Showtime! Chapter 4 and Epilogue
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
© Copyright Joyeee 2007
A/N: Once upon a time I hoped to post fast enough for readers to remember some things from Ch.1 when reading this last chapter - like Alexander wishing he could give Bucephalus his favorite kind of apple, etc. So much for that idea!
Thanks: To
suesfan , whose insight, patience, and encouragement helped this along in so many ways. To Moon71, whose comment kicked off the initial idea for this story. And to everyone who's stuck through with this, especially the wonderful reviewers - the feedback has been informative and helpful - and all around, just incredible. (More always welcome!) Sincerely, thank you. Without further ado -
Chapter 4: The Beginning
Olympias flew down from the royal box to seize her son in a tight embrace, caressing his hair anxiously even as she poked and prodded at him to find out if he had been hurt - none too gently, so strong was her fear. Philip followed, likewise scrutinizing Alexander for injuries, though with a soldier's pragmatic calm. As Olympias fired questions at Alexander about what exactly the other boy had done to him - too anxious to wait for any answers - Philip grimaced. He doubted that Amyntor's son had tried to cause an accident. Everything depended now on what Alexander would say; if only Olympias would let the boy speak - ! But she did not relent, not even when Alexander pressed the prize of the almond branch into her hands.
Beyond the folds of his mother's robes, Alexander saw Amyntor rush by, and suddenly her implacable distress was not his only concern. A moment later he heard Philotas shout, "Seize him!"
With a jolt of alarm, he sprang from his mother's hold.
* * * * *
The soldiers closed in. Hephaestion took a step back, but they had surrounded him and there was nowhere to go - he only knew one person in the whole arena who might yet forestall this impending disaster, but he could not, would not shame his father by running to him now. His arm was grabbed from behind; his stallion stamped furiously, on the verge of violent retaliation against the man who had dared to lay a hand on its young master. Hephaestion pressed his free hand to its neck and breathlessly commanded it to stay still; the horse snorted but obeyed, while he instinctively tried to twist away from the soldier's grasp -
"Wait!"
A young voice, but clear, confident. The guards turned; Hephaestion could not see beyond them, but he realized who it was, even as he shook off the soldier's hold.
It was Alexander.
The next moment someone broke through the press of soldiers and clasped Hephaestion close.
"Father!"
Hephaestion had never seen his father lose his calm, and even now his voice was controlled as he murmured, "Hephaestion, my son -" Yet underneath his soothing tone there was something intense - fierce. "No need to worry; just tell me what happened. I'll explain to them."
Relief flooded through Hephaestion, so strong as to make him lightheaded; his fingers closed unconsciously in a tight grip on his father's robes. At the same time, determination surged once more. His father trusted him, even now, and Hephaestion was not going to let him down.
As the prince ran up, the soldiers instinctively made way for him - not only because his father was king. Alexander was usually pleasant with them, confident but also amiable; the son of the king, but also a curious boy. Right now, however, he was every inch the prince.
He stopped short just within the circle, breathing hard.
Amyntor still had a protective arm around Hephaestion's shoulders as he glanced toward Philip and Olympias, repeating tensely, "Just tell me and I'll talk it through with them. Everything will be just fine."
Hephaestion pulled back a little to look up into his father's face. Somehow he summoned a smile, or at least a semblance of one. "You're right, Father. Everything will be fine."
He turned to face the prince.
Amyntor was already deliberating how to address the king and queen, what exactly he would say to Philip. But at his son's words, he looked down in astonishment, only to see Hephaestion release a white-knuckled grip on his robes.
A spark of pride flared within his heart.
Hephaestion had already headed forward. Taking a deep breath, Amyntor willed himself to concentrate on that spark instead.
* * * * *
Philotas moved to intercept Hephaestion. Alarmed, Alexander stepped before him and said sharply, "I'll speak with him, Philotas."
Frowning, Philotas glanced surreptitiously toward the king and queen, who were still standing a small distance away. Alexander clearly wished to handle this himself, and they seemed willing to let him try. Nevertheless, they were watching, closely. Philotas paused, but remained in his place as guard commander. "Alexander . . ."
