Elsewhere on this blog (links below) I have been writing my own version of Alexander’s story, starting from the assassination of his father, Philip II. It is a more serious version of the story that is currently being portrayed on his Twitter feed - so, no Linear bPads (alas). The audio files below are audio versions of those chapters.
.
Before you listen to them, I would like to apologise in advance for their deficiencies. I have never attempted a project like this before so have no experience in audio recording. If anyone who has recorded an audio book strays across this page, I hope he or she has mercy on me!
.
Further to the above, in recording the story I have become very aware of where the original texts fall short both in terms of typos and narrative. If nothing else, therefore, I hope that recording them will help me to improve not just as a speaker but writer.
.
If you have any comments or (constructive!) criticism I would be very, very grateful to receive them. I would certainly like to improve myself in this area. In the meantime, here the the audios of chapters one to three (four to nine will follow. Depending on how well I get on, future chapters will be posted along with the text version of the story)…
.
AOS
.
Part One: Pausanias
Original Post
.
Part Two: The End and a Beginning
Original Post
.
Part Three: Of Death and Suffering
Original Post
Author Archives: Alexander's Other Secretary
The Story of Alexander the Great - Audio Version Pts 1 - 3
Mieza Book Club: Orestes: The Young Lion (Chapters 1 - 5)
For previous Mieza Book Club minutes click here
Orestes: The Young Lion
by Laura Gill
.
Chapters One to Five
.
At 7pm sharp, the meeting was called to order by club president Seleucus. Members were asked if they had copies of Orestes: The Young Lion. Amyntas of Pella and Amyntas of Aegae didn’t, so were voted by a show of hands to be tonight’s designated drivers. Amyntas of Pella sulked.
.
It is traditional for the club president to give a short biographical account of the author before discussion of their book begins. “Unfortunately,” he said, standing up, “I know rather sod all about Miss Gill. She maybe a Mrs or even a Ms as she is American but who knows?”. Seleucus asked for the words ‘sod all’ to be replaced by ‘very little’ in the minutes but this request was shouted down.
.
In lieu of any known facts (other than those presented at the back of the book) about the author, Seleucus gave way to Meleager who exercised his right as the chooser of the book to explain his reasons for doing so. “I have always been fascinated by the story of Orestes,” he said, “Or rather, Orestes in relation to his big sister, Elektra. It probably comes from having a big sister myself - one who wasn’t afraid to put me in my place when need be.” he added, rubbing his arm, meaningfully. Murmurs of sympathy went round the room, and several pipes were lit.
.
Meleager sat down and the floor was declared open.
.
Leonnatus ”I liked the tension between Clytaemnestra and Agamemnon at the beginning very much. Knowing what happens between them (Lysimachus shouted ‘No spoilers!’ but was being ironic) later it gave the opening scene a very threatening air that is only increased in the next few chapters every time either Clytaemnestra or Aegisthus appear on the page.”
.
A brief discussion on Gill’s protrayal of Clytaemnestra and Aegisthus followed and it was agreed that she makes very good use of the limited space that she gives herself at the start of the book (22 pages cover the first five chapters). When the discussion began to degenerate into an analysis of ancient Greek sexual mores, Seleucus called the meeting to order.
.
Alexander of Epirus ”I thought the ‘flute boy’ reference on the first page was funny as that is a euphemism for blow job.”
.
Seleucus “Enough sex! I would like to say something about Iphigenia. My goodness, one minute she is there, and the next - dead! That was a horrible scene. So sudden.”
.
Polemon “Dear boy, are you saying you would have preferred her death to have been written in greater detail?”
.
Seleucus “Not at all; in fact, given how suddenly death can come upon us, I thought Gill pitched Iphigenia’s demise perfectly and in a sense most realistically. I tell you, though, it took me no few minutes to get to sleep on the evening I read it. Say what you want about the Coalition Government, at least they don’t have child sacrifices when it is not windy.”
.
An unknown member then muttered he wouldn’t put it past the Government to announce such a thing as part of its austerity measures (“Fewer children, more money for the rest of us”). Red Amyntas demanded that this be put to a vote and the motion ‘We believe that David Cameron would sacrifice children to repair the British economy’ was passed by a majority vote. It is believed* (*hoped) that all members except Red Amyntas voted ironically or at least under the influence of wine.
.
Theban Al “To go back to the business of Iphigenia, I must say I was very affected by the ‘appearance’ of the ghostly children. I thought Gill wrote that scene wonderfully well. It rather reminded me of Turn of the Screw. God, that book scared me. Especially since I read it when we lived in a vicarage which I am sure was haunted on the top floor.”
.
Perdiccas “A haunted vicarage? I bet your father could not have been pleased by that. Rather damaging to the old theology, hm?”
.
Theban Al “Oh well, of course, as far as he was concerned it wasn’t. He thought the scratching was probably rats.”
.
Amyntas of Philippi “I agree with Theban Al. It was a wonderfully scary scene. What really made it work, though, was the way Timon told Orestes about it. His reluctance to do so and the tension of the scene really sucked me in; I completely felt like I was there with them. A great scene.”
.
Perdiccas “Perhaps you and Theban Al were the ghostly children playing!”
.
Perdiccas’ comment received much laughter, and he was declared a good show by all-and-sundry. The wine carafe was passed round the room and several pipes were relit.
.
Harpalus “What I really want to know is - are the gods going to turn up later on? I really, really want them, to do so! Artemis is referred to in a way that suggests she is real but we don’t see the Olympians at the beginning. I need for this book to extinguish the memory of Troy in my mind.
