Showtime! Chapter 1
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Just in case they were missed, the credits, other notes about the story, and prologue are here.
Author's Note: "Euthymius" means "in good spirits."
Chapter 1: Alexander the Third of Macedon, Tamer of Bucephalus, son of King Philip the Second of Macedon and Queen Olympias of the Molossians of Epirus, Prince and (Highly Probable) Future King
At the top of the hill they reined in their horses. They did not want to push their steeds any harder, and calling to their friend to slow down had no effect. He was already more than halfway across the plain before them, and they could only watch as the boy (for so they still thought him) urged his great black stallion onward, his golden hair a bright speck in the wide green field.
"Wait, Alexander!" they hollered one last time, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Where are you going?"
Of course, they were not asking seriously, for they knew there would be no answer. Finally the young men (for so they thought themselves) stopped shouting. A broad-shouldered youth, the first to cease, raked a hand impatiently through his thick, pale tresses. "He's forgotten all about us on that mad beast of his!"
"It's hardly the first time he has his head in the clouds, Philotas," answered the one beside him, watchful eyes and sharp chin under a mop of dark hair. "Why don't you chase him down?"
"Hmph! I'm not as rash as that, Cassander!"
"Well, he's too far now," said a tall youth, showing only mild concern.
"Perdiccas is right," agreed another, his easygoing manner contrasting sharply with his heavily muscled frame.
"It's just as well, Leonnatus," said the last of them. His rough, broad features crinkled in resigned amusement. "Alexander can take care of himself. He'll come back when he's ready."
"Don't you mean when he comes to his senses, Ptolemy?" Philotas jeered.
"He's been affixed to that animal's back ever since he got it," scoffed Cassander, "galloping about all over the countryside like a centaur."
Ptolemy grinned. "Wouldn't you, if you had a stallion like that?"
"Well, I don't fancy madness in my horses," Cassander retorted.
"Speaking of which, that beast is the right steed for Alexander," Philotas snickered. "They're both a little ... different." His tone made the last word clearly unflattering, but a moment later his chest puffed out. "As I tell my men, horse and soldier must be as one in battle!"
The others laughed, having heard too many such comments from him recently to be impressed. "We know you just got assigned your own men, Philotas!" Leonnatus cried.
Philotas colored a little, but pride won out and he lifted his head with a defiant grin; he was, after all, the first of them to achieve officer status in the cavalry. "So I did! And don't you forget it!"
They laughed, for they were still young enough to laugh things off easily - though, to be certain, they saw themselves as men.
"Well, if we're not going to catch up to Alexander we might as well go back," Ptolemy suggested. "The air around the kitchens smelled rather promising when we left."
"I'm feeling a bit hungry myself," said Leonnatus.
"Must be all that extra wrestling practice you squeeze in when the rest of us aren't looking," Perdiccas replied, his placid expression never changing. The others crowed in delight; Perdiccas did not jest often, but his words could hit the mark as sharply as anyone's.
They turned their horses back toward the palace, not upset that they were returning without the prince. As Ptolemy said, Alexander could look after himself very well. And although they only joked about it, they agreed somewhat with Philotas, too, that Alexander was not exactly like everyone else - and not only because he was the prince.
They all knew the history of the Trojan War, but Alexander could practically recite the Iliad by heart. They all enjoyed riding, but Alexander rode faster and farther than any of them cared to, especially now that he had Bucephalus. He could hardly be expected to return with them just to take supper at the usual time, no matter that when they set out together in the early afternoon, they had all noticed the warm fragrance from the kitchens: freshly baking bread, wheat and barley laced with honey just off the comb, as well as other scents just as enticing, if less familiar. King Philip was expecting a guest today, a personal friend from Athens, and knowing that Athenians did not eat much meat, he was turning out the best of Pella's other delicacies: bread, fish and fowl, the finest olive oil. And of course, wine.
