the open windows of the palace, riding on the crisp autumn air, began to diminish till, at last, in the grip of night, the city surrendered to the chirp of crickets. As the sun set behind the Zagros mountains, casting an early shadow over the palace, Alexander stood. 

“Thank you, everyone, for joining me here, but I say it’s time to retire from drinking for today. Now night comes, and we have a great day of festival tomorrow,” Alexander announced, rising from his royal mat. Everyone bowed and gave their respects to Alexander, who dismissed them humbly and with grace, like old friends, as they were. Now the braziers cast stark shadows beside their bright orange glow as the hetairoi dispersed into the fringes between the lead-black night and burnt ochre flame. Throngs of servants filed in to attend to the king and the palace. Between them, Alexander wove to reach Hephaestion, who, though obscured partly by shadow, appeared brighter than before and recovered, which heartened Alexander, who greeted him with a smile. 

“Hephaestion, I have need of your counsel tonight. First I must greet Nearchus, however, for I’ve just received word that he shall arrive at the city before dawn. A eunuch will send for you after that.” And just as he had appeared, upon receiving affirmations from Perdiccas and Hephaestion, he once more disappeared back into the churning crowd, flanked by two hypaspists. 

As the crowd splintered away at the grand doors, Eumenes, Seleucus, and Ptolemy broke off, pushing past and leaving by the door leading to the walls. There, they stepped out into the moon-bathed night, a full moon casting its gentle light over the city like a blanket. 

The night gleamed silver, as if every roof of the city had become as wealthy as that of the palace, from the lowliest pauper up the seven walls to Alexander himself. 

As they split off, Seleucus accompanied Ptolemy, the two of whom had quarters in the same wing of the palace. As they made their way slowly down the wall, they passed by weary sentries every fifty paces until they finally came upon a deserted bastion dividing two sections of the walls. Seleucus made steady progress toward the door but stopped just as he entered into the glow of a crackling brazier. In the clarity of the firelight, he noticed Ptolemy was not beside him any longer and, looking back, spotted him leaning up against the wall, again looking wistfully out on the city. A moment passed without Ptolemy giving him any mind, as if he expected Seleucus to join him, but Seleucus made no move, instead looking at him only with curiosity. Suddenly, Ptolemy seemed to return from his reverie and called out to him. 

“In a hurry, are we?” 

“No, not at all,” Seleucus responded. 

“Then why flee fast to your quarters, friend?”

“I thought we both agreed to retire for the night. Is that not what you meant?”

“Ah, I said it and thought I meant it then, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Ptolemy did not reply. Seleucus, puzzled by his friend’s strange behavior, intended to press him further, but Ptolemy resisted. 

“Oh, dispense with the pleasantries already! We both know what we’re talking about! Bearing it silently won’t make you any more of a man! Doesn’t it grieve you, doesn’t it injure you too?” Seleucus, shocked, looked about frantically, scanning the walls for any sentries within earshot. Luckily, there were none near enough that he could see. 

“Gods, Ptolemy, what are you talking about?” he whispered, with a curt hiss that was as close to a yell that could be rendered in a whisper. 

“Don’t play the fool, Seleucus, with your face cloaked in shadow. Come closer if you wish to whisper!” Ptolemy shouted back. Reluctantly, Seleucus stepped away from the light and took up a cautious stance next to Ptolemy. Feeling the weight of his breastplate envelop him in the certainty of bronze, he took another stride forward, unafraid. He must only be drunk, not insane. Or…it’s just an act, clever as he is, Seleucus thought. 

“Well? What is it then? You’d best be honest with me and come out with it since I was naught but honest with you. Had we not just sworn to it mere minutes ago?”

“Ah, you know, Eumenes is very clever, but he has one problem. He means everything he says, unfortunately. I do not have that problem. But…I’ll be honest with you this time, for the sake of friendship and not for the sake of some oath.” 

Seleucus, though always patient, was tested by Ptolemy’s answer. Pulling himself together, he inquired further. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, does Eumenes have anything to do with this? Is that why you waited till we were alone to ask me?” 

In response, Ptolemy, his lips trembling, looked back blankly at Seleucus, holding back laughter. 

“You really didn’t know, did you? Hah! I was wrong to accuse you then. Forgive me; I’m not used to drinking so much; this wine has already embarrassed me enough!” 

Seleucus breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Well, thank the Gods, I think I’ve had enough intrigue for tonight. So why did you mention Eumenes then?” 

“Ah, well, it’s just he who always says that only oaths are sacred. But, you might guess at my position on that matter,” Ptolemy said, who Seleucus had just now noticed was flush red in the face. From the wine, he’s drunk, after all, rarely as he is, Seleucus surmised at first. But really, he suspected Ptolemy had become hot around the ears from embarrassment, not intemperance. 

