Showtime! Chapter 2
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Credits: Again, many many thanks to
suesfan, whose contributions have made this apple-loads better! For full credits, please go here. Also, maxwell-kiddo drew a wonderful illustration! ~ link at end of this chapter ~ 8D
Author's Note: "Aristomedes" means "thinking of the best."
suesfan did point out to me that shields were not widely used by Macedonian cavalry until after 280 BC, the Macedonians didn't have anything like ensigns that I know of, and etc. Artistic license taken!
Chapter 2: Hephaestion
Considering that they were to preside over the show, King Philip and his visiting friend were rather late. In fact, the entire royal family was late. (Through no fault of Alexander's, of course. He had been ready long before Olympias' servant rushed back to report that Philip had finally left his study, and, hearing footsteps approaching at last, threw the door open so hard that the servant's nose was sore for days.)
Thus (thanks entirely to the queen), the royal couple arrived together: Philip with his guest and his generals, Olympias with her two children. Despite the maddening delay, Alexander's excitement returned at the crowd's enthusiastic welcome. A pity, he thought, that his older half-brother could not attend; although he was not aware of things the way everyone else was, Arrhidaeus did appreciate pageantry.
And what pageantry - the arena was packed, Philip's soldiers and their families drawn out by the warming weather and the promise of spectacle. It was the same festive field where Alexander had tamed Bucephalus. Today, however, there was an addition to the usual bright pennants: a ring of tall staffs set into the riding ground close to its outer edge, unadorned except for two shorter poles standing opposite each other, one near the gate, the other in front of the royal box. The tips of the pair sported clusters of long ribbons, blue and silver, red and gold. Even the gods seemed to acknowledge the holiday, for it was the brightest day yet of the summer.
Draped over the front of the royal box's low wooden wall, a large banner waved proudly in the wind, its bold artwork depicting a golden lion rearing on a field of royal purple. It was Alexander's favorite. He had long since decided that when he was King, the lion would be his emblem, for secretly he thought the image embodied him perfectly: a strong, magnificent creature, ever in the moment of action, poised to take on any foe - and triumph.
Philip introduced Amyntor as an old friend, the owner of the horses they were about to see. The ovation was decidedly modest. Among the spectators, many scoffed, "Well, that is how an Athenian would look," "how an Athenian would put on airs." Only a few thought he seemed a decent sort, despite his origins. Whatever the case, they gave him no more than a glance before focusing back on the gate through which the horses would enter (or on outdoing each other's boasts of battlefield exploits).
Under the royal pavilion, Amyntor had a seat of honor to the right of the king. At Philip's other side sat Olympias, her posture regally straight even with Alexander's little sister, Cleopatra, squirming in her lap. From time to time she absently rearranged the flowers in the girl's hair, but mostly her attention was on the crowd and Alexander. If Cleopatra managed it right, Olympias might just think her distracting enough to let her slip away for some real fun in the crowd.
Alexander caught sight of his friends nearby. Several of them waved, including the little boys. Seleucus had lifted Hector onto his shoulders (Hector's older brother being occupied as guard leader), while Perdiccas had hoisted up Nicanor (his older brother having stalled until Perdiccas stepped in). Cleitus was there too, with someone hanging on his arm as usual, while Craterus steadfastly turned a blind eye to their salacious flirting. Alexander waved back, almost laughing to see Philotas, older-brother-on-duty, standing quite close to his non-officer friends despite all his talk last night about being posted in a "strategic location." And it was a good place, after all, for they were close to the royal box.
Like his friends, Alexander knew that Parmenion and Antipater had met with his father and Amyntor this morning (thanks to the servant with the sore nose). The involvement of his father's best generals suggested that Amyntor was more than a mere Athenian businessman with a horse-breeding hobby, but this complexity only raised him in Alexander's esteem. As they settled in their seats, he listened closely to the two men's conversation.
Yet they talked only about the show - the arena preparation, the stable conditions, and so forth - as if they did not already have the entire morning to discuss these trivialities.
Whatever he was, Amyntor certainly seemed a busy man. Alexander could not remember him ever visiting before. Still, he was not too occupied to notice the curiosity of a boy, even during a lively chat with the king, and met Alexander's curious gaze with a genial smile.
"You must trust your staff very much," Philip was saying. "All day they've been left to themselves."
"My riding master oversaw the arena preparation," replied Amyntor. "He's head trainer as well, and designed the drill you'll see today. Very reliable, if a bit stern."
"I remember him from when I visited your estate - what's it been now - fifteen years ago!" Philip chuckled. "Stern, indeed! But it's the same with my stable master, though 'stern' doesn't quite do him justice." He pointed out a towering figure nearby whose watchful gaze roved constantly, threatening dire punishment for any overlooked detail. "Euthymius insists on overseeing the care of every steed, even those of visiting nobles! Says they don't pay attention to the details, that the horses deserve better. You should have seen him when Alexander declared he would tame Bucephalus!"
Cleopatra giggled, tearing the last petal off a flower she had plucked from her hair. "His eyes bulged, and his face grew all red, just like his beard! 'Course, Alexander didn't notice. Off he went on the big black horse, al-l-l-l the way across the field!"
"I've heard of it, Prince Alexander," Amyntor said warmly. "A fine rider you must be, to tame such a stallion."
Alexander smiled. "I think we ... understood one another."
For a moment - no more than that - Philip and Olympias shared the same proud expression.
Amyntor nodded. "Such understanding is rare, even in the most talented horsemen."
"Understanding?" Philip snorted. "Command, more like. In battle, a soldier needs his horse's absolute obedience. And true understanding - that's hard enough even between men!"
"Particularly for men," Olympias noted icily.
Amyntor chuckled before Philip could retort. "Seems so among those I work with. If it weren't for the grooms, Sire, I couldn't breed horses anymore, and I'd be very sorry to give it up! You'd lose a good line of cavalry mounts, too."
"You've managed it all so far; you won't be getting out of anything!" Philip replied - further confirming Alexander's suspicions about Amyntor's importance, despite his father's light tone. "I'm sure you and your men are up to it. In fact, I'm expecting to see some fine horsemanship today, as well as fine horses."
Amyntor allowed a slight smile. But it caught Alexander's attention. It was more in his eyes than anything else, and carried a trace of something curiously ... tender.
He seemed about to say something, but just then, the horns sounded.
The show was finally beginning!
Across from the royal box, the wide wooden gates swung open. In the lead was a splendid grey stallion, bearing a broad-shouldered man with an iron-grey beard and an air of firm authority. Behind them the rest of the horses trotted in, each ridden by another of Amyntor's retinue. Parading in pairs, they made an impressive sight indeed, the riders sitting straight and calm, the horses with their manes combed and their coats shining in health and strength. (Alexander did note with satisfaction, however, that none compared to Bucephalus.)
Instead of carrying riders, the last pair drew a small chariot, making a total of seventeen horses. The bay on the right was a fine steed, but the one on the left was truly stunning: a white stallion of superb carriage, strong and lively, with a coat that shimmered like liquid silver in the sun.
However, it was not the horses that captured Alexander's attention, but the boy who drove them.
Alexander had attended many shows, but had never seen anyone so young participate. Why, he could not be much more than Alexander's age. Yet he seemed completely at ease, there on the field among grooms who were all significantly older - and surely much more experienced. Despite the spectators' doubtful muttering as they took note of him, he remained unruffled, serenely driving the chariot onward as the riders lined up to begin the performance. Alexander heard Cleitus yelling over the crowd - something about impertinence, and how it was Euthymius and the ... apples? ... all over again. Looking across, he was puzzled to see his friends grinning, and Euthymius himself reacting to their amusement with merely a dismissive sweep of his arm.