It was the last that the youths could appreciate most. Macedonians paid devout tribute to Dionysus, even when circumspect Persian ambassadors visited with their sparse, cautious words and stiff, elaborate bows. Since tonight's banquet was only meant to entertain a friend, there would be plenty of the oldest, strongest vintages, and the young men looked forward to seeing if Leonnatus' drinking capacity had grown as much as his wrestling talent. Then, someone might actually out-drink Philotas, who had more than enough to brag about with his new standing in the army.
Alexander liked attending feasts also. He even looked forward to the formal banquets with generals and foreign ambassadors. His companions supposed this was just as well, since he was the prince and would have to lead councils and negotiations someday. (That did not stop them from thinking it strange, of course.) As for today's more intimate feast, Alexander might regret missing the chance to welcome another personal friend of his father's, but not too much. So his friends raced lightheartedly back, and when Perdiccas and Ptolemy happened to arrive in the stable yard ahead of Philotas - newly appointed cavalry officer - they cheerily kicked off a fresh round of banter.
* * * * *
Just as his friends had guessed, Alexander (to be precise, Prince Alexander III of Macedon, son of King Philip - and that is only a small part of how he was introduced to everybody he ever met) truly had not heard their shouts. He was entirely focused on his ride.
(After all, he was just twelve, though soon to be thirteen, no matter that he, like all his friends, thought himself a young man. At that age, even twelve-year-olds who are very precocious princes can forget all their responsibilities for a little while.)
He laughed as he rode, closing his eyes, content just to feel the speed and power of the ride. There was only the wind in his face, the rhythm of Ox-head's powerful strides, and the light of Helios' chariot behind him, pushing him ever eastward. How easy it was to imagine that he was riding noble Xanthus, son of the western wind Zephyr, one of the stallions that bore god-like Achilles to battle and immortality before the legendary walls of Troy!
On they galloped, until finally they halted on a high ledge. It was the farthest point they had yet explored; at this place they always turned back. Alexander took a deep breath.
In the air there was the warmth of the sun and the scent of a new season. Something hummed pleasantly by his ear; a dragonfly flashed past, an iridescent glimmer that sped swiftly into the distance. The earth was blooming with the first gifts of Demeter in the height of her happiness, no less magnificent than the tributes laid out by foreign dignitaries in Pella's royal halls. Before Alexander the land rolled away as far as he could see, rich green carpets adorned with the earliest flowers of summer, crocus and honeysuckle and sweet hyacinth, vying with each other in color and beauty at the feet of tall elms and stately sycamores, and willow-trees bowing low.
So limitless this country seemed. Yet Alexander knew that past these horizons lay so much more, places he had only heard about second-hand. Sparta, proud state of warriors; Thebes, where Alexander's own father was educated, home to the legendary Sacred Band. There was Athens also, center of culture and civilization, home to poets, artists, and philosophers as well as warriors - the only city whose defiance against Macedon had been met with respect, and even admiration, from King Philip.
And beyond the city-states of Hellas, there was a whole world that Alexander had only read about in the great histories. Mystical Egypt, with its age-old legacy of pharaohs and pyramids and the tides of the Nile. Vast Persia, glittering in gold and jewels, awash with strange spices and pungent perfumes, hundreds of cities and satrapies under the rule of one Great King. And beyond Persia, past exotic lands as yet only imagined: the Encircling Ocean - blue and endless as Macedon's summer skies.
Suddenly, Alexander noticed how quiet it was.
Of course he knew that he had left his companions behind a while ago, but only now did he really become conscious of it.
Bucephalus' ear twitched. Alexander swatted the offending insect away and patted the sleek, strong neck. It was approaching time for supper. His own stomach was starting to growl, but his old tutor Leonidas had drilled in too much Spartan discipline for him to be overly concerned about that. Still, there was Bucephalus to think of. Alexander wished he had an apple for his horse - the kind that was streaked red and gold. Bucephalus liked those best.
He looked toward the inviting fields before him. Someday he would explore that eastern horizon, but soon Bucephalus would want his evening meal.
"Ready to go back, Ox-head?"
