We Shall Meet in Babylon - Chapter III

By Novak Tatarevic

Chapter III

The day thereafter, it came to pass that Hephaestion was taken in by illness, and Alexander could not set aside his worries for the days that he was in its grasp. The splendid festivals of Ecbatana and the fair autumn weather could do nothing to salve his sorrows, for he felt as if it were his own body burning with fever. And so it was much to the king's succor that Hephaestion seemed to be on the mend, and, in high spirits, Alexander resolved to pay his dear companion a visit. He parted the curtain that separated the royal bed from the rest of the chamber, and therein he found Hephaestion lying still with the physician Glaucias attending him. Perdiccas, accompanying Alexander, peered anxiously around the curtains, hoping to witness at last the deliverance of his friend. Alexander came close and knelt by the bed, asking Glaucias about Hephaestion's illness. 

"As you can see, my lord, Hephaestion has made remarkable progress, and should he do nothing to upset the stability of his humors, I can only surmise he will make a complete recovery," Glaucias replied. 

"Oh, thank the gods!" Alexander exclaimed and embraced Hephaestion. Perdiccas crossed the curtain and congratulated his friend, breathing a sigh of relief. Ptolemy, who had also accompanied the visitors, did likewise, shaking Hephaestion's hand and soberly praising Asclepius for his intercession. Meanwhile, Glaucias waited impatiently to continue his assessment as this celebration carried on, tapping his foot anxiously as he strained to get a word in. 

"But, it must be said, and I say this so you may take note as well, Lord Hephaestion, that you must now do nothing to excite the fever again. Thus, I prescribe that you abstain from wine for seven days lest it inflame your blood and cause a catastrophic imbalance. I have also prepared a cabbage stew that should enrich your digestion with its remedial properties, and I suggest you eat no more than that for today." 

Alexander, frustrated with the physician's pedantic doting, interjected, "By the gods, Glaucias! Can't you see this man is well? What good is it to keep pestering him like this? It is no good for a warrior to starve and waste away!" 

Glaucias, exasperated, bowed to Alexander and said, "Of course, my lord, forgive my indiscretion; Lord Hephaestion is clearly well enough that he should not need any further attending to, as you can see. I'll excuse myself and take heart, my lord, for I believe my prescriptions are overcautious. If the young lord wishes not to obey them, then no harm shall come upon him."

Satisfied with this response, Alexander nodded and dismissed Glaucias. "Gods, what a bore, that Glaucias. I swear, if it were not for his starving me, I would have made a full recovery in no time!" Hephaestion laughed, and Alexander, overeager and still shaken from excitement, laughed along hysterically. 

"And did you see those gods-damned remedies he has the servants cook? Let me tell you, I wouldn't be caught dead eating something like that!" Alexander responded. 

"You know, once, when I was well enough to sit up for myself, I'd gotten tired of all the stews and salves he was serving me and asked him to try one himself."

"Really? What happened?"

"He was damn near retching from the first drop!" 

Both of them burst out laughing. Ptolemy, however, looked on with stonewall restraint, neither impatient nor exasperated but stern and dutiful, almost inappropriate to the joyous attitude of the room. Perdiccas merely chuckled along, smiling wide all the while, more happy to see Hephaestion well than interested in the details of his illness. 

"It's all womanly business, let me tell you," Hephaestion concluded.

"Now, Hephaestion, it may be so, but the physician is not your enemy, and there is no cowardice among friends." Hephaestion nodded thoughtfully upon hearing Alexander's words and sat up on the bed, propping himself up against the wall. 

"Ah, friends, I am truly moved by your visit, but please, do not let me keep you. Enjoy the day's festivities, and if the doctor sees fit that I am not to be attended any longer, then, as he is not our enemy, we'd best listen. Gods willing, I'll be joining you at the celebrations tomorrow," Hephaestion announced, and the companions agreed enthusiastically. Alexander bid him farewell, and the three visitors left the royal bedchamber to attend the games. 

That day's event at the stadium was a gymnastics competition between youths, which Alexander had greatly anticipated. The athletic young men flew like doves at the races and leaped like mighty lions, much to the crowd's amusement. Alexander reminisced on his own time as a young man at the gymnasium and called out to Ptolemy. 

"That one over there looks just like you did when we were boys!" he said, pointing at a lean and muscular young man with curly brown hair bracing at the starting line for the long jump event. 

"Just so, look at him pounce! I would always thrash you at the long jump!" Ptolemy called back, and they both laughed. All the companions were in attendance at the seats of honor, and, being in such dear company, Alexander forgot all about his tribulations but for a fleeting moment. 