"Amyntor," Philip chortled, "are you running short of staff? That's your riding master in the lead, isn't it? And the boy! You've either gone mad or bribed the gods, to present us with this child of a horse-breaker! How old is he?"
"Just turned thirteen." Amyntor seemed oddly distracted.
"A thirteen-year-old charioteer?" Philip smirked.
The boy took his place in line right next to the riding master - it seemed as if he would play a central role. At this, the spectators no longer disapproved of his presence; it must be a joke. Snickers arose all around, while Alexander's friends positively burst in hilarity.
However, their laughter was somehow different. But when Alexander realized what it was, it only perplexed him more. Youth was certainly no guarantee of sympathy from his friends; quite the opposite, in fact. Yet they were actually encouraging the boy, egging him on. Even Craterus looked pleasantly amused! Alexander would have to ask them about it later.
"Well, I suppose it's not impossible," Philip smiled indulgently. "After all, Alexander's only twelve, and he tamed Bucephalus. So then, let's begin!"
Amyntor signaled to the riders, then cleared his throat. "Sire, I meant to tell y-"
"Alexander will be thirteen in less than a month," Olympias interrupted. Her voice carried above the noise of the crowd like an archer's warning shot.
"So he will." Philip's brows wrinkled, but he quickly resumed an affable expression. "Still, Amyntor, it's a show! Euthymius allows a few boys to participate in the training, but they learn as much as the horses do from the older grooms. He'd never let a boy exercise a horse by himself - much less perform! I'd like to see what smart little tricks that child can coax out of the stallions!"
"A child can be very clever," Olympias interjected. "Often more clever than his elders."
Philip did not bother to hide his displeasure this time. "Even the brightest child needs guidance," he said coldly, narrowing his good eye at his wife. "Practical guidance. The kind that's actually worth something, that can prepare him for the world - instead of blowing up his pride beyond the gods' forbearance."
"Better to have proud ambitions than to putter around the backwoods like sheep, playing host to riff-raff" - Olympias glanced airily at Amyntor - "who like nothing better than to fleece willing fools."
Philip raised his eyebrows.
Alexander's stillness was like that of a coiled spring.
Suddenly Philip chuckled. He shot Amyntor a sardonic look, as if sharing a jest. "Women," he snorted.
Olympias did not deign to reply, just lifted her head even higher.
Of course, Amyntor had long since decided to leave whatever he meant to say until later. Philip's thoughts were clearly occupied. His gaze, like his wife's, was dark and remote, and his casual posture oddly paralleled her haughty bearing.
Alexander suppressed a frown. Both his parents meant well for him, if not exactly for each other. Occasionally he indulged in a fleeting wish for them to get along. But young as he was, he was no fool, and expected the sun to stop shining first.
No matter. Someday, he would be his own man. In the future, no one could argue about him right over his head. In the future, he could decide things for himself. And in the future, he could give every event its proper attention - by arriving on time, for one thing. (Especially when his men were waiting. He would never make them wait for him - not that long, no, never!)
But now was not the time to ponder all that. There was a show to be enjoyed.
To his surprise, he found it easy to forget his parents' latest squabble. Amyntor's riding master had led all the riders into a moving circle, just inside the ring of standing poles. Alexander leaned forward in his seat, and soon forgot all his cares about late royal arrivals and bickering parents.
The riders went counterclockwise, while the boy drove the chariot clockwise using their steeds as his own border. Faster and faster, until all the horses were galloping. It was not a flashy move, but Alexander understood the precision of the rings inscribed by the chariot's wheels, and the coordination needed for the horses to speed by each other so closely without colliding.
Once, twice - three times the riding master and the boy passed each other in front of the royal box. A few strides later, they simultaneously turned inward, their tracks marking a cross on the field. The chariot rumbled over the center of the arena a split second before the first steed in the line galloped across it, and the crowd sighed in relief at the narrowly-avoided collision.
The riders traced three more circles, this time outside the ring of poles. The horses and chariot had switched directions, and the chariot now outlined the external border.
Though the audience no longer thought the boy so out of place, they began to feel bored. Soldiers (especially Macedonian soldiers) tired quickly of anything repetitive - an accident would have appealed to them more than the steady competence they now saw. Some made a show of leaning back. "Of course that's all a bunch of Athenians can do," they concluded, while others chatted ostentatiously about past shows or their own steeds. Never mind that both the patron gods of Athens, Poseidon and Athena, were also deities of horses; never mind the Athenian tradition of honoring horses and horsemanship. That was all antiquated history, considering what Athenians had become - flighty idealists and complacent snobs, who could only sneer in vain as Macedon's power grew.
Cleitus was gleefully baiting Euthymius again. Alexander overheard him jesting that some strange wine must have built up in the stable master over the years and was only now releasing its sedative effect. Glancing over, he was surprised, seeing exactly what Cleitus meant. Euthymius' scowl was ... gone. In fact, his expression as he intently watched the show was one of unreserved - and entirely unprecedented - approval.
It was so remarkable that Alexander nearly missed what happened next. Just as he turned back to the field, the boy in the chariot made his move.
Slouchers in the audience suddenly sat up straight; gasps and shrieks arose as the boy sprang up, nimbly leaping from the speeding chariot onto the bay. Before the spectators could recover from their alarm, he darted his hand toward the white stallion's harness, releasing it from the chariot. It began to pull ahead, but before it could get away the boy leaned over and grasped its mane; quicker than thought he swung over, his feet barely skimming the ground as he switched between the two galloping steeds. The bay continued its course toward the gate where grooms were waiting to catch its bridle, while the boy raced on - back straight, shoulders square, riding as if he began the show thus - safe and triumphant astride the white stallion!
For a few seconds, there was only awed silence.
Then the crowd exploded with a great roar of acclaim!
By then Alexander was already on his feet, having sprung from his chair and bounded forward to press against the front of the royal box - eyes wide, breath caught, trying to sort out everything that had happened, even more eager to see everything that was still happening. He glimpsed the boy's face as the stallion dashed by: utterly concentrated, with a light in his eyes that bespoke such intensity, such joy! - a joy so deep that it made Alexander's own spirits fly.
The rest of the audience slowly settled back. (This time, nobody said anything about Athenians or other horse shows.)
But Alexander was not going to risk missing a single moment more. He remained standing at the front of the royal box, his hands fisted in the banner draped over the low wall, his attention fixed on the boy as the latter joined the rest of the riders.
The chariot stunt alone was proof enough of the youth's connection with the horses; only steeds with great confidence in the rider could have performed it so smoothly. A first-rate horseman himself, Alexander could discern even more now that the boy was simply riding. There was a duality in his technique - relaxed, never forcing anything from his mount, yet fully focused, so that together the pair was always ready to make a tight turn or change pace. Without having to think consciously about it, Alexander sensed in every movement that for this boy, the principles of working with his stallion had long since become second nature, innate - to win the creature's cooperation, rather than imposing his will on an animal with a spirit of its own.
In single file, the riders circled the field three times, once inside the ring of poles; next, outside them; and finally weaving in and out between them. Then, the riding master and the boy wheeled inward, each leading half of the riders to meet in the middle. When the lines had combined into two rows of eight, they turned their horses together to trot forward side-by-side - a move often used in army drills. The spectators applauded the clever adaptation.