He had pitched his voice too softly for the wind to carry it anywhere; the land remained unaffected in its slow, quiet rhythm. But Bucephalus' ear was close enough. As if in reply, the stallion turned smartly and set off, speeding within moments to a gallop. Helios' chariot shone on them all the way back.
* * * * *
It was not Alexander who missed supper that night, but Philip's anticipated guests. Word came that Amyntor was unexpectedly delayed in leaving Athens. At this news, Philip's one good eye flashed, but he remained composed as the messenger told him that Amyntor was sure to arrive by next morning, and that his show of horses would go on tomorrow as planned. Philip even laughed heartily when the runner relayed the last part of Amyntor's message, word for word: "I respectfully remind King Philip of his wager that his best can outperform mine. I have no doubt the loser will pay up quickly and honorably."
From palace talk, it was easy to learn that Amyntor bred horses on a large estate some distance from Athens, well enough to provide many of Philip's best cavalry mounts. However, most of Amyntor's business was in the city itself. What that business was, neither Alexander nor his companions knew exactly, but they were all excited about the show that the king's friend had organized (and not only because it got most of them out of half a day's duty). In a small, noisy gaggle after supper, they chatted away about the pending festivities, the riding party of that afternoon now joined by others of Alexander's circle - Nearchus, Harpalus, and Seleucus, as well as a few of the companions' younger brothers.
"Does Amyntor mean to make a present of his horses to the king?" Leonnatus wondered, the slight slur in his speech ample proof that he was already done with his ninth cup of undiluted wine.
"Not that I've heard of. But they have some sort of bet going on," replied Harpalus, who had his legs propped casually over thick cushions. Due to a heavy limp, he never joined in his friends' more strenuous activities, but one would never guess he thought much of his handicap from his easy self-assurance. What he lacked in mobility he made up in sleek confidence, and with a few honeyed words, he could attract the attention of a bright pair of eyes as well as any of them.
"A bet on the horses?" Cassander raised his eyebrows. "What kind of bet?"
"I overheard some fellow officers saying they're going to race their best stallions," Philotas announced importantly.
"A race!" cried Nicanor, one of the smaller boys. He was one of Cassander's brothers, but aside from a few surface similarities, one could hardly tell. It seemed Nicanor had inherited Cassander's share of enthusiasm, while Cassander, even at Nicanor's age, had always been a bit of a brooder.
"Race them?" Perdiccas looked skeptical. "Our arena isn't really big enough for a good horse race."
"At least they're not elephants," Seleucus put in, grinning in anticipation of the laughter that followed.
"You would wish to race elephants, Seleucus!" Nearchus whooped. By far Seleucus was the most interested in foreign oddities - especially elephants. They often joked about how strange a sight it would be: quick, wiry Seleucus astride one of those lumbering giants. Barrel-chested Nearchus seemed the better match, but he laughed off the suggestion. "After all," he would say, "a charging elephant isn't likely to have a much smoother gait than a charging stallion." They both rode horses well enough, however, and only duty had kept them from the excursion that afternoon.
"Maybe they'll use the field just outside the arena," Ptolemy guessed, reaching around Perdiccas to snatch a string of grapes from the plates being taken back to the kitchens.
"The field where Alexander first rode Bucephalus?" asked little Hector, Philotas' youngest brother, and the youngest of all the group.
"That's right," said Ptolemy.
Cassander glanced at the prince, dark eyes glittering. "Alexander, do you know anything about the bet? Surely your father must have told you something."
"Not really," Alexander casually replied, choosing not to acknowledge the ill-concealed spite behind Cassander's question. Cassander had a knack for such double-sided comments, words that allowed him to explain it all away as a compliment should anyone actually take offense, but so arch and pointed as to leave the true intent quite obvious.