.
Harpalus was immediately called up on his use of the phrase ‘need for’; he agreed that it was a reprehensible Americanism and apologised before a vote could be taken to make him the next meeting’s designated driver. The meeting continued.
.
Theban Al “The one thing I wasn’t sure about was the way in which the narrator spells the characters’ names one way, but when Orestes writes them down we see them written according to - I assume - how the Mycenaeans wrote them. For instance, Orestes became O-re-ta. That created a disconnection between the narrator’s voice and the voice of the character for me.”
.
Seleucus “I rather liked that. For me it was a good piece of verisimilitude. On the matter of words, the only discordant note for me was when Elektra refers to Aegisthus’ ‘oily’ smile. While it is certainly an evocative word, it isn’t one that she would have used as the Mycenaeans didn’t know what oil was - or did they?”
.
This question was put to the Club and no one knew so the meeting continued. It was then discovered that the word ‘oily’ appears in Chapter Six so we should not have even been talking about it.
.
Harpalus “I should like to nominate word of the night ‘ostrakon’. It appears in chapter five. An ostrakon was a portsherd that the Greeks used to vote with. It’s one of those words that you see for the first time and it is like an old friend meeting you.”
.
Amyntas of Pella “It sounds more like a heavy metal band to me.”
.
Theban Al “Scene of the night - definitely Timon telling Orestes about the ghostly children. Narrowly beating the tale of how Atreus fed Thyestes’ children to him.”
.
Peucestas “Did you ever watch Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café?“
.
Amyntas of Pella ”DON’T read Medea!”
.
Votes were taken on the Word and Scene of the Night and passed, as above. The formal discussion ended and the informal discussion (unminuted) began.
.
Peucestas
(Club Secretary)
The Mieza Book Club
The Israelites sat down by the rivers of Babylon and wept; we sat down in Mieza and discussed books. And drank wine. Lots.
Welcome to the first blog post of the Mieza Book Club. Founded on a cold night in the Greek countryside a few years ago by some travelling British students who got lost on their way to Naousa’s wine museum, the MBC is named after the village where Aristotle taught Alexander and his friends.
.
The aim of the Mieza Book Club has always been to emulate the great philosopher’s love of knowledge through an in-depth discussion of a wide variety of texts from antiquity. We hope that you find our discussions in these posts both informative and entertaining, perhaps even worthy of citation in essays and at lectures.
.
You will notice that in the reviews, the members’ identities remain hidden. The reason for this is that when the group of friends who would become the MBC left England, they agreed upon a policy of ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’. Thus, the minutes of the first few meetings, carried out during the holiday, contain only pseudonyms. After the group’s return to England, the use of pseudonyms was continued, firstly for reasons of practicality, then later as a matter of tradition.
.
Further to the above, I would add that originally, names were chosen from throughout Greek history - Mycenae to Cleopatra VII - before it was discovered that the Greeks (like the Romans) diluted their wine. Then, by a unanimous vote, it was decided that in future, names would be picked from known members of Alexander’s army - with the king himself being excluded out of respect for his divinity and greatness as a general.
.
In concluding, I should like - on behalf of the MBC - to thank ‘Alexander’s Other Secretary’ for allowing us to present our reports on his blog. We hope that our presence here will be beneficially not only to the club but also to The Second Achilles itself.
.
Peucestas
(Club Secretary)
A thank you, mea culpa and suggestion
Ever since creating this website so that I could write up the Glossary I have been wondering how to make the best use of it; I must confess that to date, I still don’t know. My current intention is to start writing three types of blog post on a regular basis - the short stories, Camp Notices and another post the form of which I have not yet decided upon - starting from Alexander’s accession and continuing from there to tell his story in three different genres (fiction/comedy/X). Given that Alexander has well over a thousand followers on Twitter it seems a great shame not to develop this blog further.
.
In the meantime, there is this post. I do not like imposing myself upon the blog as it distracts from the great man but I have done so before to blog about one or two things and have decided to do so again to make up for a couple of blogs that I did not write even though I should have done.
.
Men Can’t Cry
.
Last December I was kindly given a copy of her short biographical story Men Can’t Cry by Miss Dimitra Ekmektsis (whose blog Dimitra’s Confessions can be found here, and who tweets @D_Ekmektsis). The book describes Miss Ekmektsis’ work as a dominatrix in Switzerland. I am not familiar with erotic literature so am not in a position to make any kind of judgement upon how well Miss Ekmektsis portrays the S&M business but it was certainly a very interesting read. My only criticism of it is that it was too short.
.
The reason I am mentioning the book here is that Miss Ekmektsis is a proud Macedonian Greek and indeed, she very pleasingly mentions him in her text. Alexander is not really your go-to man for information about the sex lives of the ancients (he is supposed to have once said, rather disparagingly, I feel, that sex and sleep were the only two things that made him feel mortal) so I don’t know what he would have made of S&M behaviour; however, I doubt anything that we do today does not have an ancient antecedent somewhere or other.
.
PHDiva
.
Last January, I visited the Wallace Collection to hear Dr Dorothy King speak on the subject of Ancient Athens through the ages. I took notes but appear to have either deleted or mislaid them, which is rather vexing. I’m rather disappointed in myself for letting this happen as it was a good talk with lots that was of interest to anyone interested in that great and ancient city. If you would like to read Dr King’s excellent blog you may do so here; she tweets @dorothyking.
.
McGrath on Lewis
.