The horses began to move into another circle, but when it was half completed the riding master and the boy each turned sharply around a pole, cantered across the arena, and turned again, followed by the rest. The line of horses lengthened until they outlined a star on the field. Even the girls who usually took no interest in these things were enchanted - at Alexander's side Cleopatra stopped tearing petals off the flowers from her hair and clapped exuberantly at the sight. Then the star split in half to form two sections, each four wide and two deep, wheeling around each other. Being soldiers, the majority of the audience instantly recognized the pattern - miniature versions of the standard cavalry formation - and renewed their cheering.
After parting to march toward the royal box, the formations stopped smartly, one on each side of the pole decked with red and gold ribbons. The riding master came forward from one unit while the boy rode out from the other. In unison, the two of them saluted the royal family.
Philip answered by raising his arm; the audience bellowed in hearty approval.
The riding master finished his salute with a flourish. At some invisible sign from their riders, all the horses bowed their heads in recognition of the applause. Alexander grinned. He had recently taught Bucephalus that trick.
The horses formed back into a circle just within the ring of poles. With the riding master and the boy opposite each other, they completed three more circuits, galloping faster than ever before. The audience kept up an appreciative murmur.
Suddenly, screams rang throughout the arena. Opposite the royal box, the riding master had just yanked a ribboned pole from the ground and sent it speeding through the air, straight at the banner of the rearing lion.
Alexander was standing right behind it.
Yet, it never occurred to him that he might be in any danger. He just watched all the more intently, reflexively clutching the banner's folds a little tighter in his excitement, never thinking to jump back - and quite oblivious to his mother's shriek of alarm.
Despite the sudden uproar, the well-schooled horses never broke stride. And just before it would have hit the banner - just before it would have pierced directly through the lion's heart - the boy on the white stallion reached up, and seized the flying pole!
It had come so close that Alexander heard the ribbons fluttering. The banner suddenly waved, and the lion seemed to spring, nodding in regal acknowledgement of its young champion.
Alexander's heart leaped. Unconsciously he gasped, his eyes alight with admiration, his lips parted in a small, mesmerized smile.
The boy had to lean slightly; the pole was heavy for him. But he simply followed its motion, using its momentum to set it spinning in his hand, bringing it down by his side. Blue and silver whirled above him, and then beside him; his stallion trusted him so implicitly that it just galloped on despite the ribbons rustling right by its head.
Alexander's heart was pounding.
It had all happened in a breath, a flash, a blink of an eye. One moment the pole was hurtling ever closer; the next, the boy had deflected it, and transformed it into a bright shield in his hand. Even after Alexander's mother belatedly wrenched him back from the seeming peril, he was still smiling, breathless with wonder - he hardly felt her grip, swept up as he was in the splendor of the performance.
The crowd's screams turned into wild cheers. Immediately after catching the ribboned pole, the boy pulled up its counterpart and cast it across the field to the riding master, who caught it and set it spinning also. As the ribbons whirled, blue and silver on one side of the arena, red and gold on the other, the two of them released their reins after hooking them on their saddlecloths, then each pulled a plain pole from the ground. The cheering intensified, for though riding hands-free was a "common" feat among soldiers, it was astonishing to see a boy that young ride thus - especially occupied as he was, having to simulate his own cavalry gear!
With the ribbons swirling beside them as shields, the riding master and the boy tilted the plain staffs, as if in a charge. Quickly the other riders followed suit, pulling up the rest of the poles and canting them forward. By now the allusion was impossible to miss: they were soldiers, and these horses were bred for war, steady and strong, undaunted by the clamor of shouting voices or the whistle of speeding spears.
Somewhere in the crowd, a lone voice sang out a few notes. (Probably Cleitus - not many voices could carry like that.)
It was a well-known tune among the soldiers, and others quickly joined in. Within moments, the paean was swelling on the breeze, ringing throughout the arena with all the might of warriors' voices.
For the first time, the riders acknowledged their audience; the closest spectators could glimpse them smiling slightly. Yet despite his skill, the boy was much younger than his fellows after all, and could not resist returning the audience's tribute. Laughing in delight, he raised the long pole high. The crowd answered with a resounding roar, while the buoyant melody continued - clear, and deep, and joyous.
At this unexpected change, the riding master shot the youth a reproving frown; his presentation was designed to be safe as well as impressive. A moment later the boy sobered and lowered the pole, looking quite chagrined at himself. But the audience's approval was overwhelming, and the riding master knew quite well the exhilaration of a show; he acknowledged the youth's apology with a good-natured shake of his head.
With the song reverberating all around them, the riders completed their final circle around the field and maneuvered the horses into a single wedge. Still canting the poles, they charged toward the royal box. Suddenly, as one, they halted, pulling the poles back to upright positions. Thus the show ended in perfect time to the paean's last triumphant chorus.
The crowd hushed after that, eager to see their king's reaction. While the other riders held their mounts in quiet deference, the stable master cantered to the front, accompanied by the boy. He handed his ribboned staff to the youth, who brought it together with his own and bowed his head in imitation of a standard bearer, holding the poles together like a squadron's signal staff, their ribbons streaming merrily in the breeze. Though he had to use both hands to grasp all three poles together, leaving the reins hooked, his stallion stayed perfectly still as it calmly awaited his next signal.
The riding master saluted the royal family with his plain staff, just as an officer would with his spear. Philip stood, clapping heartily, and the crowd followed his example with thunderous applause.
In the midst of deafening cheers, the riders wheeled and exited as they had entered, two abreast, with the riding master and the boy leading.
Though he was no stranger to well-trained horses and spectacular maneuvers himself, even Philip was stunned. "Gods, Amyntor!" he exclaimed. "Are they bewitched? I never saw such steeds! To perform so smoothly, with so much noise, and things shooting around in the air - they could go to war for Ares himself!"
Amyntor smiled. "That's the idea, isn't it?"
A wide grin broke across Philip's face. "So it is! You've really outdone yourself this time, my friend! Have your men come back on the field for their garlands. But get your riding master up here in the box, and the little one too; they both deserve some special recognition!"
* * * * *
On the whole, Alexander's companions were delighted to see the "impertinent little urchin" in this new role - not to mention the sight of Euthymius actually smiling, as the show ended. Their cheers were, perhaps, the loudest of all (especially with the likes of Cleitus and Leonnatus among them).
"A pity the little one's just a groom, and a foreign one at that!" Cleitus chuckled. "Otherwise he'd fit right in with our cavalry!"
It already grated on Philotas' nerves that the riders - mere grooms and trainers, after all - were honored with a paean. He was very proud of the Companion Cavalry, its members culled from the country's oldest, noblest families to form Macedon's elite fighting force (of which he was the newest junior officer). Hearing Cleitus now, he looked to Craterus, who was always quick to uphold the Cavalry's integrity, but to his astonishment Craterus was nodding along.
He had to protest, and burst out with the only weakness he could think of. "They were just playing with a bunch of ribbons!"
"The ribbons were a bit silly," Craterus concurred, "but the poles themselves were no trifle."
"Not at all, judging from how they held them," Cleitus agreed. "In fact, for the boy the long pole is probably similar to a xyston."
"A xyston!" Nicanor exclaimed from atop Perdiccas' shoulders.
"You mean the long spears?" Hector's voice floated down from above Seleucus.
"Yes, the long lances we carry as Companions," answered Craterus.
"Ohhhhh!" The little boys' eyes brightened even more.
"I want him do it again!" Nicanor exclaimed.