Alexander supposed he should be thankful that resentment had not yet found a sharper outlet than Cassander's verbal jabs. He was aware of how others, or at least their parents, saw him. And he knew even better the power that parents could wield. Some of his companions - Erygius, Laomedon, and Cassander's other brother Iollas - at least did not try to force insincere friendship, content just to be acquaintances to appease their parents' wishes. And some of them were honestly his friends. However, except for a few younger brothers like Hector and Nicanor, most of them were older than Alexander by at least four or five years. And, as he astutely perceived, they were all from families who possessed either high rank or his parents' favor, or both.
As for Cassander's question, Alexander regretted not asking his father more about this particular visitor, but not too much. Philip had only mentioned him casually, and told Alexander nothing about bets or races. Alexander did not mind it; since he had shown his father that he was ready to take on the world by taming Bucephalus, their relationship had become better than ever before. After all, this visitor was just a personal friend, no one over whom the young prince should be especially concerned.
By now Philotas and Leonnatus were too tipsy to notice, but the rest exchanged glances. It was unsettling whenever Alexander quieted down like that, especially if the conversation touched on either of his parents. Ptolemy and Seleucus shot irritated glares at Cassander, who just shrugged contemptuously and lifted his cup for another drink.
"Well!" Perdiccas declared, his voice uncharacteristically loud, "I doubt any horse in the world can beat your Bucephalus."
Alexander looked up. Then he smiled, brilliantly. "No, I suppose not."
Cassander rolled his eyes, but no one saw it since he had his cup raised to his lips.
Hector and Nicanor gazed at Alexander in innocent veneration. "I hope someday I can ride like you, Alexander!" Nicanor murmured wistfully.
Cassander managed to snort and keep drinking his wine at the same time. Alexander ignored him, grinning instead at the smaller boy. "I can take you for a ride on Bucephalus," he offered gallantly.
Nicanor gasped. "Really, Alexander?"
"Yes, and you too, Hector."
The two little boys cheered gleefully. Alexander beamed, seeming not to notice the others' looks of amusement - mostly fond, but also a couple that were quite disdainful.
"Beat Bucephalus!" Leonnatus exclaimed, the wine still holding him back several lines in the conversation. "As well try to outfight Achilles!"
"Or out-shriek Philotas the other day," smirked Harpalus, "when he started polishing his new officer's gear, only to be attacked by a spider of Titanic proportions."
"It was a shout of fury," Philotas drawled, mellowed by the wine and quite willing to overlook the jibe from one who would never touch any army equipment.
Ptolemy lifted his voice to resemble Philotas' strident baritone. "It jumped all over me!"
"You all only wish to have someone jump all over you!" Philotas leered, raising his goblet again in the middle of mock indignation and boisterous retorts.
"Huh?" Nicanor blinked. "Why would anyone want to be jumped on?"
"That would be silly." Hector assumed his best frown as he stated the obvious; older brothers were supposed to know these things. "That would hurt."
Both boys looked to Alexander for an explanation. He seemed to be the only person who heard them amid the escalating (and ever more bewildering) boasts of the others.
Alexander smiled. "Never mind them. When should I take you riding?"
Dazzled, the boys immediately put their baffling older brothers out of their minds, even as the verbal competition around them intensified into violent threats and fists banging on tables. (In Pella, such minor disturbances at informal banquets were quite common anyway.)
The night drew on without any announcement of King Philip's friend. But it did not occupy them much. The show would take place tomorrow afternoon as planned, and that was enough (especially for such action-minded young men as they were).
Despite all the earlier talk of drinking contests, they stopped relatively early. Most of them still had duties tomorrow morning. And Philotas was going to be busy all day with his section, since (as he pointed out with much satisfaction) they were standing guard at the show. The rest arranged to meet after lunch and parted in wine-warmed good humor, all threats forgiven (if not enitrely forgotten) as usual.
* * * * *
By breakfast-time, Amyntor's horses had certainly arrived. Anyone passing by the stables could see them as his grooms began the day's work, smart and efficient despite their nighttime arrival. But Amyntor himself, having gone to see Philip early on, made no appearance all morning. As the companions gathered one by one during lunch, their duties finished for the day, Amyntor was still ensconced in Philip's study along with Philip's two best generals, Parmenion and Antipater.