By-the-bye, a month or so ago, I was able to hear Professor Alistair McGrath talk about the famous classicist, English teacher and - of course - Christian apologist, C. S. Lewis. Prof McGrath has just published a new biography of Lewis so the talk was in support of that.
.
It too was a good talk, although I disagree with McGrath’s apparent assertion that Lewis was not very good with women and that Mrs Moore helped him develop as a person. Lewis could certainly be rather sexist at times, but he was also a very kind and outgoing person - the image of him in Shadowlands is not correct. Here is Professor McGrath’s website. I hope I can read his biography at some point to read his thoughts in greater detail.
.
C. S. Lewis died on 22nd November 1963. As the fiftieth anniversary of his death approaches we will no doubt hear a lot about Lewis the apologist, and Lewis the writer of the Narnia books; he knew his ancient Greek and Latin, though (he even corresponded with an Italian priest in Latin and wrote an underrated book called Till We Have Faces about the myth of Cupid and Psyche) and it would be good if the fact of his grounding in the ancient texts of Greece and Rome got a mention.
AOS
7. Death of the Child-King
by Ptolemy Lagides
.
I.
When the knock on the door came, Amyntas was lying on his bed, holding his wife tightly in his arms. It was mid afternoon. After Philip’s assassination, Antipater had ordered two soldiers to escort them back to their quarters and stand guard over them.
.
“For your safe keeping,” Antipater had said to Amyntas. Now, as he kissed his wife’s neck tenderly and stroked her fair hair, Amyntas could not help but smile to himself wistfully at the marshal’s words. So short. So simple. So untrue. We are now prisoners, he thought to himself, gaoled until Alexander decides whether I am to live or die.
.
The knock sounded again. A voice called Amyntas’ name. He recognised it as belonging to Hephaestion. His heart fell, but he made to get up, anyway. Cynane held his hand and pressed it against her breast.
.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice broken from crying, “Don’t leave me.”
.
“Your brother’s friend calls me. I must go. I will not be long.”
.
Kissing her again, Amyntas gently pulled himself away from Cynane; brushing his robe down, he walked to the door and unlocked it. Hephaestion and Perdiccas stood in front of him, their expressions stern without being hostile. A few feet behind stood two olive skinned slaves.
.
“Is it to happen here?” Amyntas asked Hephaestion, “In front of my wife?”
.
“Is what to happen?” Perdiccas replied.
.
“Come now, Perdiccas,” Amyntas said, “You are not here to tell me I am free to go about my business. Had you come by yourself I might have believed it, but Amyntoros’ presence tells me otherwise. I am to die, and the king respects me enough to send his… best friend to do the deed.”
.
“Walk with us, Amyntas,” Hephaestion said, quietly, “Let us go to the garden.”
.
Amyntas nodded. “That would be good.” he replied, “Yes… that would be good.” He turned round to face Cynane.
.
“I love you.” she said, blinking and wiping her tears away.
.
“I love you.” he replied. After a brief pause, Amyntas turned and walked past Hephaestion; Perdiccas followed him down the corridor. Hephaestion delayed; he looked into the room at Cynane.
.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but Amyntas is too big a risk.” Cynane scowled at him. Hephaestion closed the door. As he did so, he heard the goblet that had been standing on the bedside table, clatter against it.
.
With the two slaves following a few feet behind them, the men walked down two flights of stairs and down another corridor before coming to a door that lead into the garden. Servants and slaves going about their business bowed their heads and stepped quickly to one side as they passed by. Amyntas reached out to the door lock; holding it, he paused.
.
“Before we go out may I make a request?” he said.
.
“What is it?” Perdiccas replied.
.
“When the time comes… can I be spared… pain? I… I don’t want to suffer. Common criminals suffer. I am not a common criminal” Perdiccas glanced at Hephaestion who nodded in reply.
.
“You won’t suffer.” Perdiccas said to him.
.
“Thank you… thank you.” Amyntas said. He pulled the lock back, opened the door and stepped out into the garden. The warm summer air caressed his skin. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was Cynane tending to him after a long day’s work. His body stirred and things did not seem so bad.
.
***
II.
The men walked down a gravel path that took them past the flower beds and rose bushes, and into the shade of the oak tree boulevard. As they walked, Amyntas held out his hand and let the petals of the flowers and leaves brush against his fingers. He had loved doing this since the days of his youth; no, even from when he could still only barely walk. He would miss his favourite flowers.
.
“Philip was never threatened by me.” Amyntas said, to no one in particular, “Well, he let me marry his daughter… I wonder what changed.” Behind him, Hephaestion fell back; he picked a rock up from the side of the path. He caught up with Perdiccas and handed it to him; it fitted snugly in his hand.
.
“Perhaps the mistake was Philip’s,” Amyntas continued, as he paused to examine the deeply grooved bark of a nearby oak, “I was the heir to the throne, after all; I could have rebelled against him at any time and my claim to the throne would have been just.”
.
Amyntas began to walk again. Two noblemen rounded a corner in the path just ahead of them. Hephaestion motioned for them to turn around, glaring fiercely at them as he did so. They obeyed him hurriedly.
.
“Tell Alexander that I don’t hold any grudge against him for this.” Amyntas said, either not noticing or affecting not to notice the noblemen, “In his position, I would have done the same. I’m glad I’m not king, though; too many decisions, not enough time to attend to the really important things. Or rather, the one important thing.”
.
“What is that?” Hephaestion asked. Amyntas stopped and turned to face him. Perdiccas took up a position behind Amyntas.