"Which part?" Hector asked. "Jumping out of the chariot? That was my favorite part! And wasn't it great when they formed the star, and when they all charged together? And the ribbons were nice, I thought!" Cleitus elbowed Craterus, smirking. The others laughed while Hector continued blithely to Nicanor, "Which part was your favorite?"
Nicanor hesitated. "All of it!" he finally decided. "The horses are so clever, and so much happened - you couldn't possibly see everything just watching it once, it was all so fast!"
"Not to mention pretty," Cassander sneered, losing all enthusiasm just like Philotas had. But Nicanor seemed too excited to pay attention to these few words, so he continued, "Absurd, really - ribbons would get horribly tangled in an actual fight! Besides, it's been ages since we've seen chariots in battle!"
"The Persians have chariots," remarked Seleucus.
Philotas and Cassander both groaned.
"That chariot trick was no standard cavalry move, to be sure," Cleitus laughed. Yet for once, the gleam in his eyes was quite serious. "Still, I'd welcome someone who could do that into my squadron, any day!"
* * * * *
Even Olympias had not been unmoved, but now she sat back, determined to be downright displeased. The pole had been shooting toward her son! (No matter that in hindsight, even she could see that its path lay somewhat to Alexander's side, and could never pierce the royal box).
The spectators were still cheering madly. Having crushed the flowers that should have been in her hair into a scraggly bouquet, Cleopatra gleefully tossed it down to the arena, her long tresses already tangled again. Olympias gave a small, exasperated sigh.
She let Cleopatra scamper off with the maids - one less over-excited family member to worry about, here in the public eye. Coolly she glanced at her husband, who was blustering for the servants to hurry with the garlands.
What was it all, in essence, but a bunch of acrobatic tricks? Really, she was surrounded by children, and not just those she bore. At least Alexander was sitting quietly at her side, sensible and composed.
Alexander was sitting quietly, but if Olympias had bent just a little, she would have seen his smile, small and far-off and almost blissfully dreamy - quite the opposite of her vaunted sensible composure.
In his mind he was replaying everything: the galloping horses, the leap to the chariot, the catching of the poles and the whirling of the ribbons. And most vividly of all, he remembered the keen, deep joy on the young rider's face - just after he vaulted onto the white stallion, and again when the crowd honored him with the paean.
Someday Alexander would charge like that into battle on Bucephalus, eager and glad and glorious - borne up by the strength and the love of his men.
He could hardly wait to meet the riders. His father fully approved of his chatting with soldiers, and surely would not mind if he spoke with Amyntor's staff - especially the boy. The way he rode, he must have heard of Xenophon's work On Horsemanship, written only a few years before Alexander was born, but already considered in many circles to be the definitive authority on its subject. There was so much they could talk about based only on that short treatise. Furthermore, some of the same principles were in Xenophon's longer works, including the Anabasis and Cyropaedia - which, next to the Iliad, were Alexander's absolute favorite texts, full of sharp insights and stirring examples of great leadership. Even if the boy did not know the writings, Alexander could tell him all about them - why, Alexander could even show him Bucephalus; skittish as the stallion was, he was sure Bucephalus would instantly like this boy. Then maybe they could even go riding together; never mind that the boy was just a groom ...
His mother's hand descended upon his shoulder, startling him back to the present. Amyntor was returning, with the show's two star riders behind him.
Not waiting to merely follow his parents' example, Alexander was the first to rise in greeting.
* * * * *
As important as this introduction was, Amyntor had personally gone to escort the riding master and the boy.
Meeting the royal family this way was ... unconventional, not exactly what he had planned. But the middle of the night, when they had arrived, was no time for introductions. And the delay in Athens had been unavoidable, since certain men there had learned he was visiting Pella.
The peace with Athens was merely a fragile truce, its maintenance requiring maneuvers no less complex than battlefield tactics - as shown in this morning's discussion between himself, Philip, and the generals. The orator Demosthenes was railing more violently than ever against Macedon and its King, and Amyntor admitted freely that Macedonian views of Athenians were not entirely unfounded. Sometimes he would have liked nothing better than to wring the necks of certain hypocrites in Athens. Unfortunately, his work required him to be civil with most of those double-dealers.
Nevertheless, he stood firmly by his counsel to Philip - peace, so long as Macedonian honor suffered no more than the verbal slander of narrow-minded elitists. Zeus be praised for the few men on both sides who truly had principles and, like Philip, were willing to overlook petty slights.
On a personal note, Amyntor also thanked the gods for his estate, some miles away from Athens. Although he often took his son to visit the city, to show him its magnificent traditions as well as its darker undercurrents, he and his wife did not want the lad raised amid so much duplicity. But frequently Amyntor had to stay in the city for weeks; his son's upbringing was rather strange, all that time spent with just his mother, his pedagogue, and the staff. Particularly the stable staff - good men, but hardly the sort of people who would be his future peers. Still, Amyntor would have felt even less comfortable with his family in Pella, far away from his care. His role in Philip's network was not exactly something to announce to the world, and it would have hurt his son's prospects to let him grow up here while it was known that his father worked in Athens.
Of course, now there was the problem of introducing his son to the Macedonian court, where he must make his own fortune someday. Someday soon, for several of Amyntor's less agreeable Athenian "colleagues" now suspected his Macedonian ties, and Athens was no longer quite safe.
So the show had fit in perfectly with Amyntor's plans - even the participation of such an unusually young rider. Aside from entertainment, he had organized it partly to dispel the idea that Athenians were all talk, no action. Of course, that was not all it would take ...
Outside the gate, the riding master was giving a presumably stern lecture to his youngest protégé. But his severity did not last; he finished with an affectionate chuckle.
The boy immediately noticed Amyntor's approach, and ran up with a bright grin. Amyntor smiled proudly, his cares melting away as he led his men back into the arena. This time, the crowd welcomed the boy wholeheartedly, and cheered when he followed Amyntor along with the riding master up to the royal box.
The show was a grand success, and Philip was no snoot about doing everything by the book. As unconventional as it was, Amyntor supposed this sort of introduction might be just fine after all.
* * * * *
Meeting these two members of Amyntor's retinue, Alexander was as eager to rise to the occasion as during introductions to foreign dignitaries. Having focused almost solely on the boy during the show, Alexander now made a rapid study of the riding master, and could guess why Amyntor valued him so highly. He looked tough as a bull, but there was patience and a certain rough honesty about him. Somewhat like Euthymius, actually (when he was not glaring people down).
"Your majesties," Amyntor began, "I present my riding master, Aristomedes of Athens, three-time winner of the annual races there in his youth - an achievement that made him an informal protégé of Xenophon, before the latter's exile to Scillus."
Alexander's eyes widened. No wonder the boy rode as he did; his instructor had studied with Xenophon himself!
"Impressive!" Philip laughed."Though, considering what we've just seen, I suppose we shouldn't be that surprised. Excellent drill all around, outstanding coordination - and of course, creativity! There's a feast tonight; you'll have a place there, and a handsome prize!"
"I am deeply honored, Sire," Aristomedes replied. "However, I must admit that the more ... creative moves were not my idea." With a wry smile, he glanced toward his young counterpart.
"Well! Even more impressive!" Philip chuckled, turning to the boy with a friendly grin. "So then, Amyntor, who is this young horse-tamer?"
Amyntor stepped up beside the youth. Alexander noticed it again - that strange, tender smile had returned.
"This -" Amyntor said quietly, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, "This is my son. Hephaestion."
last revised 18 July 2006
EDIT: Look! maxwell-kiddo drew THIS wonderful illustration! 8D
Any and all feedback is welcomed with Alexander-level eagerness!