Being the son of the latter, Cassander was the one to reveal this information. He was rather smug about it, too (especially since Philotas, son of the former, was on guard and unable to play the all-knowing general's son this time). Since that was the only news about Amyntor, the group decided to go to the stables, to see what they might of the horses.
Euthymius, Philip's stable master, presided over the yard with unwonted approval as Amyntor's grooms bustled about with hay and brushes and buckets of water, but all in all there was not much to see. Still, this was as good a place as any to dawdle. The companions stopped at the edge of the enclosure, chatting at leisure and watching as the grooms scrubbed down the horses on the other side of the fence.
"Here now!" shouted a deep, jovial voice. "What are you boys plotting?"
It was Cleitus, one of Philip's favorite guards and brother of Alexander's erstwhile nursemaid. With him was Craterus, another well-respected officer.
Tall and burly, Craterus was quite the professional in anything to do with the army. Beside Cleitus he looked somewhat stern. But then, anyone would appear quiet and serious next to Cleitus, tough and dashing and renowned for all sorts of prowess on the battlefield - and off. The younger men gladly welcomed them.
"We heard so much about the horses, we thought we'd take an early look," Leonnatus explained.
Craterus raised an eyebrow and allowed a hint of a smile. "Well, you fine young future officers, what do you think of them?"
Cassander quickly answered, "They look like good cavalry horses."
"How so?"
"Broad backs," Leonnatus replied.
"Shiny coats," added Ptolemy.
"That's right," Craterus agreed. "If you were up close what would you look for?"
"Bright eyes!"
"Good gums!"
"Thick horns on the hooves!"
The officers laughed at the barrage of answers. "So then," Cleitus declared, "the question that's really worth a barrel of wine from Crete: how do they compare to the steeds of our good King Philip?"
The young men fell silent, each hoping another would answer.
"Well," Perdiccas finally spoke up, "if you really want to know, you'd have to ride one."
Cleitus heartily clapped Perdiccas on the back. "Exactly! Must see how it behaves under pressure - that's the real test!" he exclaimed. "Congratulations, boys, you know your horses!"
Craterus saw fit to express his approval with a nod, then glanced into the yard. "Seems Amyntor's grooms are a good lot, too," he remarked. "You don't usually see Euthymius so . . . calm, when his stables have so many guests."
Euthymius' thick arms were crossed, his feet planted firmly in a wide, belligerent stance, and his features twisted in a perpetual glower.
The others nodded. "He's definitely in one of his better moods today," Nearchus agreed.
"I remember when the last Persian guests arrived," Leonnatus added. "He would've kicked out the head groom if he didn't take the customs of hospitality so seriously!"
"'Zeus Xeinos, help me keep my temper with these bumbling idiots!'" quoted Ptolemy, doing a most impassioned (and therefore very good) impression of Euthymius' outrage, complete with hands clawing wildly in the air. The group dissolved in laughter.
"Look, look," Cleitus prodded the others, still chortling. "One of Amyntor's grooms is going to talk to him."
Intrigued by this new development, they managed to stifle their mirth, though Craterus did wonder aloud why the grooms permitted the smallest, youngest one of them to be their representative. They watched intently as the boy, taller than Alexander but not even the height of Euthymius' chest, walked right up to the brawny stable master. With Euthymius towering over him, the boy's slim, strong build appeared almost sprite-like, and the companions relished how odd it was to see him persist, completely undaunted by the stable master's giant frame, fierce shock of red hair, and even fiercer scowl.
Interest deepened into mystification as Euthymius' scowl slowly diminished (though it never disappeared entirely, to be sure). Then Euthymius shook his head and, throwing his arms high in a gesture that denoted a scathing opinion of insolent children, signaled that the boy should follow him.
"He's not going to thrash him or something, is he?" Cleitus whispered urgently. "It's one of Amyntor's grooms!"