.
“To love my wife, of course,” Amyntas said, “True, Cynane was not the woman I would have chosen to marry, but once I did, I was determined to love her with all my heart; all my strength.” Hephaestion gazed at Amyntas as if in awe. Amyntas smiled sadly as Hephaestion’s sternness melted away.
.
“It’s alright, Hephaestion,” he said, “It’s not too late for you; not for you of all people. What ever kind of day you have just make sure you always go back to him. Go back to him tonight. Keep loving him and you - neither of you - will ever be lost.” Hephaestion nodded slowly. Without meaning to, he extended his arms; Amyntas accepted the embrace and held him tightly; he thought of his wife, and a tear formed in his eye.
.
“Thank you.” Hephaestion whispered.
.
“I Thank you.” Amyntas replied. “Let’s finish, shall we?” Hephaestion looked at Perdiccas and nodded once more. After a moment, Amyntas released Hephaestion. As he stepped back, Perdiccas struck Amyntas on the back of the head with the stone. Amyntas fell unconscious into Hephaestion’s arms. Kissing him, Hephaestion lowered Amyntas to the ground, slowly, almost reverently, putting him face down. Perdiccas looked round to see if they were being watched. Apart from their slaves who were now about fifty feet away, he saw no one else. Dropping the rock, Perdiccas took his dagger out from its scabbard, and knelt down beside Amyntas’ head.
.
“I’ll do it.” Hephaestion said.
.
“No. Alexander wanted me to. You mustn’t have blood on your hands.” Hephaestion shot Perdiccas a regretful glance. If only you knew…
.
“Very well.”
.
Hephaestion stepped away. Perdiccas took Amyntas by the hair and pulled his head back. Then, he placed the tip of the dagger on his throat and pressed it into his flesh. Blood began to well up then pour out as he cut across Amyntas’ throat slicing it so deeply that his inner organs were made visible. Once he had cut Amyntas from ear-to-ear, Perdiccas rested his head gently on the gravel. The blood formed a dark red rocky pool in the gravel.
.
“Why do you think Philip let him live?” Perdiccas asked as he stood up and slipped the dagger into its scabbard.
.
“I don’t know. Because of his success? Perhaps he felt that made him immune to conspiracy.” Perdiccas laughed drily.
.
“In the name of Zeus,” Perdiccas exclaimed, “When Amyntas went to Trophonius, they called him ‘King of the Macedonians’. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. I thought that would be the end of him then. But when we returned and reported what had happened to Philip he just laughed and took another mouthful of wine. He just didn’t care.”
.
“Too few of us do; that’s why Amyntas was a better man than any of us. He cared. And for the right person.” Hephaestion motioned to the slaves to come forward.
.
“Take the body to the hut, then decapitate it,” he ordered them, “Let no one - no one - see what you carrying, though,” he said, “No one will be surprised by what has happened today, but it is up to the king to decide when the people should be told.” The slaves nodded. Picking Amyntas up by the legs and armpits they carried him towards a hut in the wood at the end of the boulevard.
.
“Two down. Who’s next?” Perdiccas asked.
.
“Craterus is taking care of Aeropus’ sons - Alexander* excepted,” Hephaestion said, “Caranus will have to die. Attalus as well.”
.
“Caranus…” Perdiccas murmured. “Who will kill him?”
.
“I will if I have to,” Hephaestion said, “His age is immaterial. He’s a threat to Alexander.”
.
“I understand, but by the gods what a world we live in… Let’s go; I want some wine.”
*Alexander of Lyncestis
To be continued…
- The list of chapters can be found here
6. A Little Pillow Talk
by Ptolemy Lagides
.
It was nearly dawn when Hephaestion finally slipped into Alexander’s bed. Alexander’s eye flicked open. It was bright and alert. He watched his friend’s tanned thighs and chest disappear under the blanket closely.
.
“Where have you been?” Alexander asked, as Hephaestion brought his head level to his own.
.
“To see a few people. Friends… to make sure they remain friends.” Alexander did not reply, but instead, looked over Hephaestion’s shoulder and gazed thoughtfully out of the open window into the pale sky.
.
“But why are you even here?” Hephaestion continued, “I thought you were sleeping with the Queen Mother, tonight.”
.
“The Queen Mother…” Alexander echoed, “I was. I couldn’t sleep,” he said, running his finger down Hephaestion’s temple and curling it round his lips, “she snores so loudly.” Hephaestion chuckled. He pushed his hand under the cover of the bed. Alexander watched it disappear and smiled.
.
“Uh-uh; eyes on me.” Hephaestion said. Alexander obeyed even as he squirmed at the gentle touch of Hephaestion’s hand on his chest and abdomen. His body warmed and stiffened in readiness for what had to come next. Suddenly, to his surprise, and - he had to admit, disappointment - he felt Hephaestion take hold of his hand. Alexander raised his eyebrow humorously. Hephaestion replied with a knowing grin. Pulling Alexander’s hand out from under the blanket, he folded it into a fist and looked at his friend’s gold ring and the large emerald jewel that was set in it. Hephaestion kissed the jewel softly.
.
“You did well, today,” he said, “the guests and the court could have scattered in panic; instead, they now sleep easily.”
.
“I doubt that,” Alexander said, “I am the king but the succession has not yet been decided. Blood must still be shed. Still… I must thank Antipater and Alexander* for what they did. Their gestures were simple but authoritative. Who knows how many lives they have saved.”
.