Alexander felt a prick of exasperation. He did not need anyone to baby him, and though his parents still wielded great influence in his life, right now absolutely no one else was going to act in his stead. "You've no right to accuse him of anything, Philotas. You weren't there; you didn't see what happened! If anyone has that right, it's me."
Immediately he realized how ominous this might sound to Hephaestion, who had looked somber as he approached, but determined, too. Alexander swiveled back, only to see Hephaestion stop short, then take a deep breath, as if he were about to plunge into a deathly cold lake. At this, Alexander wished nothing more than to take his words back, but what was done was done. Waving the soldiers off impatiently, he quickly closed the distance between himself and Hephaestion.
* * * * *
When Alexander first spoke to the officer, it was as if a burden had been lifted from Hephaestion's chest, for it seemed that somehow this mess could still be resolved, that the prince understood what had really happened. But at Alexander's final words, the weight plummeted straight back, even heavier than before.
The last thing he wanted to do now was to meet the prince's gaze. Even if he could explain himself, even if he could convince Alexander that his only motive was to get him to avoid that branch - he had called the prince insane. That was the very word he had yelled so foolishly! There was no reason to hope for lenience.
And crushing in on his resolve was something truly unbearable - he had made his father a promise ...
He set his jaw. And he was just about to begin a very calm, extremely reasonable, impressively logical explanation of everything, when Alexander asked, "What happened?"
Hephaestion looked up, startled at the lack of anger in the prince's voice. Apparently Alexander had ordered the soldiers to stand off, and they had backed away a little - several paces, in fact.
He was prepared for hostility. But at this seeming reprieve, the calm, reasonable, logical explanation completely deserted him.
Seeing his incredulous expression, Alexander elaborated, "You cut in front of Bucephalus ... The way you ride, it seems very ... unlike you, to make such a move, one that might endanger another horse, as well as your own. Not to mention, you were running quite a risk, yourself!" Alexander's voice held no accusation, only curiosity. "So, why did you do it?"
Hephaestion did not answer right away, not yet daring to believe the look in the prince's gaze, a look that seemed oddly like ... trust.
Preoccupied with that strange light in Alexander's eyes, he fumbled for an answer. "The path you were riding toward - I rode through it, when we headed out. There's a branch at the bend. My horse could barely slip under it, but your stallion ..." He trailed off. Even to his own ears the excuse sounded quite lame.
Alexander's brow furrowed. Then, his eyes widened with comprehension. "Bucephalus wouldn't have made it."
He called to the guards that all was well, then returned his attention to Hephaestion before he could see Philotas scowl in surprise and motion to his men to stay in place.
Hephaestion did see, but the guards were the last of his concerns at the moment. For the prince to accept his word, just like that! He could hardly believe it! The Macedonian court - any court! - was notorious for hidden dangers - including sabotage. Shouldn't the prince be more on guard?
"Don't you at least want to see the branch for yourself?" he exclaimed.
Alexander gazed at him quizzically.
Then, he smiled.
"You told me what happened. I don't need to look."
Hephaestion blinked, stunned.
Before he could summon a coherent response, the officer approached, hissing the prince's name. Alexander turned to him. "Call your men off, Philotas. He just saved me a few broken bones, at the very least."
"Someone really should take a look, Alexander," Philotas growled, acutely conscious of the dark stares of both Philip and Olympias. His first action as an officer was dissolving into nothing before their eyes, and all because of Alexander's own childish naiveté! "Here, I'll go. You there, get me a horse."
The guard left before Alexander had a chance to stop him. Alexander gritted his teeth, but he had to concede that it was within Philotas' right to investigate in his name, especially with the support of his parents.
He nodded at Hephaestion reassuringly - and was peculiarly heartened himself. Hephaestion no longer seemed concerned about the accusation against him. He was watching Alexander instead, perplexed - but with no sign of fear for his own fate.