Craterus rolled his eyes and the others smiled, knowing it was a rhetorical question. However much the visiting grooms might aggravate him, Euthymius never treated them that harshly. Still, he certainly never shrank from meting out such punishment to his own staff when it was provoked.
The companions were not the only ones who watched the two disappear into the storerooms. A few of the grooms abandoned all pretenses of working and exchanged looks of concern.
When Euthymius reemerged so did the boy, staggering, weighed down by a basket so large that his arms could barely reach around it enough to hold it up.
The spectators found themselves torn between disbelief and delight. The boy was grinning widely, and the basket was filled with -
"Apples?" Cleitus exclaimed.
Craterus let out a short, incredulous chuckle.
"He got apples," Leonnatus said in awe.
"From Euthymius," Perdiccas breathed.
The rest of them just gaped. Even Nearchus and Harpalus, the most difficult to impress of them all, were staring in sheer wonder.
The other grooms quickly came to help relieve their young colleague's load, calling their thanks to Euthymius. He waved them off brusquely and roared across the yard that they were all hopeless troublemakers, especially that impertinent little urchin who dared to make the request in the first place. Laughing, the grooms returned to the horses to hand out the treats; the boy came close enough for the companions to get a better look at him.
Harpalus gave a long, low whistle. Some of the others glanced at him, amused, but no one was about to argue with the sentiment.
"Huh!" The glint of mischief returned to Cleitus' eyes. "If I know anything about the arrows of Eros - and I do, extremely well - that boy will soon be charming more than apples, and not only from grumpy stable masters!"
Craterus rolled his eyes again and groaned. "Cleitus, the boy looks all of thirteen."
"Right, but in a few years . . ." Cleitus winked. "Which reminds me, lads, I arranged to go to the show with quite the charmer, so I'll be taking my leave now."
"I'm off too," said Craterus. "Got a few things to take care of before the show."
Cleitus muttered something under his breath about how dull it was to devote every single thought to the business of the army, but threw them a last daredevil grin. "Stay out of trouble, boys!"
Craterus shook his head. "Look who's talking!"
* * * * *
Later, Alexander would sorely regret his absence when Euthymius deigned to award apples, and not only because it was a small miracle just for the gruff stable master to form a halfway decent opinion of visiting grooms. Instead Alexander had to hear it from his friends because (being a well-behaved boy and a caring son as well as a responsible prince) he had taken lunch with his mother.
Olympias was indeed beautiful, at times almost smoldering with a strength much like that of her snakes, supple and strangely magnetic. She was commanding, too. No one who ever saw her wondered why Philip had married her, though some did marvel that the king kept her (not knowing that in such matters, kings are not always so different from ordinary men).
Ever a queen, she managed to be regal even as she started fussing over Alexander's appearance. Soon she was looming over him with hot irons.
"Mother, it's not a state visit," Alexander protested. Although he did not mind how his hair would look afterward, Alexander always found it difficult to sit still.
"Nooo." Her tone rose and fell on that single syllable, her mocking sing-song ringing with bitter resentment. "It's only a personal friend of your father's."
Alexander felt like heaving a sigh, but knew better.
"Not two months after you tame Bucephalus, and what should he do but invite another horse-breeder? Does he need more horses already? Surely he must have bought all he needed the last time!"
"Mother, it's only a show," Alexander soothed. "They're not for sale."
"Only a show," she repeated sharply. "That's right, only a show. This Amyntor, he isn't even a professional breeder. It's his hobby!" She made the word sound like a curse. "Unless Poseidon sired his colts and he shows us Pegasus reborn tomorrow, we won't see anything that we haven't seen before! As usual, Philip's wasting his time when he should be concentrating on matters of state."
Alexander spoke frequently with soldiers and knew that horses were closely tied to matters of state - matters of conquest. But he kept quiet, knowing his mother would not understand that grittier side of his future. It was just like how she spoke of Achilles - as his ancestor, as a god and a hero, but never quite as a man in battle.