Alexander pulled his hand away from Hephaestion’s grasp; he stroked his friend’s shoulder with it before running it impatiently down his arm, and then onto his hip. For a few seconds, he caressed Hephaestion’s buttock before pulling it towards him. Hephaestion let his right leg slide over Alexander’s as their bodies touched.
“I must say,” Alexander continued, “Antipater impressed me today… his presence of mind… exemplary.” He kissed Hephaestion on the forehead. It was a hard, rough, kiss.
.
“He was your mother’s ally. Just like Perdiccas and the others.”
.
“And you, Hephaestion?” Alexander asked, with a sudden sharpness, “Were you my mother’s ally?”. Before Hephaestion could respond, Alexander slipped his body on top of his friend’s and pushed him face downwards into the bed. As he did so, Alexander slid his own body on top. Kissing Hephaestion once more, this time on the neck, but still roughly, he placed his legs between Hephaestion’s and pushed them apart.
.
“Were you?” Alexander repeated.
.
“Of course,” Hephaestion said, calmly. “There is nothing I would not do for you, Alexander. You know that.” He paused, and slid his hand under the pillow; he pulled out Alexander’s golden dagger slowly, “Tell me to kill myself, and I would do it.” For a moment, Alexander stared at the dagger dumbly. Then, at Hephaestion with growing horror.
.
“No!” he exclaimed, grabbing the dagger and throwing it across the room, “No! Hephaestion…!” He threw himself off his friend and stared wildly up at the ceiling.
.
“Don’t say such things. Not even in jest.”
.
“I wasn’t joking.”.
.
“I mean…” Alexander wiped the hot sweat that was forming on his brow away, “Just… I… just don’t say that again. Never talk about death to me, Hephaestion, I…” He shook his head as he fought to find the words to say, “I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry. I love you.”
.
“You have a unique way of showing it.” Alexander glanced guiltily at his friend, hoping to see a smile, fearing to see a scowl. He found, instead, an impassive appearance. Neither condemned nor excused, simply understood. His heart burned for love of this man whom the gods had blessed his life with..
.
“I am sorry,” Alexander said, sliding off Hephaestion’s back, “I feel… somehow I feel as if my father has been wronged. I mean, by me. Now that he is dead, I wish he had died on the battlefield. It would have been better…”
.
“Death comes to us all and not always in the way we - or anyone - would wish. And it teaches us,” Hephaestion added, putting his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, “that we should make the most of the time we have.” He pulled Alexander’s body towards him before pushing it into the bed just as Alexander had done to him. Alexander did not resist. Hephaestion kissed him roughly on the shoulder, biting Alexander’s neck with such force that he drew blood and made the king gave a small cry; then, once more just as Alexander had done, he forced the king’s legs apart with his own before reaching for the golden bowl of olive oil that sat by the bed. He dipped his hand into it.
.
“This is not to my liking,” Alexander laughed, “One day, people will say that you were the one I could never conquer.”
.
“Would that be so bad?” Alexander paused.
.
“Actually, yes,” he said, “I want to be invincible. Always victorious. Invincible.”
.
“Then you should never have become Achilles.” Hephaestion replied, as he began to smear the oil in the place that it was needed.
.
* Alexander of Lyncestis
To be continued…
- The list of chapters can be read here
Alexander and Rome: The Letter Which (Nearly) Ended the Republic
This article is a transcript of the first part of a talk that will be given by Dr. April F. Atua to the Oxford University Alexander the Great Society tonight, and is reprinted here with the kind permission of the author.
.
By the time of his death in 323 BC, Alexander the Great died had changed the world. He started locally by cementing Macedonia’s control of Greece before heading east and sweeping away the Persian empire; in so doing, he brought the language and customs of Greece as far east as India. It wasn’t a one-way exchange, for when Alexander returned to Babylon he did so having adopted the customs of his eastern subjects.
.
Had he lived but a few months longer, however, Alexander would have changed the world even more, for, as he lay on his deathbed in the royal palace at Babylon, Roman emissaries were on their way from the eternal city to pay homage to him and offer not just their loyalty but Rome itself to the god-king.
.
Evidence for this astonishing fact comes from a collection of letters that were excavated in Rome in 1936 only to be suppressed by Benito Mussolini on account of their contents. A subservient Rome was not a narrative that he wanted the world to read of when he was trying to make himself a second Augustus.
.
Mussolini ordered the letters to be destroyed. Thankfully (on whose initiative, sadly, we do not know), they were instead stored in the national archive at the bottom of a box, which was otherwise filled with chits dating to the reign of Umberto I (1878-1900). They were discovered by my friend, the writer M. J. Mann, during his research on the king. Like Shakespeare Mr. M. knows only a little Latin and less Greece (I assure you, however, the connexion between him and the bard ends there!) so he passed the tablets onto me - I was at the archive concurrently with him - for my inspection. That was quite a day!
.
There are six letters in total - one from the two consuls and five from other important Roman figures. The latter are recapitulations of the consuls’ letters. This is what the relevant section of the consuls’ letter says (my translation):
To the King Alexander
… Rome has watched the mighty ascent of His Lordship in the thirteen years of his reign with unfaltering admiration for the strength of his arm and wisdom of mind… [text damaged] … therefore it is clear to our city that the line of Alexander will be long and that his supremacy over the world, the greater portion of which he now controls, will be eternal… [text damaged] … gods’ approval and it has been obtained. With no other desire than for Rome to thrive under the friendship, protection, and grace of the king of the world, and with the full authority of the Senate, we therefore offer to the king our city and all it contains to dispose of as he wishes… [text damaged] … consuls will remain until the Great King sends word of his intentions, whereupon, if they be to take control of our city, we will resign and submit ourselves to his authority along with all his Roman subjects….