With a swell of confidence, Alexander leapt onto Bucephalus. "If someone has to take a look, Philotas," he declared, managing to keep his voice mostly free of sarcasm, "I'll go myself. With Hephaestion." He gestured encouragingly for Hephaestion to mount up too.
"Alexander!" Philotas blurted out. "He's a suspect!"
Alexander scowled. Grudgingly, Philotas subsided.
Hephaestion mounted quietly, still glancing at Alexander as if he were a baffling puzzle. The three of them rode out.
* * * * *
When they returned, Philip and Olympias were waiting at the gate. Amyntor stood by, silent. Only his grim expression betrayed that he heard every accusation the queen was throwing at his son as her anger crested. Even before Bucephalus halted she rushed forward. Fretfully she clutched Alexander's hands in her own.
"What's this, Alexander? Why are you letting him ride after what he's done?" Her voice turned knife-sharp. "You - son of Parmenion, no? I thought I made myself very clear -"
"It's all right, Mother!" Alexander slipped his hands out of her grip and gently grasped her arms. "Everything's all right!"
Olympias shot a venomous glare at Hephaestion before finally returning her son's gaze. Alexander smiled, eager to set her mind at rest.
"It's thanks to Hephaestion that I avoided a fall, Mother. A very bad one." He explained about the branch in the path. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father relax quickly, but he had to repeat himself several times for his mother to really hear it.
Slowly, as the gleam in her eyes lost its edge of alarm, Alexander's voice softened too. "Hephaestion saved me from the fall, Mother. He saved me."
Alexander glanced at Hephaestion then, just for a moment. The warmth of it caught Olympias' attention, and she followed her son's gaze toward the other boy.
Now she studied him, really looked at him. He lowered his eyes respectfully as soon as he realized her gaze was upon him, but it was enough. Before then, he had been watching Alexander - neither with defensive apprehension, nor with the usual blubbery, fawning adulation of courtiers. He was just looking on, wide-eyed, silently taking everything in.
After years of maneuvering as a woman in the royal court, Olympias knew loyalty when she saw it. Now she could definitely see the beginnings of it, there in the eyes of Amyntor's son.
Finally, she was willing to reconsider. Alexander seemed to have taken an unusual liking to this boy, more so than to any of his previous companions. With that in mind, if he had saved her son - as Alexander said he had - then, perhaps, she could spare him from her wrath. If only for Alexander's sake.
That did not mean, however, that she had to like him. (Especially since, by causing Alexander to ride faster and rougher than ever before, the boy had undone in a few minutes her entire hour of careful hair-curling and wardrobe-planning.) Even though he might have helped Alexander today, no matter how well Alexander thought of him, he had better know his place, and tread with extreme care around her son. She would be watching.
As for Alexander, he had proved himself yet again. Suddenly remembering the almond branch, she lovingly returned it to him. With all these annoying distractions out of the way, his triumph would soon be officially declared, and it would not do for him to be without his hard-earned prize.
Philip had listened closely to Alexander - but only the first time around. As Alexander repeated himself for his mother's sake, Philip noticed instead how his son's hands, still small compared to his own, deftly reversed his mother's grip on them, how he took hold of her arms, trying to calm her. How he actually succeeded.
Philip allowed a small, satisfied smile.
He shot a dismissive look at Philotas, but the young man was hovering too close to Alexander to notice.
"Alexander, it's not exactly proof," Philotas muttered. Really, this was winding down as pathetically as a party that had run out of wine, not at all the sort of conclusion he had envisioned for his first commanding action.
Alexander shot him an incredulous stare. Then his lips curved upward knowingly. "Thank you, Philotas."
"You've proved your loyalty well today," Olympias added with frigid sovereignty. Behind her, Philip coolly nodded.
Mollified by this bit of recognition - and sensing at last that the royal family's irritation would turn on him if he persisted any further - Philotas hastily signaled his men to return to their posts.
* * * * *
The crowd rumbled in agitation, watching the proceedings from afar. A few scattered individuals sneered - "He's an Athenian after all, what could you possibly expect?" But most of their fellows shot them irritated glares; the boy had won them over with his earlier performance. Moreover, Alexander had entered into a competition with him - it would be a shame if he were merely a petty cheat! Unable to hear what was being said at the center of the arena, they murmured restlessly among themselves, until finally the guards withdrew.