Meanwhile, Hephaestion resolved to treat himself and celebrate his recovery with a large breakfast. However, he first begrudgingly downed the tepid stew the physician had prescribed, believing it would at least do him no harm. Then, Hepheastion summoned a servant and relayed his wishes to him. The servants, unaware of the physician's orders, did what their master demanded and set to work preparing him a lavish meal. 

The pankration event had just begun at the stadium, Alexander's favorite event. The wrestlers strained and traded open-palm blows, displaying their bodies and skills as offerings to the gods. As one of the contestants began to strangle the other, the crowd started to cheer in a frenzy, and Alexander's voice became hoarse from his own enthusiastic shouts. However, at the edge of the stadium, a messenger pushed past the crowd, bound for Alexander. As he struggled to force his way through, a guard noticed him and, unsure of his intentions, confronted the messenger. 

"Urgent message to Alexander, by the gods! Let me through! Don't you know what you're doing? Let me pass!" the messenger pleaded, and the guard, startled, rushed to aid him in reaching the king. In the chaos, as the crowd recognized the guard more readily, they allowed him to overtake the messenger, and soon he reached the king's booth. As he burst in, Alexander hardly noticed him in the commotion of the games and the keen Eumenes swiftly seized the guard by his arm. 

"What is the meaning of this? Did you not receive orders to leave the king undisturbed?" Eumenes asked. 

"I beg forgiveness, my lord, but a messenger is here, and he says he has urgent news for the king." Eumenes let go of the man's arm and demanded that the guard show him this messenger. Just as he made his request, the panicked messenger charged into the room. At this point, the rest of the companions had become aware of the disruption and turned toward Eumenes and the messenger. Perdiccas tapped Alexander on the shoulder. 

"There's a messenger here to see you; he says it's urgent," he whispered. Alexander coolly nodded and told Perdiccas to let him through. Perdiccas stood to fetch the man, who was being accosted by the whole cohort of the companions. Meanwhile, Alexander was utterly transfixed by the events of the games, and as the judge delivered the final verdict in a match, he leaped from his seat to cheer, pumping his fist in the air. At last, Perdiccas and the messenger pushed past the companions and their phalanx of questions, reaching Alexander. 

Perdiccas called to Alexander, who quickly composed himself. "Well, man, what is it? Come out with it, quick," he demanded impatiently, his eyes still occasionally glancing at the field. 

"Sir, Hephaestion is dead." 

Alexander burst into the royal bedchamber, startling the servants who shrank back, quaking in fear. The rest of the companions followed suit and stayed behind as Alexander approached to pull back the curtain. His hands trembling, he grasped the heavy, silken curtains meekly and ripped them aside. There he saw Hephaestion, pale as marble, lying on the bed. Speechless, Alexander threw himself on the body and began to weep. 

"How could they do this to you? Are the gods really so cruel? Am I dreaming? Am I in the desert, Hephaestion? Oh gods! Hephaestion, can you hear me?" the king lamented, and all the companions looked on mournfully, none knowing what to do or say. However, Seleucus steeled his courage, banished his shame, and, marching up to one of the servants, demanded to hear what had transpired. 

"Oh, merciful gods…This morning, the cook staff had come to serve his lordship the grand breakfast he had requested to celebrate his recovery…and then, when we came to retrieve the table, we found him ill again. His forehead was hot as coals, and he wouldn't move, say, or do anything! We didn't know what to do, so one of the secretaries came to check his wrist and said he was still alive. Then, a half hour later, he was dead! Oh gods, forgive us. We called for the doctor, but he was too far to reach us in time. So we had a runner go down to the stadium and fetch his majesty when we were sure Lord Hephaestion would not make it. Gods grant him rest!" The servant recounted this anxiously, breaking off into tears every now and then. Seleucus listened intently and returned to the group downcast, reporting the sad account of the man's demise. 

No one dared to approach Alexander, for the turmoil of his mourning was such that it frightened even the most courageous of his men, enough that none could fathom leaving his side; thus they lingered at the room's edges, anxious to see what the king's enormous grief would bring about next. 

After a while, Alexander's sobs began to die down, and he fell to the floor beside the bed, his chest heaving as he sputtered broken, mournful whimpers. 

Wearily, he rose and cried out with all his might: "I'll have Glaucias executed, the fiend! For doing this greatest evil unto me!" Following this declaration, he stumbled over to his throne and sat upon it, clutching the golden armrest greedily, his eyes still fixed on Hephaestion's lifeless figure in the corner of the room. 

Then, Eumenes stepped forward, bearing his arms, and threw them down at Alexander's feet, kneeling before him. "Alexander, I dedicate these arms to the honor of our fallen friend, Hephaestion, who I know was dearest to you beyond words. And furthermore, I call upon my other companions to do the same. Should it come to pass that he is not honored as a god, we must send a message to Siwa, so that he may be honored as a divine hero." With these words, Eumenes turned Alexander's eyes away from that deathbed and toward his steadfast companions. 

