God of War -The Story of Alexander the Great

I was sober – I was too nervous to be drunk. And as he wound to the climax of his amazing, lewd, witty impersonation of a besotted Aristotle with an erection based entirely on his love of Philosophy, I caught his eye.

His face was wild with the exertion of the drama, and yet, as if it were a mask, I caught a glimpse of the actor within, coolly assessing his audience. The strength of his own performance.

I was standing at the wine bowl when he came to the end – clutching the serving table to keep from pitching to the floor.

Hephaestion embraced him. ‘Oh, my brother, why can’t you always be like this?’ he asked.

Alexander’s face of command slipped effortlessly back into place. ‘Like what?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard of actors crowned, but never a comic.’ Aside, to me, at the wine bowl, he said, ‘Whenever I do that, I feel less a man afterwards. As with bedding a woman. Or too much sleep.’

He was drunk. Make what you will of his words.

At some point, Diodorus proposed that we run a race to the top of the Acropolis and back. I must have started drinking by then, because I thought it was an excellent idea. So did everyone else, so I suppose Antipater and Eumenes, the oldest men, were gone.

We stripped naked, of course.

Kineas, Diodorus, Graccus, Niceas, Nearchus, Cleitus the Black, Alexander, Hephaestion and me. Polystratus started us from Eumenes’ front gate. Every man had a torch – I forget whose idea that was.

I didn’t even know where the Acropolis was, when we started, so I followed Kineas. Kineas had a badly formed right leg – he didn’t trouble to hide it – and he wasn’t very tall. But he knew Athens, and he was probably soberer than the rest of us. Alexander was quite probably the drunkest of the lot of us, but he was a wonderful ru

Up and up through the town, which washes like waves of houses right to the base of the fortifications. Up and up, into a strengthening wind that blew our torches into blazing fires.

Out on to the broad stones of the Panathenaeum. Up and up and up. Now I could see them, neck and neck at the gates of the fortifications. I got a second wind, or perhaps I was not as drunk as I thought, but I caught them up on the steps below the temple to Nike.

Maybe she came to my aid, for the good of Greece. Who knows?

They touched the columns of the Parthenon together. I couldn’t tell you which had won.

When I came up, they were agreeing to settle it with a race back down.

They were greater than human. It’s in the eyes. It is a certain glow in the skin. I have seen it a few times, when a man rises above himself, usually in athletics or war. And they both had it, just then.

But they were courteous enough to wait for me.

And Niceas was right on my heels.

‘Don’t do it,’ Niceas panted. ‘Down is dangerous.’

Alexander’s eyes gleamed. ‘Dangerous is just fine.’

‘You could fall,’ Niceas said.

‘I’ll fly, then,’ Alexander said. ‘Kineas?’

Kineas took his hand. ‘You could run in the Olympics,’ he said.

Alexander laughed. ‘Only if they had a competition for demigods, heroes and kings,’ he said. ‘Come, before they dissuade us.’

Niceas grabbed my shoulder. ‘You stay with yours and I with mine,’ he said.

And we were off.

Alexander meant to go down the way he’d come, but as soon as we were clear of the steps by the temple to Nike – I touched the wall and said a prayer – Kineas turned on a side path down the hill.

Alexander knew tactics when he saw them. So he turned and followed.

Niceas and I were hard on them – a man can only run so fast down a cliff, even a demigod. And when the goat trail ended on a hard-packed street below a row of tiled roofs, Kineas shocked me by leaping from the hillside on to the roofs and ru

With torches. Leaping from roof to roof. Downhill, never touching the streets – down past the lower temples, past the watering fountains. Somewhere – I don’t know where, and I’d never be able to retrace the path except in a nightmare – we came to a drop of ten feet and a gulf perhaps two horse lengths wide – a side street.

Kineas didn’t hesitate, but leaped at full stride, and Alexander was with him, stride for stride.

That was the heir of Macedon, sailing through the air with a torch trailing white fire behind him.

Oh, there were gods, that night in Athens.

Another leap, and we were on Kineas’s street – I knew by the stables. We ran along the stable roof, and now Alexander lengthened his stride, and Kineas lengthened his.

At the courtyard of Eumenes’ house, they came to the end of the roofs.

Neither slackened stride.

I did.

Off the end of the stables, legs still flashing, Alexander a full body’s length ahead, the torches streaming fire . . .

A thirty-foot fall to the cobbled courtyard.

I didn’t even have time to call. Niceas did. He screamed.

And they were gone.

There was an enormous pile of straw below. And while I gather that Kineas knew that, I swear that Prince Alexander simply trusted that the gods would not let him die.

I slowed, stopped, heard no screams, looked, saw and jumped down.

Alexander rolled out of the straw, his torch out. ‘I win,’ he said, touching Eumenes’ andron door.

Kineas was laughing so hard he couldn’t get to his feet.

I went off and threw up.

Good party.

SEVEN

Pella, 337 BC

And then we were summoned home to Pella, and the party was over.

We had our treaty, and the Athenians had buried their dead with honour. My troopers stood in the pale winter sunshine as the ashes were lowered into a marble tomb, and I could not help but think that if the Athenians had put as much effort into fighting as they did to burying, we might have come off worse. Even as it was – when I looked around Athens, watched the great port of Piraeus, talked to the people – the more I looked at Athens, the more I saw to admire. I liked their pugnacious independence, and their desire to debate everything. And they were rich, and spent their money well.

I loved Kineas, and all he stood for. I was bred to war, the way a boar hound is bred to his life – little love, plenty of hardship and pain, to make sure that the object of your training never hesitates at the kill. Shed no tears – I made my life, and it’s been a glory. But Kineas, as good a soldier as any Macedonian, as events proved, was more than just a soldier. Where we had a veneer of education from Aristotle, Kineas could quote anything from Hesiod and the Iliadto the latest play of Menander. He could speak with ease of Thales or Pythagoras, and he could work out most of the problems of the new mathematics. His scholarly skills were not a veneer, and yet he could sit astride his horse like a Scythian and his spear skills – and his wrestling – were on a par with mine.

I mention this, because Kineas and his friends did something to me and my friends. I’m not sure – it was like some sort of beneficial spell, but after Athens my friends wanted more than cheap wine and fast sex. Because we knew that there was more to want.

And Pella, when we arrived, looked like a tinselled crown next to the solid gold of Athens. Alexander felt it keenly – perhaps even more keenly than Nearchus or Cleomenes.

We came over the last rise, to the point in the pass where outlying farms give way to the public buildings of the city. Except that Pella was no city, after Athens, but a provincial town. Attica had three or four towns the size of Pella. Amphilopolis, our major seaport (once an Athenian colony), was as large as Pella.