God of War -The Story of Alexander the Great

On the other hand, I was an officer, the head of one of the great families. If I chose to use it, I had a great deal of power. I thought that perhaps Attalus had underestimated me.

I made for Alexander’s rooms. He was lying on his couch, reading, with Hephaestion on a chair polishing his helmet.

‘Lord, there’s a plot,’ I said.

Alexander rolled off his bed. ‘I know there’s something.’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything for certain. But my city house has been burned, all my slaves sold. My man, Polystratus – they moved against him in law, seized his wife and sold his lands. And he’s a freeman and a veteran.’

Alexander frowned. ‘Nasty, but not a plot against me.’

‘Diomedes came out to crow,’ I said.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘Attalus.’

‘Diomedes said Attalus will be king,’ I said, and Alexander snarled like a lion. Hephaestion put a hand on his shoulder.

And a frightened page came into the room. ‘The king!’ he squeaked.

Philip pushed in on the page’s heels. Behind him was Attalus, with Diomedes, still splashed with mud.

‘Ptolemy!’ Philip said.

I pointed at Diomedes. ‘Only my loyalty to you, sire, kept me from killing this dog on the road,’ I said, because a good offence is always the best defence.

‘He says—’

‘Lord, he tried to lay hands on me and admitted to destroying my property and selling my people as slaves – while I did your bidding in Athens,’ I said.

King Philip’s eyes narrowed when I spoke over him – but he listened. Remember – I represented a great family and a lot of loyal service. And a lot of tax money. And political power.

‘I wish to swear a case against him,’ I went on. ‘I withheld my hand from killing him, but I demand justice.’

Philip’s face worked. He looked at Diomedes.

‘Lies!’ Diomedes said. ‘Lord, I—’

Nearchus, at my shoulder, bowed. ‘My king, I was there. It was as Lord Ptolemy says.’

Attalus spluttered. ‘They are all pages – they’re in it together!’

Alexander stood up. ‘Attalus – I do not remember inviting you into my rooms. Please leave. Diomedes, you as well.’

Philip looked back and forth. ‘Ptolemy – no need to swear a case against Diomedes, is there? What is this, some boys’ quarrel?’ He smiled at us.

Attalus narrowed his eyes. ‘Lord Ptolemy has been telling people that he is your bastard son and has as much right to the throne as Prince Alexander.’ Attalus gri

Philip made a strangled sound.

I can go either way – rage or cold calculation. But Athena stood at my shoulder. ‘My king – Attalus is gravely mistaken. I have never made any such claim. And anyone who looks at me can see my parentage in my nose.’ I laughed.

I have learned that a laugh – an unforced laugh, or a damned good imitation – is the most disarming technique in the world. And my nose was an excellent witness.

Alexander stood at my shoulder. ‘Out, Attalus. You are not welcome here.’

‘I come and go as I please, at the king’s leave, and not for some foreign woman’s by-blow,’ Attalus said.

There it was, on the table.

Alexander’s face turned a deep blood red, and his eyes glittered.

He was so fast, when he was angry, that Attalus was lying on the floor when Philip was still reaching to stop his son.

‘What have you done, Father?’ Alexander asked.

Philip wouldn’t meet his eye. Diomedes was helping Attalus to his feet.

Alexander’s face was suddenly nearly white, and his rage burned like a new-lit fire with too much birch bark. ‘Men will not meet my eye. All my servants have been changed. My friends are under attack, and I don’t know the pages on duty. What have you done?’

Another commotion, and Philotas pushed in. ‘Alexander!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve changed the password!’

There was a scuffle in the hallway.

‘Father?’ Alexander said. It was the last time I ever heard him address the king as Father.

Philip drew himself up. ‘I have proof that you and your mother were plotting to kill me. And that you are not my son. You are a bastard child, and I am replacing you with an heir. Of my own body.’

Alexander froze.

Philip turned and strode from the room. Attalus and Diomedes went with him, and all their retainers.

Alexander sank slowly on to a chair.

‘Zeus,’ Hephaestion said.

Before an hour passed, Philip sent a messenger to apologise. As if you could apologise for bastardising your son.

In fact, he invited Alexander to his wedding banquet.

By then, we had an idea what we were up against. A quick tour of the guardrooms showed me that half of the royal companions had been replaced with lowlanders from small families. The old highland aristocrats and the mercenaries were . . . gone. Erigyus and Laodon were nowhere to be found, nor any of the other old i

But whatever Philip had said, he had not actually done anythingto bastardise Alexander. On the other hand, a few old servants – all found in the stables; the palace itself was thoroughly cleansed– told us that ‘everyone knew’ that Alexander was illegitimate. It was in the agora and in the palace. Soldiers made jokes about it.

We’d been gone six months.

Someone had been busy.

And Philip was marrying Cleopatra – Attalus’s niece, Diomedes’ sister.

Now, Philip married a girl every year or so. And Olympias never minded. She was a broad-minded queen with interests of her own, and she befriended most of the wives and saw to it they were well treated. And she made sure they were no threat to her political power.

Cleopatra was different, and Olympias had already been exiled.

The more closely I looked, the more it appeared that Philip – or someone else – had decided to rid himself of the highlanders and all the non-Macedonians, starting with Olympias. And to change the succession.

That meant they’d have to murder Alexander.

Most Macedonian political murders happened at banquets. So it didn’t take Aristotle’s training to show us that Alexander couldn’t go to this wedding feast.

But he wasAchilles. ‘I will notshow fear,’ he said. ‘I will go to the wedding feast.’

Hephaestion took me aside. ‘He has gone mad,’ he said. ‘I ca

I knew an answer. A very Macedonian answer. But I didn’t give it voice. Killing Philip – the best king Macedon had had for generations – was the obvious solution to our troubles. But I was too loyal.

I thought about it, though. I wanted to strike at Attalus before he did me any more damage.

I wanted to go home to my estates and make sure that they were safe. But the prince came first, and he was walking rapidly up and down his room, dressed in his best Tyrian red chiton with a garland of gilded oak leaves in his hair, eyes white at the edges, skin flushed to the neck. Even the tops of his arms were blotchy with colour.

I stopped worrying about my own afairs and took over.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Cleitus, you’re on duty.’

‘I am?’ he asked. And then nodded. ‘Right.’

‘Full armour,’ I said.

Hephaestion nodded. ‘Me, too.’

‘And Nearchus and Philotas,’ I said. ‘Where’s Philotas?’

Philip the Red was there, already in armour. ‘He’s gone. To his farm. Said his pater ordered him away from court.’

That hurt. But Parmenio and Attalus were close, and they were the driving force behind the military build-up in Asia. Another thing you could see everywhere in Pella was signs of military preparations. And the army was already gone – in the Chersonese, and some of it already in Asia. Almost a third of our total fighting force. That’s where all the old mercenaries and highlanders were, no doubt – far from court, where they could be used but couldn’t exercise any power.