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Credits: Again, many many thanks to
suesfan, whose contributions have made this apple-loads better! For full credits, please go here. Also, maxwell-kiddo drew a wonderful illustration! ~ link at end of this chapter ~ 8D
Author's Note: "Aristomedes" means "thinking of the best."
suesfan did point out to me that shields were not widely used by Macedonian cavalry until after 280 BC, the Macedonians didn't have anything like ensigns that I know of, and etc. Artistic license taken!
Chapter 2: Hephaestion
Considering that they were to preside over the show, King Philip and his visiting friend were rather late. In fact, the entire royal family was late. (Through no fault of Alexander's, of course. He had been ready long before Olympias' servant rushed back to report that Philip had finally left his study, and, hearing footsteps approaching at last, threw the door open so hard that the servant's nose was sore for days.)
Thus (thanks entirely to the queen), the royal couple arrived together: Philip with his guest and his generals, Olympias with her two children. Despite the maddening delay, Alexander's excitement returned at the crowd's enthusiastic welcome. A pity, he thought, that his older half-brother could not attend; although he was not aware of things the way everyone else was, Arrhidaeus did appreciate pageantry.
And what pageantry - the arena was packed, Philip's soldiers and their families drawn out by the warming weather and the promise of spectacle. It was the same festive field where Alexander had tamed Bucephalus. Today, however, there was an addition to the usual bright pennants: a ring of tall staffs set into the riding ground close to its outer edge, unadorned except for two shorter poles standing opposite each other, one near the gate, the other in front of the royal box. The tips of the pair sported clusters of long ribbons, blue and silver, red and gold. Even the gods seemed to acknowledge the holiday, for it was the brightest day yet of the summer.
Draped over the front of the royal box's low wooden wall, a large banner waved proudly in the wind, its bold artwork depicting a golden lion rearing on a field of royal purple. It was Alexander's favorite. He had long since decided that when he was King, the lion would be his emblem, for secretly he thought the image embodied him perfectly: a strong, magnificent creature, ever in the moment of action, poised to take on any foe - and triumph.
Philip introduced Amyntor as an old friend, the owner of the horses they were about to see. The ovation was decidedly modest. Among the spectators, many scoffed, "Well, that is how an Athenian would look," "how an Athenian would put on airs." Only a few thought he seemed a decent sort, despite his origins. Whatever the case, they gave him no more than a glance before focusing back on the gate through which the horses would enter (or on outdoing each other's boasts of battlefield exploits).
Under the royal pavilion, Amyntor had a seat of honor to the right of the king. At Philip's other side sat Olympias, her posture regally straight even with Alexander's little sister, Cleopatra, squirming in her lap. From time to time she absently rearranged the flowers in the girl's hair, but mostly her attention was on the crowd and Alexander. If Cleopatra managed it right, Olympias might just think her distracting enough to let her slip away for some real fun in the crowd.
Alexander caught sight of his friends nearby. Several of them waved, including the little boys. Seleucus had lifted Hector onto his shoulders (Hector's older brother being occupied as guard leader), while Perdiccas had hoisted up Nicanor (his older brother having stalled until Perdiccas stepped in). Cleitus was there too, with someone hanging on his arm as usual, while Craterus steadfastly turned a blind eye to their salacious flirting. Alexander waved back, almost laughing to see Philotas, older-brother-on-duty, standing quite close to his non-officer friends despite all his talk last night about being posted in a "strategic location." And it was a good place, after all, for they were close to the royal box.
Like his friends, Alexander knew that Parmenion and Antipater had met with his father and Amyntor this morning (thanks to the servant with the sore nose). The involvement of his father's best generals suggested that Amyntor was more than a mere Athenian businessman with a horse-breeding hobby, but this complexity only raised him in Alexander's esteem. As they settled in their seats, he listened closely to the two men's conversation.
Yet they talked only about the show - the arena preparation, the stable conditions, and so forth - as if they did not already have the entire morning to discuss these trivialities.
Whatever he was, Amyntor certainly seemed a busy man. Alexander could not remember him ever visiting before. Still, he was not too occupied to notice the curiosity of a boy, even during a lively chat with the king, and met Alexander's curious gaze with a genial smile.
"You must trust your staff very much," Philip was saying. "All day they've been left to themselves."
"My riding master oversaw the arena preparation," replied Amyntor. "He's head trainer as well, and designed the drill you'll see today. Very reliable, if a bit stern."
"I remember him from when I visited your estate - what's it been now - fifteen years ago!" Philip chuckled. "Stern, indeed! But it's the same with my stable master, though 'stern' doesn't quite do him justice." He pointed out a towering figure nearby whose watchful gaze roved constantly, threatening dire punishment for any overlooked detail. "Euthymius insists on overseeing the care of every steed, even those of visiting nobles! Says they don't pay attention to the details, that the horses deserve better. You should have seen him when Alexander declared he would tame Bucephalus!"
Cleopatra giggled, tearing the last petal off a flower she had plucked from her hair. "His eyes bulged, and his face grew all red, just like his beard! 'Course, Alexander didn't notice. Off he went on the big black horse, al-l-l-l the way across the field!"
"I've heard of it, Prince Alexander," Amyntor said warmly. "A fine rider you must be, to tame such a stallion."
Alexander smiled. "I think we ... understood one another."
For a moment - no more than that - Philip and Olympias shared the same proud expression.
Amyntor nodded. "Such understanding is rare, even in the most talented horsemen."
"Understanding?" Philip snorted. "Command, more like. In battle, a soldier needs his horse's absolute obedience. And true understanding - that's hard enough even between men!"
"Particularly for men," Olympias noted icily.
Amyntor chuckled before Philip could retort. "Seems so among those I work with. If it weren't for the grooms, Sire, I couldn't breed horses anymore, and I'd be very sorry to give it up! You'd lose a good line of cavalry mounts, too."
"You've managed it all so far; you won't be getting out of anything!" Philip replied - further confirming Alexander's suspicions about Amyntor's importance, despite his father's light tone. "I'm sure you and your men are up to it. In fact, I'm expecting to see some fine horsemanship today, as well as fine horses."
Amyntor allowed a slight smile. But it caught Alexander's attention. It was more in his eyes than anything else, and carried a trace of something curiously ... tender.
He seemed about to say something, but just then, the horns sounded.
The show was finally beginning!
Across from the royal box, the wide wooden gates swung open. In the lead was a splendid grey stallion, bearing a broad-shouldered man with an iron-grey beard and an air of firm authority. Behind them the rest of the horses trotted in, each ridden by another of Amyntor's retinue. Parading in pairs, they made an impressive sight indeed, the riders sitting straight and calm, the horses with their manes combed and their coats shining in health and strength. (Alexander did note with satisfaction, however, that none compared to Bucephalus.)
Instead of carrying riders, the last pair drew a small chariot, making a total of seventeen horses. The bay on the right was a fine steed, but the one on the left was truly stunning: a white stallion of superb carriage, strong and lively, with a coat that shimmered like liquid silver in the sun.
However, it was not the horses that captured Alexander's attention, but the boy who drove them.
Alexander had attended many shows, but had never seen anyone so young participate. Why, he could not be much more than Alexander's age. Yet he seemed completely at ease, there on the field among grooms who were all significantly older - and surely much more experienced. Despite the spectators' doubtful muttering as they took note of him, he remained unruffled, serenely driving the chariot onward as the riders lined up to begin the performance. Alexander heard Cleitus yelling over the crowd - something about impertinence, and how it was Euthymius and the ... apples? ... all over again. Looking across, he was puzzled to see his friends grinning, and Euthymius himself reacting to their amusement with merely a dismissive sweep of his arm.