The Roman emisseries were still in Asia Minor when they learnt that Alexander had died. Upon receiving this information, they returned home. The letters were dumped in a rubbish pit near the Palatine Hill where they were discovered in 1936. No Roman writer ever referred to the letters - it is likely they did not even know about them because the consuls and Senate agreed never to talk of them. Given the Roman people’s anti-monarchism, this isn’t a surprise. I am proud, however, that tonight I get to break that silence, to talk about what was, and what might have been, had Alexander the Great taken control of my home city.
.
- If you would like to attend Dr. Atua’s talk it will be taking place in the back room of the Kestrel and Kid pub in St Giles at 8pm. A complimentary glass of wine (to be drunk neat) will be served. All are welcome.
5. Friends
I.
After escorting Thaïs back to the royal palace, I walked a few streets north to my brother Menelaus’ home. Long before I arrived, the sound of music and laughter told me that he was making good on his promise to celebrate Philip’s death.
.
Opening the front door, I stepped into the courtyard and almost onto Erigyius as he had sex with a prostitute in front of me. The courtyard was crammed with men drinking, whores plying their trade, and musicians try to sing over the noise. There was even a dog fight taking place at the far end. I looked down at Erigyius’ whore as she panted and cried, and thought of Thaïs. It was a bit unfair. As a hetaera she did more with her clients than just have sex with them. Just then, a nauseous feeling took me - Why? I wondered, Because of Thaïs? No, it must be something else because that didn’t make sense.
.
“Ptolemy!” a deep voice boomed. It was Craterus, at nearly six and a half feet tall and with muscles the size of barrels, he was a true giant amongst men. He strode across the courtyard, causing men in his path to scatter as he did so. “Menelaus is upstairs in his bedroom! Perdiccas, Laomedon, and Nearchus are with him, too. Apparently they have the best wine.”
.
“Why aren’t you up there?” I asked.
.
“I was on my way when I saw that Menelaus’ servants hadn’t removed his flowers from the house. Some one was about to use one over there as a mini out house. I knocked him out and took the plants out back. I’ll go upstairs when I’ve seen to the other flower bowls.” As well as being a giant and senior officer in Alexander’s army, Craterus was also a lover of flowers. I never would get used to the tender way with which he treated them.
.
Leaving Craterus to his task, I made my way to the bedroom. There, all the talk was all of how glad we were that Philip was dead and what we hoped to achieve in the new, Alexandrian, future. For my part, very annoyingly, I could not get Thaïs out of my mind. This annoyed me. I didn’t know her. I wouldn’t see her again. Why was I so concerned about her? I drank more to try and drive her from my mind; I made up a rude song about Philip and his boy lovers; I wrestled with Craterus and traded joke insults with Black Cleitus when he turned up but none of it could remove the thought of that strange woman from me.
.
II.
It was in the early hours of the morning that Hephaestion arrived at the house. Most of us were either asleep in a drunken stupor, unconscious, or dead (two people died of over drinking that night) when he came. Gliding noiselessly through it, he came upstairs and shook my shoulder.
.
“Forgive me, Ptolemy,” he said, glancing round, warily, “I would like to talk to you.”
.
“Has something happened?” I asked.
.
“No. I come with a message.” I got to my feet. My head throbbed lightly but I had been too distracted by the thought of Thaïs to get really drunk. We walked downstairs and, collecting two torches, left the house through a back door and stepped into a side street. A stray dog barked at us and ran away.
.
“Firstly, I must apologise,” Hephaestion said, “I lied about the message…” Confused, and alarmed, I shot him a sharp glance and felt for the sword that I was not wearing.
.
“It’s alright!” Hephaestion said, seeing my hand move, and raising his own in a gesture of peace, “I came to make an offer to you; one that befits Alexander’s best friend.”
.
“His best friend? That is you, Hephaestion.” He blushed.
.
“You know that that is only the beginning of what we are to one another,” he replied. “Of the king’s friends, you are the greatest.”
.
“Hm. I thank you.”
.
“And now that he is king, Alexander’s need for your friendship will not lessen but grow. Especially as you are very popular in the army.”
.
“Again, I thank you,” I said, “But Hephaestion, what are you getting at? What is your offer?”
.
“Olympias offered you gold to join her conspiracy,” he said, “I want to offer you my friendship and my loyalty in the days and years ahead. And I will give them to you if you agree to help Alexander—”
.
“I don’t understand you,” I said, “Like you said, I am his friend. I would do anything for—” As I spoke, it clicked; I laughed, “Wait… you’re asking me to be your spy,” Hephaestion looked down at the ground, guiltily.
.
“Yes, I am.”
.
“Why?”
.
“You know how it is with kings,” Hephaestion began, “They come to power, they kill anyone who might be a threat to them. They rule, and they continue to kill anyone who might be a threat to them. This is what Alexander will do. And he will not only kill his enemies, if he feels the need to, but friends, too…”
.
“So if I spy for you - for Alexander - you will stand up for me should I ever fall foul of him.”
.
“Yes.”
.
“If anyone else had said this to me - anyone - I would have considered their words a threat. Not you, though, Hephaestion; you do not dissemble - not to your friends. If Alexander accused me, you would be a very influential advocate to have; I will do as you wish. But know this, I would have done it anyway for I want Alexander to succeed in all his plans. I am his friend.”