"Now then, my love, I know you wouldn't dawdle, as your father is doing," Olympias continued, her tone at once praising and imperious. "So diligently you read your histories, so intently you practice with weapons. But after all, that's the difference, isn't it, when one's the son of a god?" She giggled, something she did only in front of Alexander. It was a peculiar thing, a sound entirely hers, the peals starting low but climbing to higher notes so that at the end she was laughing, carefree as a little girl.
Then her voice returned to its usual low timbre. It resonated now like a wash of sunlight in the height of summer, warmth that could permeate one's bones and drown out all cares, leaving a man languid and content on a lazy afternoon. "Divine blood. Higher aspirations. Superior abilities. You'll achieve so much, my dear, my love. So very, very much."
With the lilt of her words, Alexander almost forgot the heat so close to his scalp.
He thought of Bucephalus, and smiled. He remembered the many rides, from that first day with the crowd cheering his victory to yesterday morning, when he outstripped everyone else without even trying, and found himself alone with Bucephalus, ready to explore those promising fields. Except, he had no food for his horse.
Alexander did not feel lonely - or, if he did, he did not recognize it - but an idea suddenly struck him. "Mother," he said, swept up by sudden inspiration, "In the future, I'm going to be one of the men, as well as their leader. I'll do the same things they do, undergo the same hardships."
She paused and turned to face him, her expression puzzled but approving. "Of course. And you'll do it better than all of them."
Despite himself, Alexander lost a little of his enthusiasm. He had not meant it like that. He would do it so he could prove himself, yes, but not to be better than anyone.
Well, that too - after all, bragging rights are never a bad thing to have.
But he would share in the hardships of his men so that . . . so that even as he strove for uncommon endurance, he might also know what it was to be truly hungry or thirsty or tired, like any common man. So that he would feel the same things they did, and so they would be more connected to him - so they would understand that he was not just some bright, remote figurehead to flatter for favors. So they would come to truly love him.
He could not put it into words yet, not quite, so he did not try to explain. Instead he just declared, very resolutely, "I'll be a good leader, mother."
She smiled brilliantly. "Of course! Not just good, but great."
Her voice sharpened as she returned her attention to the irons. "Greater than your father, for certain. Your taming Bucephalus was enough of a show; why he must host someone from Athens of all places, insubordinate rabble-rousers that they are; Philip ought to have more sense than that, even reeling with wine as he usually is, and dallying with those manipulative, status-seeking, gold-grasping whor-"
Alexander winced as she roughly caught up another lock of hair. As tiny as the reaction was, his mother noticed; suddenly the irons were laid aside and she was crouching in front of Alexander, anxious and even a little apologetic, holding his face gently in her fine, smooth hands. The fragrance of crushed flowers wafted to his nose, at once fainter and more clingy than the scent of the oils she used for him. Her eyes glowed softly as they met his. "My son," she crooned. "So strong, so beautiful. My son."
Alexander smiled a little to reassure his mother that he was fine. She smoothed his hair back tenderly, taking infinite care to arrange certain strands just so.
Then she turned away and began rummaging through a chest. "Now, where's that gold-embroidered chiton? I just had it made; white, with gold borders. You can wear it with that deep purple cloak I gave you last time - I'll have a servant bring it from your rooms. And a golden clasp for your cloak . . . hmmm, maybe a gold belt - not too large, wouldn't want the look to be gaudy now, would we? But certainly you must wear clothes befitting a prince - no more of Leonidas' nonsense! At least your hair already looks wonderful, dear, absolutely marvelous, just like spun gold; we'll just use some of this oil, and then a touch of this new scent- "
With his mother's back turned, Alexander felt safe enough to heave that sigh he had been thinking about earlier. Silently, of course.
"Oh, if the girls have misplaced it I'll have them flogged to shre- Ah! Here it is. Now I can prepare you for the show properly."
She stood up to her full height, the garment clutched in her hands and a radiant smile on her face. "You'll be magnificent, my little godling. Absolutely magnificent - a prince in every way."
last revised 12 September 2006