"Amyntor," Philip chortled, "are you running short of staff? That's your riding master in the lead, isn't it? And the boy! You've either gone mad or bribed the gods, to present us with this child of a horse-breaker! How old is he?"
"Just turned thirteen." Amyntor seemed oddly distracted.
"A thirteen-year-old charioteer?" Philip smirked.
The boy took his place in line right next to the riding master - it seemed as if he would play a central role. At this, the spectators no longer disapproved of his presence; it must be a joke. Snickers arose all around, while Alexander's friends positively burst in hilarity.
However, their laughter was somehow different. But when Alexander realized what it was, it only perplexed him more. Youth was certainly no guarantee of sympathy from his friends; quite the opposite, in fact. Yet they were actually encouraging the boy, egging him on. Even Craterus looked pleasantly amused! Alexander would have to ask them about it later.
"Well, I suppose it's not impossible," Philip smiled indulgently. "After all, Alexander's only twelve, and he tamed Bucephalus. So then, let's begin!"
Amyntor signaled to the riders, then cleared his throat. "Sire, I meant to tell y-"
"Alexander will be thirteen in less than a month," Olympias interrupted. Her voice carried above the noise of the crowd like an archer's warning shot.
"So he will." Philip's brows wrinkled, but he quickly resumed an affable expression. "Still, Amyntor, it's a show! Euthymius allows a few boys to participate in the training, but they learn as much as the horses do from the older grooms. He'd never let a boy exercise a horse by himself - much less perform! I'd like to see what smart little tricks that child can coax out of the stallions!"
"A child can be very clever," Olympias interjected. "Often more clever than his elders."
Philip did not bother to hide his displeasure this time. "Even the brightest child needs guidance," he said coldly, narrowing his good eye at his wife. "Practical guidance. The kind that's actually worth something, that can prepare him for the world - instead of blowing up his pride beyond the gods' forbearance."
"Better to have proud ambitions than to putter around the backwoods like sheep, playing host to riff-raff" - Olympias glanced airily at Amyntor - "who like nothing better than to fleece willing fools."
Philip raised his eyebrows.
Alexander's stillness was like that of a coiled spring.
Suddenly Philip chuckled. He shot Amyntor a sardonic look, as if sharing a jest. "Women," he snorted.
Olympias did not deign to reply, just lifted her head even higher.
Of course, Amyntor had long since decided to leave whatever he meant to say until later. Philip's thoughts were clearly occupied. His gaze, like his wife's, was dark and remote, and his casual posture oddly paralleled her haughty bearing.
Alexander suppressed a frown. Both his parents meant well for him, if not exactly for each other. Occasionally he indulged in a fleeting wish for them to get along. But young as he was, he was no fool, and expected the sun to stop shining first.
No matter. Someday, he would be his own man. In the future, no one could argue about him right over his head. In the future, he could decide things for himself. And in the future, he could give every event its proper attention - by arriving on time, for one thing. (Especially when his men were waiting. He would never make them wait for him - not that long, no, never!)
But now was not the time to ponder all that. There was a show to be enjoyed.
To his surprise, he found it easy to forget his parents' latest squabble. Amyntor's riding master had led all the riders into a moving circle, just inside the ring of standing poles. Alexander leaned forward in his seat, and soon forgot all his cares about late royal arrivals and bickering parents.
The riders went counterclockwise, while the boy drove the chariot clockwise using their steeds as his own border. Faster and faster, until all the horses were galloping. It was not a flashy move, but Alexander understood the precision of the rings inscribed by the chariot's wheels, and the coordination needed for the horses to speed by each other so closely without colliding.
Once, twice - three times the riding master and the boy passed each other in front of the royal box. A few strides later, they simultaneously turned inward, their tracks marking a cross on the field. The chariot rumbled over the center of the arena a split second before the first steed in the line galloped across it, and the crowd sighed in relief at the narrowly-avoided collision.
The riders traced three more circles, this time outside the ring of poles. The horses and chariot had switched directions, and the chariot now outlined the external border.
Though the audience no longer thought the boy so out of place, they began to feel bored. Soldiers (especially Macedonian soldiers) tired quickly of anything repetitive - an accident would have appealed to them more than the steady competence they now saw. Some made a show of leaning back. "Of course that's all a bunch of Athenians can do," they concluded, while others chatted ostentatiously about past shows or their own steeds. Never mind that both the patron gods of Athens, Poseidon and Athena, were also deities of horses; never mind the Athenian tradition of honoring horses and horsemanship. That was all antiquated history, considering what Athenians had become - flighty idealists and complacent snobs, who could only sneer in vain as Macedon's power grew.
Cleitus was gleefully baiting Euthymius again. Alexander overheard him jesting that some strange wine must have built up in the stable master over the years and was only now releasing its sedative effect. Glancing over, he was surprised, seeing exactly what Cleitus meant. Euthymius' scowl was ... gone. In fact, his expression as he intently watched the show was one of unreserved - and entirely unprecedented - approval.
It was so remarkable that Alexander nearly missed what happened next. Just as he turned back to the field, the boy in the chariot made his move.
Slouchers in the audience suddenly sat up straight; gasps and shrieks arose as the boy sprang up, nimbly leaping from the speeding chariot onto the bay. Before the spectators could recover from their alarm, he darted his hand toward the white stallion's harness, releasing it from the chariot. It began to pull ahead, but before it could get away the boy leaned over and grasped its mane; quicker than thought he swung over, his feet barely skimming the ground as he switched between the two galloping steeds. The bay continued its course toward the gate where grooms were waiting to catch its bridle, while the boy raced on - back straight, shoulders square, riding as if he began the show thus - safe and triumphant astride the white stallion!
For a few seconds, there was only awed silence.
Then the crowd exploded with a great roar of acclaim!
By then Alexander was already on his feet, having sprung from his chair and bounded forward to press against the front of the royal box - eyes wide, breath caught, trying to sort out everything that had happened, even more eager to see everything that was still happening. He glimpsed the boy's face as the stallion dashed by: utterly concentrated, with a light in his eyes that bespoke such intensity, such joy! - a joy so deep that it made Alexander's own spirits fly.
The rest of the audience slowly settled back. (This time, nobody said anything about Athenians or other horse shows.)
But Alexander was not going to risk missing a single moment more. He remained standing at the front of the royal box, his hands fisted in the banner draped over the low wall, his attention fixed on the boy as the latter joined the rest of the riders.
The chariot stunt alone was proof enough of the youth's connection with the horses; only steeds with great confidence in the rider could have performed it so smoothly. A first-rate horseman himself, Alexander could discern even more now that the boy was simply riding. There was a duality in his technique - relaxed, never forcing anything from his mount, yet fully focused, so that together the pair was always ready to make a tight turn or change pace. Without having to think consciously about it, Alexander sensed in every movement that for this boy, the principles of working with his stallion had long since become second nature, innate - to win the creature's cooperation, rather than imposing his will on an animal with a spirit of its own.
In single file, the riders circled the field three times, once inside the ring of poles; next, outside them; and finally weaving in and out between them. Then, the riding master and the boy wheeled inward, each leading half of the riders to meet in the middle. When the lines had combined into two rows of eight, they turned their horses together to trot forward side-by-side - a move often used in army drills. The spectators applauded the clever adaptation.