Ptolemy, who did not think much of Eumenes, hesitated to come forward, knowing what Eumenes thought of Hephaestion—for he and Eumenes had shared a mutual distaste for the fallen favorite. Denying Eumenes the gratification of participating in his artifice, Ptolemy hung back. However, grief-stricken Perdiccas, who was counted as one of Hephaestion's only true friends besides Alexander, was deeply moved by this gesture, and, wiping the tears from his face, he set down his arms at Alexander's feet, kneeling beside Eumenes. Then the loyal and trusting Seleucus came forth, not entertaining the thought of treachery for a moment to pay homage to his lord. Leonnatus and Nearchus sensed an obligation to do the same and came forth reluctantly, dissatisfied at having to follow the example of Eumenes, whose Cardian blood they did not fully trust. However, Ptolemy was not stubborn, and he joined those two, seeing that they held the same restraint; despite his suspicions toward Eumenes, he considered his loyalty to Alexander beyond question. 

Over the course of this period of mourning, all the companions came to dedicate their weapons to the departed Hephaestion, and Alexander received them with a grave and somber air, for not even such great honors did he consider sufficient for his late friend. However, he was always gracious with them, even if his grief did not permit him any respite. For the next three days, he did not leave the body's side, even as the embalmers set to work preserving the cadaver for whatever further ceremonies Alexander intended for it. For the next three days, he locked himself in the chamber, not giving mind to his appearance and cutting his hair as an offering to his fallen friend, just as did Achilles when his own dear companion Patroclus met his end. 

On the fourth day of his mourning, he summoned Perdiccas to his chambers. Perdiccas approached the gilded doors and waited as a weary servant showed him the way in; heaving the heavy doors open, they both stepped into the dark chamber. There, the light coming through the crack in the doorway appeared as a slender beam upon the throne at the center of the room, illuminating a thin streak of its golden frame, glistening weakly in the sunlight. Dust swirled through the light like featherweight mist, and the room looked as if it had been abandoned for years. The curtain to the bed was still thrown aside, partially torn and spooling onto the floor, while the trays of Hephaestion's final meal were still littered about the chamber—the old food stuck to them had begun to attract flies. Perdiccas gripped the edge of his cloak tightly and stepped out of the light, but, not seeing Alexander, he contemplated calling out to him. He looked around the room; the heap of weapons was still at the foot of the throne, and there was a faint scent of honey from the work of the embalmers. 

Then, Alexander approached him from out of the darkness. Perdiccas was startled by his appearance, the dark rings around his eyes, his hair disheveled and on one side cropped short with a straight, uneven cut, revealing the scars on his scalp. 

"Perdiccas, friend, have I startled you?" Alexander asked. 

"No, sir," Perdiccas answered evasively. Alexander sighed and put his hand over the bare patch of his scalp, running his fingers along the pale white scar where the cleaver at Granicus had run through his helmet. Perdiccas was breathing heavily, his eyes dancing between the grieving Alexander and that bed where he feared Hephaestion still lay. 

"Perdiccas, I know that your heart is the only one saddled with true grief aside from mine. Look at me, Perdiccas, don't worry, I have had Hephaestion properly interred, and now he awaits his final honors," Alexander reassured him, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

"This is why I have summoned you, for you are the only one I trust to oversee the funeral of such a great man. I know you are not only a commensurate commander, as you have proved yourself time and again, but that you are also a man with a true heart and have always been a friend to Hephaestion. I know it mustn't have been easy, for I have been wise to the jealous rumors cast on him from the other companions, but that was the reality of his position. We both knew that." Alexander paused and invited Perdiccas to sit at his bedside table, where papyri had piled up in disorganized heaps. In the dim light, he spied the seals of Antipater, regent of Greece, and those of the satraps of Egypt and Media. As Alexander pulled the chair back and lowered himself to sit, Perdiccas realized that, despite his deprived appearance, Alexander still bore the diadem upon his head, for as he passed through a thin band of light issuing between the door and doorway, its gold glittered briefly like a falling star. 

"We shall leave Ecbatana at once, and on the second part of the way, I shall have you take charge to convey his body in the funeral cart; it is only fitting that such an honor shall fall to you. I will not spare any expense! No expense is too great! Eumenes set it out at ten thousand talents—as if any number of talents could be sufficient to honor such a man! Oh gods…" Alexander began to weep weakly, tears rolling down his cheeks to wet the papyrus beneath them. 

"But sir, to where? Where shall you have us take his body?" Perdiccas asked, holding back his own tears, the king's deep grief having unsettled him profoundly. 

"To Babylon," Alexander replied. 

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.