.
“And a good one, too; thank you, Ptolemy; from the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Hephaestion leaned forward and embraced me tightly.
.
“This means a lot to you,” I said, “Why? I do not doubt that you will be making alliances and agreements with other people at this time. I am not so very special to you.”
.
“You’re right, I will; but you are special… one day, I will tell you why. For now, I must go - As you surmise, I have other people to see.” I watched Hephaestion make his way down the side street. My body twitched; it knew what I wanted to do next before I did. I ran after him.
.
“Hephaestion-!” He stopped, and turned. “Alexander’s hetaera - Thaïs. Do you know her?”
.
“Yes.”
.
“Do you know who is she with tonight?”
.
“Yes, the Brute.” He meant Archippus, one of my fellow Cavalry Companions, nicknamed for his brutal way of fighting and living.
.
“Him-!” I exclaimed. “No woman should be allowed near him. He killed his wife.”
.
“Thaïs will be fortunate if he doesn’t kill her. He beats her, you know; not around the face where it can be seen, but on her body. I have seen the bruises.”
.
“Does Alexander know?”
.
“No. I haven’t told him; I don’t want him to be distracted. I’ve told Thaïs to refuse Archippus’ money, and I’ve told him to treat her kindly or else. She refused to listen to me and he has been happy to take his chances. I am busy enough as it is; what more can I do?”
.
“Nothing… nothing, I suppose.”
.
“Maybe when things have quietened down…” he said, thoughtfully, “Till then, she is on her own. Goodbye, Ptolemy.” I bowed and bade Hephaestion farewell. Stupid woman, I thought, but in that moment, I knew that this was not the end of the matter.
To be continued…
- The list of chapters can be read here
4. The Fatal Crown
by Ptolemy Lagides
.
As we left Pausanias’ corpse, Alexander sipped a goblet of wine in his quarters at the palace. He gazed out of the window and across the Aegae skyline, and it seemed to him that the night was blacker than usual. A chill ran down his spine. Noticing it, a servant standing by the fireplace threw more wood onto the fire. There was a knock at the door.
.
“Enter.”
.
Olympias stepped in. Her eyes were red and her face drawn. Alexander had not seen her since leaving the theatre and he was alarmed to see her in apparent distress.
.
“Mother…” he said, in concern, walking towards her.
.
“It’s alright,” Olympias said, but her voice was weak and tired. After pausing to gather herself, she said, “Today went well. Yes. The Greeks acclaimed you, and the people are quiet. When you speak to them directly, they will love you. Alexander’s* act of homage was an unexpected bonus… It will give Amyntas** much pause for thought…”
.
“Good, but I don’t care - mother, you should rest.” Olympias smiled sadly.
.
“The time for that has passed, my child. I shall never rest again.” Alexander looked thoughtfully at Olympias before stepping away from her.
.
“So… this was your work.”
.
“Yes.” Alexander embraced his mother tightly. Olympias folded her arms round her son and in that moment forgot how strong and ruthless a woman she was meant to be and sobbed.
.
“I hated him,” she admitted, “I hated him very much… but believe me when I say, I never wanted this to happen.”
.
“Neither did I, but it was necessary; father brought what happened upon himself when he married Cleopatra,” Alexander said. He looked his mother in the eye, “I wish you had let me take charge of the assassination.”
.
“How strange,” Olympias laughed through her tears, “I am the one crying, yet it is you, Alexander, whose judgement is clouded. Think. If it ever became known that you assassinated your father your authority would be undermined and the the possibility of your own assassination increased ten fold.”
.
“I fear no one,” Alexander replied, softly, “In any case, we are Macedonians, murder is a way of life for us.”
.
Olympias smiled at her son’s word play, and nodded. “Indeed…” Just then, her head dropped and her body wavered. Catching her, Alexander guided Olympias to a chair.
.
“Forgive me for making you stand.” he said, anxiously.
.
“It’s alright, quite alright…” Olympias replied, “It has been a long day. That’s all.”
.
“Stay with me tonight,” Alexander said, “Let us sleep together.” Olympias smiled.
.
“I will not miss any opportunity I get from now on to embrace my son,” she said, as if to herself. “Soon you will be gone, and who knows when I will see you again?” Alexander opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by another knock on the door. A counsellor entered. Some of the king’s Greek guests wanted an urgent audience with him. Alexander was minded to tell them to wait until the morning, but his mother persuaded him to go - “The impression that you make on them now will help define how their city acts towards you in the future,” she said, “Reluctance to appear will be interpreted as a sign of weakness.”
.
Acquiescing to her will, Alexander left the room. Olympias sat in his quarters for a few minutes, her eyes closed as she listened to the murmur of voices in the palace courtyard three floors below. Upon a moment, she heard a cup being put down on a table behind her; she turned round sharply. Hephaestion sat in a shadowy alcove of the room. He acknowledged her with a friendly nod. Ordering the servants to leave Olympias stood up.
.
“How did I do…?” she asked him, once the last servant out had closed the door behind him.
.
“Very well.”
.
“Do you think he believes…”
.
“… that you masterminded Philip’s death? Yes. You spoke very convincingly.”
.
“Good. I meant what I said, though; I wish I had masterminded it. I hated Philip very much…”
.