The horses began to move into another circle, but when it was half completed the riding master and the boy each turned sharply around a pole, cantered across the arena, and turned again, followed by the rest. The line of horses lengthened until they outlined a star on the field. Even the girls who usually took no interest in these things were enchanted - at Alexander's side Cleopatra stopped tearing petals off the flowers from her hair and clapped exuberantly at the sight. Then the star split in half to form two sections, each four wide and two deep, wheeling around each other. Being soldiers, the majority of the audience instantly recognized the pattern - miniature versions of the standard cavalry formation - and renewed their cheering.
After parting to march toward the royal box, the formations stopped smartly, one on each side of the pole decked with red and gold ribbons. The riding master came forward from one unit while the boy rode out from the other. In unison, the two of them saluted the royal family.
Philip answered by raising his arm; the audience bellowed in hearty approval.
The riding master finished his salute with a flourish. At some invisible sign from their riders, all the horses bowed their heads in recognition of the applause. Alexander grinned. He had recently taught Bucephalus that trick.
The horses formed back into a circle just within the ring of poles. With the riding master and the boy opposite each other, they completed three more circuits, galloping faster than ever before. The audience kept up an appreciative murmur.
Suddenly, screams rang throughout the arena. Opposite the royal box, the riding master had just yanked a ribboned pole from the ground and sent it speeding through the air, straight at the banner of the rearing lion.
Alexander was standing right behind it.
Yet, it never occurred to him that he might be in any danger. He just watched all the more intently, reflexively clutching the banner's folds a little tighter in his excitement, never thinking to jump back - and quite oblivious to his mother's shriek of alarm.
Despite the sudden uproar, the well-schooled horses never broke stride. And just before it would have hit the banner - just before it would have pierced directly through the lion's heart - the boy on the white stallion reached up, and seized the flying pole!
It had come so close that Alexander heard the ribbons fluttering. The banner suddenly waved, and the lion seemed to spring, nodding in regal acknowledgement of its young champion.
Alexander's heart leaped. Unconsciously he gasped, his eyes alight with admiration, his lips parted in a small, mesmerized smile.
The boy had to lean slightly; the pole was heavy for him. But he simply followed its motion, using its momentum to set it spinning in his hand, bringing it down by his side. Blue and silver whirled above him, and then beside him; his stallion trusted him so implicitly that it just galloped on despite the ribbons rustling right by its head.
Alexander's heart was pounding.
It had all happened in a breath, a flash, a blink of an eye. One moment the pole was hurtling ever closer; the next, the boy had deflected it, and transformed it into a bright shield in his hand. Even after Alexander's mother belatedly wrenched him back from the seeming peril, he was still smiling, breathless with wonder - he hardly felt her grip, swept up as he was in the splendor of the performance.
The crowd's screams turned into wild cheers. Immediately after catching the ribboned pole, the boy pulled up its counterpart and cast it across the field to the riding master, who caught it and set it spinning also. As the ribbons whirled, blue and silver on one side of the arena, red and gold on the other, the two of them released their reins after hooking them on their saddlecloths, then each pulled a plain pole from the ground. The cheering intensified, for though riding hands-free was a "common" feat among soldiers, it was astonishing to see a boy that young ride thus - especially occupied as he was, having to simulate his own cavalry gear!
With the ribbons swirling beside them as shields, the riding master and the boy tilted the plain staffs, as if in a charge. Quickly the other riders followed suit, pulling up the rest of the poles and canting them forward. By now the allusion was impossible to miss: they were soldiers, and these horses were bred for war, steady and strong, undaunted by the clamor of shouting voices or the whistle of speeding spears.
Somewhere in the crowd, a lone voice sang out a few notes. (Probably Cleitus - not many voices could carry like that.)
It was a well-known tune among the soldiers, and others quickly joined in. Within moments, the paean was swelling on the breeze, ringing throughout the arena with all the might of warriors' voices.
For the first time, the riders acknowledged their audience; the closest spectators could glimpse them smiling slightly. Yet despite his skill, the boy was much younger than his fellows after all, and could not resist returning the audience's tribute. Laughing in delight, he raised the long pole high. The crowd answered with a resounding roar, while the buoyant melody continued - clear, and deep, and joyous.
At this unexpected change, the riding master shot the youth a reproving frown; his presentation was designed to be safe as well as impressive. A moment later the boy sobered and lowered the pole, looking quite chagrined at himself. But the audience's approval was overwhelming, and the riding master knew quite well the exhilaration of a show; he acknowledged the youth's apology with a good-natured shake of his head.
With the song reverberating all around them, the riders completed their final circle around the field and maneuvered the horses into a single wedge. Still canting the poles, they charged toward the royal box. Suddenly, as one, they halted, pulling the poles back to upright positions. Thus the show ended in perfect time to the paean's last triumphant chorus.
The crowd hushed after that, eager to see their king's reaction. While the other riders held their mounts in quiet deference, the stable master cantered to the front, accompanied by the boy. He handed his ribboned staff to the youth, who brought it together with his own and bowed his head in imitation of a standard bearer, holding the poles together like a squadron's signal staff, their ribbons streaming merrily in the breeze. Though he had to use both hands to grasp all three poles together, leaving the reins hooked, his stallion stayed perfectly still as it calmly awaited his next signal.
The riding master saluted the royal family with his plain staff, just as an officer would with his spear. Philip stood, clapping heartily, and the crowd followed his example with thunderous applause.
In the midst of deafening cheers, the riders wheeled and exited as they had entered, two abreast, with the riding master and the boy leading.
Though he was no stranger to well-trained horses and spectacular maneuvers himself, even Philip was stunned. "Gods, Amyntor!" he exclaimed. "Are they bewitched? I never saw such steeds! To perform so smoothly, with so much noise, and things shooting around in the air - they could go to war for Ares himself!"
Amyntor smiled. "That's the idea, isn't it?"
A wide grin broke across Philip's face. "So it is! You've really outdone yourself this time, my friend! Have your men come back on the field for their garlands. But get your riding master up here in the box, and the little one too; they both deserve some special recognition!"
* * * * *
On the whole, Alexander's companions were delighted to see the "impertinent little urchin" in this new role - not to mention the sight of Euthymius actually smiling, as the show ended. Their cheers were, perhaps, the loudest of all (especially with the likes of Cleitus and Leonnatus among them).
"A pity the little one's just a groom, and a foreign one at that!" Cleitus chuckled. "Otherwise he'd fit right in with our cavalry!"
It already grated on Philotas' nerves that the riders - mere grooms and trainers, after all - were honored with a paean. He was very proud of the Companion Cavalry, its members culled from the country's oldest, noblest families to form Macedon's elite fighting force (of which he was the newest junior officer). Hearing Cleitus now, he looked to Craterus, who was always quick to uphold the Cavalry's integrity, but to his astonishment Craterus was nodding along.
He had to protest, and burst out with the only weakness he could think of. "They were just playing with a bunch of ribbons!"
"The ribbons were a bit silly," Craterus concurred, "but the poles themselves were no trifle."
"Not at all, judging from how they held them," Cleitus agreed. "In fact, for the boy the long pole is probably similar to a xyston."
"A xyston!" Nicanor exclaimed from atop Perdiccas' shoulders.
"You mean the long spears?" Hector's voice floated down from above Seleucus.
"Yes, the long lances we carry as Companions," answered Craterus.
"Ohhhhh!" The little boys' eyes brightened even more.
"I want him do it again!" Nicanor exclaimed.