“It’s just that—well, how shall I put it without disgracing myself…I’m loath to return to my quarters, and I don’t think I can, to tell the truth.” Though his intuition had proved true, Seleucus was still caught off guard by this response. 

“How come?” He asked. 

“It’s my wife, Artakama. I…I despise her. I don’t know how else to put it. And no, it’s not from some simple prejudice, as some might accuse me of. When I lie beside her, it’s like I’m a prisoner in my own bed. Like Alexander puts a chain to my ankle every night and fastens it to that stone, Artakama!” Despite feeling sympathy for his friend’s plight, Seleucus suddenly became deeply uncomfortable. He stood in silence, shifting his bronze breastplate awkwardly within which it had suddenly become intolerably hot. A bead of sweat ran behind his ear, leaving a cold slick running down the back of his neck, open to the cold and taunting wind that rushed up and down the battlements. He gestured at Ptolemy to continue, praying he would not inquire about his own opinion. Luckily, Ptolemy resumed with the same passionate desperation as if picking up where he left off.

“She doesn’t even speak a lick of Greek! Alexander treated it like an honor at Susa, and who am I to turn down an honor? Now, I am trapped. Every night, I think of Thaïs. I wonder every day if this will be the day I see her again, but it’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…,” Ptolemy’s voice trailed off, and his mind withdrew, retreating within to chase that distant object of his desire. Throwing his gaze out to the city again, his eyes searched for her, for an escape, desperate with longing. 

“You’ll see her again, but we both know there’s no use looking for her out here. Come now, I’m sure it’s just the wine talking. We are both fatigued and likely not in our best minds right now. Sleep should help cure both,” Seleucus suggested, putting one hand on Ptolemy’s shoulder and showing the way forward with the other. 

“And it is not so for you? You rest unperturbed as an unwilling husband to that Apame?” Ptolemy resisted, lashing out in an accusatory tone. Seleucus shuddered, now brought to the dreadful moment he had anticipated. 

“I was not unwilling. In fact, Apame and I have no quarrel,” he said, his face burning with embarrassment. He could not tell a lie now to save his life, never mind that he swore to remain honest, but because a lie was an evil thing to him regardless. Fearing he had offended his friend, he gritted his teeth in anticipation, but Ptolemy only nodded mournfully. 

“I understand, I was a fool to insist otherwise. How could I assume you and I had the same experience? And her being a foreigner doesn’t bother you?” Seleucus, delighted with Ptolemy’s response, relaxed but proceeded cautiously nonetheless. However, his deception was so lacking that his admiration was very much perceptible despite his best efforts. 

“Not at all. In fact, she’s been taking lessons in Greek and doing quite well. Even through an interpreter, she is fascinating. I do not say any of this to offend you, mind, but I cannot lie and say vicious things about someone I admire so. If that’s love, then I’d think you feel the same about Thaïs. Everyone ought to marry a woman they love, and I do hope you see her again one day. But nevertheless, it won’t be today.” Projecting confidence, Seleucus awaited a response. 

“Thank you, friend. I know I am being a fool, but I felt it was best for only you to know. Truthfully, you are the only one of the hetairoi that I would count as honest. If anyone else heard as much, no matter how loyal, they would let it slip somewhere, I’m sure of it. Well, Apame should count herself lucky then, to have the only honest Macedonian of the whole lot for her husband.” Seleucus smiled, wiped the sweat off the back of his neck, and gestured at the door to the bastion with an outstretched arm. 

“That is high praise, thank you.” Seleucus bowed. “Perhaps you two will get acquainted one day. Maybe when her Greek is a little better.” 

“Yes, perhaps. And we really should be going. How am I to let a woman bring me so much fear after all the grave enemies I’ve faced?” And with that, Ptolemy took the lead and opened the door. The two passed through the bastion, ambling on toward the northern wing of the palace. 

Meanwhile, Hephaestion awaited silently by the doors of the royal bedchamber. The eunuch beside him knocked gingerly on the gold-plated doors, and a moment later, they began to creak open. Two soldiers were at the entrance to the chamber, but when Alexander recognized Hephaestion, he quickly rushed forward to meet him at the threshold. 

“Ah, Hephaestion, at last!” he greeted him enthusiastically. Alexander hurriedly dismissed the eunuch and guards, taking Hephaestion by the hand and leading him inside. Hephaestion sat on a pile of luxurious cushions at the foot of Alexander’s bed and watched as Alexander reclined on a small throne across from him. 

“Oh Hephaestion, oh, you have no idea how I’ve been longing to see you. So much time spent at court has made me bitter about the whole ordeal. Everyone has their complaints, even my own mother! My own mother won’t stop pestering me about Antipater, as if I hadn’t left him behind in Greece on purpose! I can never relax; even at night, I lose sleep over such stupid things.” 