“Well, as per our agreement, you have the next best thing - the blame for what happened. I have put the word out that you were probably behind Philip’s death. You had the motive and,” Hephaestion paused and chuckled, wryly, “notwithstanding the fact that you have few friends in Macedon, the power, too. Here’s to people being convinced by the first fact so that they do not consider the second falsity for too long.” Hephaestion raised his cup. Olympias joined him, and took it.
.
“Thank you for letting me,” she said, “I still shake when I remember how we argued over this point. No one will ever fight more strongly to keep a poisoned cup taken than you, Hephaestion; you have my thanks.” As Olympias drank the wine, Hephaestion stood up and bowed.
.
“I thank the gods for the day I became strong enough to arrange Philip’s assassination instead of just thinking that it needed to be done.” Hephaestion said, “And you may be sure that my strength remains. I will never cease to do all that I can to honour your sacrifice.” Taking the cup back, he drained it and walked towards the door.
.
“Oh,” he added, “I almost forgot.” Hephaestion walked back to the alcove and picked up a dirty grey bag; opening it, he pulled out a gold leafed crown.
.
“To complete the illusion.” he said. Olympias took it.
.
“That will now be the work of a life time,” she said, turning the crown in her hands, “And will take many more actions than just this one. But, I too will not fail to do whatever needs to be done in any respect, and whatever the cost - in blood, hate, or treachery. All for Alexander.”
.
“All for Alexander.” Hephaestion repeated. Handing the bag over to her, he kissed Olympias on the cheek and left the quarters.
.
* Alexander of Lyncestis
** Philip II’s cousin who, by virtue of his being the son of Philip’s elder brother Perdiccas, had as good a claim to the Macedonian throne as Alexander himself
To be continued…
- The list of chapters can be found here
3. Of Death and Suffering
by Ptolemy Lagides
.
Alexander watched Philip fall heavily to the ground. His body struck the stage with a dull thud, causing the dust and dirt to rise around him in a little cloud. Almost immediately, a small pool of blood emerged from underneath the king. Alexander stared at it intently, and in that moment, the world ceased to exist.
.
Olympias watched her son for a moment then bowed her head. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and dropped into her gown. The other Epirotians called her name and begged her to leave the theatre with them, but she ignored their voices.
.
The theatre was in uproar. As the initial shock at seeing Philip’s murder subsided fear overtook the king’s guests. Who had killed him? Was anyone else in danger? Could they all be under threat? Rational thought was overthrown by wild speculation, and amidst the crying and shouting, people began hurrying to the exits at the back of the amphitheatre and on either side of the stage; a few made it out but the rest were turned back by guards who came out of nowhere and blocked the way.
.
Amidst the chaos, Antipater strode out onto the stage and shouted for calm. It took a few minutes for him to be heard but, eventually, and with the help of the Macedonian soldiers who blocked the exits and herded the guests back to their seats, his voice eventually rose over the verbal melee of fear and dread.
.
“My friends, my friends!” Antipater cried, “The king is not dead! Look!” As people began looking round, he turned to Alexander, “The king lives!” Antipater exclaimed, “The king lives!” It took a moment, but finally, he was understood.
.
“Hail Alexander, king of Macedon!” someone cried.
.
Hearing his name, Alexander looked up. Other people began repeating the acclamation. Realising what they were saying, he smiled awkwardly. Antipater came to the king’s side and, smiling through his thick, grey streaked beard, said quietly, “Hail Alexander. King of Macedon.” Alexander nodded. He glanced upwards at his mother; her head was still bowed in thought.
.
“So I am,” he murmured, and looking down at the body of his father, he added, “So I was meant to be.”
.
It was night time when I took Thaïs to the square to see Pausanias’ body. It was attached to an upright wooden board, and fixed in position by means of five clamps round his ankles, wrists, and neck. He still wore the clothes he had been killed in; they were soaked in blood and stuck to the javelin wounds in his chest. Thaïs gazed at him, thoughtfully. A few people hurried past us; I recognised one or two of them but they did not stop to greet me; even though there were no guards nearby, no one wanted to be seen near the traitor’s body. Thaïs - who had Alexander’s friendship - had no such qualms.
.
“Now you’ve seen him,” I said, “What next?”
.
Thaïs walked up to the body, and to my surprise put her fingers into the largest of his wounds, caused by Perdiccas’ javelin going straight through his body. Withdrawing her hand, she proceeded to smear Pausanias’ face and hair with the blood, driving her fingers deeper into the wound to get more blood as she did so.
.
“I hate to interrupt your desecration of this body, but may I ask what you are doing?”
.
“I’m preparing him,” Thaïs replied, “Well… no, I’m preparing myself.”
.
“For death-?”
.
“Yes… well… for tonight’s client.”
.
“I don’t understand you.”
.
I heard Thaïs laugh ruefully to herself as she lifted up Pausanias’ head to survey her work. He looked like a grotesque cross between a tart who had applied too much make-up and a barbarian who had just put on his war paint.
.
“Has he threatened you?” I asked, “If he has, tell Alexander; he’ll—”
.
“No,” Thaïs interjected with a speed and terseness that few women would dare in front of man, “He hasn’t. He hasn’t. In fact… it’s not about him, really; it’s more to do with me… I… it doesn’t matter, I am finished; may we go?”
.
Confused by Thaïs’ delphic words and bored by her refusal to explain herself, I was happy to oblige. I had never wanted to leave the royal palace anyway; I had only done so because Alexander had asked me to escort her. We did not talk on the way back to the royal palace. I was glad not to. This Athenian woman, as beautiful as she was in appearance, had strange habits that I wanted nothing to do with.
To be continued…
- The list of chapters can be found here