"Which part?" Hector asked. "Jumping out of the chariot? That was my favorite part! And wasn't it great when they formed the star, and when they all charged together? And the ribbons were nice, I thought!" Cleitus elbowed Craterus, smirking. The others laughed while Hector continued blithely to Nicanor, "Which part was your favorite?"
Nicanor hesitated. "All of it!" he finally decided. "The horses are so clever, and so much happened - you couldn't possibly see everything just watching it once, it was all so fast!"
"Not to mention pretty," Cassander sneered, losing all enthusiasm just like Philotas had. But Nicanor seemed too excited to pay attention to these few words, so he continued, "Absurd, really - ribbons would get horribly tangled in an actual fight! Besides, it's been ages since we've seen chariots in battle!"
"The Persians have chariots," remarked Seleucus.
Philotas and Cassander both groaned.
"That chariot trick was no standard cavalry move, to be sure," Cleitus laughed. Yet for once, the gleam in his eyes was quite serious. "Still, I'd welcome someone who could do that into my squadron, any day!"
* * * * *
Even Olympias had not been unmoved, but now she sat back, determined to be downright displeased. The pole had been shooting toward her son! (No matter that in hindsight, even she could see that its path lay somewhat to Alexander's side, and could never pierce the royal box).
The spectators were still cheering madly. Having crushed the flowers that should have been in her hair into a scraggly bouquet, Cleopatra gleefully tossed it down to the arena, her long tresses already tangled again. Olympias gave a small, exasperated sigh.
She let Cleopatra scamper off with the maids - one less over-excited family member to worry about, here in the public eye. Coolly she glanced at her husband, who was blustering for the servants to hurry with the garlands.
What was it all, in essence, but a bunch of acrobatic tricks? Really, she was surrounded by children, and not just those she bore. At least Alexander was sitting quietly at her side, sensible and composed.
Alexander was sitting quietly, but if Olympias had bent just a little, she would have seen his smile, small and far-off and almost blissfully dreamy - quite the opposite of her vaunted sensible composure.
In his mind he was replaying everything: the galloping horses, the leap to the chariot, the catching of the poles and the whirling of the ribbons. And most vividly of all, he remembered the keen, deep joy on the young rider's face - just after he vaulted onto the white stallion, and again when the crowd honored him with the paean.
Someday Alexander would charge like that into battle on Bucephalus, eager and glad and glorious - borne up by the strength and the love of his men.
He could hardly wait to meet the riders. His father fully approved of his chatting with soldiers, and surely would not mind if he spoke with Amyntor's staff - especially the boy. The way he rode, he must have heard of Xenophon's work On Horsemanship, written only a few years before Alexander was born, but already considered in many circles to be the definitive authority on its subject. There was so much they could talk about based only on that short treatise. Furthermore, some of the same principles were in Xenophon's longer works, including the Anabasis and Cyropaedia - which, next to the Iliad, were Alexander's absolute favorite texts, full of sharp insights and stirring examples of great leadership. Even if the boy did not know the writings, Alexander could tell him all about them - why, Alexander could even show him Bucephalus; skittish as the stallion was, he was sure Bucephalus would instantly like this boy. Then maybe they could even go riding together; never mind that the boy was just a groom ...
His mother's hand descended upon his shoulder, startling him back to the present. Amyntor was returning, with the show's two star riders behind him.
Not waiting to merely follow his parents' example, Alexander was the first to rise in greeting.
* * * * *
As important as this introduction was, Amyntor had personally gone to escort the riding master and the boy.
Meeting the royal family this way was ... unconventional, not exactly what he had planned. But the middle of the night, when they had arrived, was no time for introductions. And the delay in Athens had been unavoidable, since certain men there had learned he was visiting Pella.
The peace with Athens was merely a fragile truce, its maintenance requiring maneuvers no less complex than battlefield tactics - as shown in this morning's discussion between himself, Philip, and the generals. The orator Demosthenes was railing more violently than ever against Macedon and its King, and Amyntor admitted freely that Macedonian views of Athenians were not entirely unfounded. Sometimes he would have liked nothing better than to wring the necks of certain hypocrites in Athens. Unfortunately, his work required him to be civil with most of those double-dealers.
Nevertheless, he stood firmly by his counsel to Philip - peace, so long as Macedonian honor suffered no more than the verbal slander of narrow-minded elitists. Zeus be praised for the few men on both sides who truly had principles and, like Philip, were willing to overlook petty slights.
On a personal note, Amyntor also thanked the gods for his estate, some miles away from Athens. Although he often took his son to visit the city, to show him its magnificent traditions as well as its darker undercurrents, he and his wife did not want the lad raised amid so much duplicity. But frequently Amyntor had to stay in the city for weeks; his son's upbringing was rather strange, all that time spent with just his mother, his pedagogue, and the staff. Particularly the stable staff - good men, but hardly the sort of people who would be his future peers. Still, Amyntor would have felt even less comfortable with his family in Pella, far away from his care. His role in Philip's network was not exactly something to announce to the world, and it would have hurt his son's prospects to let him grow up here while it was known that his father worked in Athens.
Of course, now there was the problem of introducing his son to the Macedonian court, where he must make his own fortune someday. Someday soon, for several of Amyntor's less agreeable Athenian "colleagues" now suspected his Macedonian ties, and Athens was no longer quite safe.
So the show had fit in perfectly with Amyntor's plans - even the participation of such an unusually young rider. Aside from entertainment, he had organized it partly to dispel the idea that Athenians were all talk, no action. Of course, that was not all it would take ...
Outside the gate, the riding master was giving a presumably stern lecture to his youngest protégé. But his severity did not last; he finished with an affectionate chuckle.
The boy immediately noticed Amyntor's approach, and ran up with a bright grin. Amyntor smiled proudly, his cares melting away as he led his men back into the arena. This time, the crowd welcomed the boy wholeheartedly, and cheered when he followed Amyntor along with the riding master up to the royal box.
The show was a grand success, and Philip was no snoot about doing everything by the book. As unconventional as it was, Amyntor supposed this sort of introduction might be just fine after all.
* * * * *
Meeting these two members of Amyntor's retinue, Alexander was as eager to rise to the occasion as during introductions to foreign dignitaries. Having focused almost solely on the boy during the show, Alexander now made a rapid study of the riding master, and could guess why Amyntor valued him so highly. He looked tough as a bull, but there was patience and a certain rough honesty about him. Somewhat like Euthymius, actually (when he was not glaring people down).
"Your majesties," Amyntor began, "I present my riding master, Aristomedes of Athens, three-time winner of the annual races there in his youth - an achievement that made him an informal protégé of Xenophon, before the latter's exile to Scillus."
Alexander's eyes widened. No wonder the boy rode as he did; his instructor had studied with Xenophon himself!
"Impressive!" Philip laughed."Though, considering what we've just seen, I suppose we shouldn't be that surprised. Excellent drill all around, outstanding coordination - and of course, creativity! There's a feast tonight; you'll have a place there, and a handsome prize!"
"I am deeply honored, Sire," Aristomedes replied. "However, I must admit that the more ... creative moves were not my idea." With a wry smile, he glanced toward his young counterpart.
"Well! Even more impressive!" Philip chuckled, turning to the boy with a friendly grin. "So then, Amyntor, who is this young horse-tamer?"
Amyntor stepped up beside the youth. Alexander noticed it again - that strange, tender smile had returned.
"This -" Amyntor said quietly, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, "This is my son. Hephaestion."
last revised 18 July 2006
EDIT: Look! maxwell-kiddo drew THIS wonderful illustration! 8D
Any and all feedback is welcomed with Alexander-level eagerness!