He pointed to three rolls of papyrus, partially unfurled, sitting on a small table next to Hephaestion at the foot of Alexander’s royal bed. “Those are her letters over there, on the table by my bed.” 

Hephaestion turned to look at the papyri and then, shooting a coy glance at Alexander, swiped his hand across the little table, sending the scrolls spilling out across the floor. “If you’re so tired of court, come off that throne and sit by me. I thought you longed to see me, yet you won’t even look me in the eyes.” 

Alexander smiled and crashed down on the cushions next to Hephaestion. “Now, take off the diadem,” Hephaestion urged him. “You wouldn’t wear your sword to a festival, would you? Just so you wouldn’t bear a crown in the company of friends.”  

Alexander untied the royal diadem and put it in Hephaestion’s hand, then sat back, taking a deep breath. However, try as he might, his eyes drifted towards that vacant throne across from him. 

“Now…how am I to live…when there are no more worlds left to conquer?” he asked bleakly. Exhausted, he stared intently at the throne, the emptiness atop its royal seat still haunting him. 

“What about Arabia? Had you not just met with Nearchus regarding that very thing? Alexander, will there be no end to our wars? Shall it not only magnify our troubles to go about conquering again—” Alexander, unmoved, put a finger up to Hephaestion’s lips, and the young companion fell quiet. The pair sat in silence as Alexander fiddled with his signet ring, his head atop its powerful neck twisted away from the man beside him; his eyes, like pearls, seeking only to fix themselves upon a throne of gold. He could feel the sand-laden winds of the Arabian desert combing back his fair mane, the tassels of the saddlecloth beneath his thighs swaying like the weeping catkins of a willow. Astride the mighty beast Bucephalus, he had conquered the world, but beneath him in that dream was not the loyal steed of superior Thessalian stock; instead, it lay dead by the Hydaspes, as dear to him as any friend. Beneath him, now a sickly donkey, they plied their way across the sand. He looked about him and saw no one. He was alone in the desert.  

Startled, Alexander bolted up, his back damp with sweat. He snatched the diadem from Hephaestion and clasped it greedily in his hands, standing up on his feet. Hephaestion reached out his hand to him, but Alexander, wrought and ashamed, staggered back. His fingers unlatched, releasing the golden band clattering to the floor. Hephaestion sprung from his seat; letting his hand down, he plucked the diadem from the silver tile upon which it fell. And, rising upright, he slowly tied it around Alexander’s head. 

“It is heavy, Hephaestion. I beg of you, take it off,” Alexander pleaded. But Hephaestion refused. 

“No. You were right. It is your burden to bear the crown. But you and I are but one soul in two bodies…” So Hephaestion loosed the knot once more, and, as gracefully as a stream, he slipped the flowing cloth into a knot, fixing it in place over the nape of his neck. 

“Perhaps, friend, it is time to come off the horse and rule. So long as you and I are one, your body shall not bear its weight alone.” Hephaestion pointed to the glistening diadem bound across his crown. Alexander nodded, and suddenly he was back in the desert. He threw himself down on his feet, off the donkey’s back, but, combing back his hair, he could not feel the diadem. He looked behind him, seeing the wind had blown it off his head and scattered it across the sand, its golden threads torn, thin like leaves of gold. 

“Friend…I had a vision,” Alexander confessed. Hephaestion’s ears perked up, hoping to glean what troubled his companion at last.  

“In this vision, I was alone in the desert, at first, on a conquering steed, but then, on a donkey. I looked around for my crown, but it was in pieces, and I was abandoned to the sands. It was terrible, Hephaestion, and so I jumped out from my trance, disturbed as I was. Promise me, Hephaestion, you will not leave me in the desert. Promise me you will come with me to Arabia. There are still frontiers, both great and small, waiting to be the stage upon which our glory shall be won!” Hephaestion smiled a mournful, admiring smile. He stepped close to Alexander and put an arm around his shoulder. 

“You know that it can take only fate to tear us apart. I shall go wherever you are, Alexander…” Hephaestion’s face turned grave at once, and he grasped Alexander’s palm tightly. “But please listen, and come with me to Babylon, lest that terrible vision come to pass. Forget about Arabia altogether, and let us return to Babylon together. A throne of gold and silk awaits you there, and the young prince by Roxana, your heir. He too shall one day sit atop the regal chair if the Gods are willing to grant a son.” 

Alexander’s face brightened, but a knowing melancholy came upon those pearls set beneath his manly brow. He slowly lowered himself down and sat again by Hephaestion. He had no plans to return to Babylon. But he said nothing and smiled nonetheless.

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.