"It's all right!" Philip's voice boomed across the field. "We suspected a little accident. There was a close moment there, as you no doubt saw, but everything turned out fine! What's more - " he turned back to his son proudly, "as you all can bear witness, Alexander is the victor!"
The triumph of their young prince was a highly appropriate finale; the crowd gave a standing ovation. But to everyone's surprise, Alexander merely shook his head. Their cheers faded into a baffled, suspenseful hush.
Alexander went to stand by the other boy. "Father," he called out, his voice carrying clearly throughout the arena, "if it weren't for Hephaestion the accident would have happened, and the win would not have been mine."
Philip wheeled around; Olympias frowned severely. Alexander never shared victory. Toys, books, leisure time - certainly he was openhanded with those, especially toward his younger companions. Victory was another matter. He had never offered to share such a thing, and of course, even if he had, no one would ever have dared to accept.
However, Alexander was oblivious to their shock, too busy addressing the audience instead - explaining exactly how Hephaestion had saved him and his beloved Bucephalus from a terrible accident. "Therefore, Father," he concluded, "I think this race should be declared a tie!"
Startled, Hephaestion backpedaled instinctively, warily. But Alexander caught his hand so that they held the almond blossoms together, and smiled.
The crowd seemed to have lost its breath. But after a stunned pause, they broke forth once again with a hearty roar of approval.
Philip snorted, amused. Alexander certainly had a flair for grand gestures.
Taming Bucephalus had been such a gesture in Philip's opinion - a great achievement, a triumph as glorious as any a boy might dream of. But today, Alexander had done something more. He had stepped up - not as a boy, and not out of a desire to prove himself mature, which would merely have proved the opposite. He had acted independently, for himself, as the royal prince he was.
As for the cause of all this ... Philip smiled. The more he observed Amyntor's son, the stronger his instinct grew, that Hephaestion might be a good friend to Alexander. Perhaps even better than the companions he already had - for this friendship would form by Alexander's choice alone.
He glanced at his wife, who was watching their son proudly. It was rare enough that they felt similarly about anything. Philip nodded, pleased.
"Let it be as you say, Alexander!"
Amidst the deafening cheers that followed, Alexander's name resounded all around as the spectators praised his fairness and generosity.
Olympias' first reaction to Philip's words was irritation, especially since a few shouts arose for Hephaestion as well. But her husband's decree was, after all, what Alexander wanted. The crowd's response reassured her that her son was still adored above all others, and furthermore, it proved that this magnanimous act of his, far from lessening his triumph, had won him even greater glory. Satisfied, Olympias headed back toward the royal box.
Philip tapped Amyntor's shoulder.
"So, the wager ends in a tie."
It took Amyntor a moment to pull his gaze away from his son, but he did. "So it does." He sighed. "Thanks to you, Sire, and to the prince."
"So." Philip's good eye glinted. "Neither of us gets a prize for winning. But how about an exchange of gifts?"
"What did you have in mind, Sire?"
With a quick look at the boys, Philip started toward the royal pavilion. "Come."
Amyntor gave his son a final glance.
He was not a man to be ruled by emotion; years of politics had long since ensured that. But he had always cherished his son. And at this moment, as sentimental as it seemed, as cliched as it might be, he could not deny that which now swelled in his heart. There stood Hephaestion, unharmed, and moreover, undaunted - after everything that had happened, after facing dishonor and even punishment for an act of courage and integrity - after he took up full responsibility for his own actions.
It hit Amyntor with pride, and wonder - and in the midst of the joy, a small, bittersweet twinge. Not regret - no, never! - but something like it.
His son was growing up. Everything that Amyntor had ever hoped for, and more.
Alexander was speaking with Hephaestion, and the eagerness on his face lightened Amyntor's heart. Pretending not to see Alexander's fleeting glance in their direction, he caught up with Philip.
"They grow quickly, don't they?"
Amyntor stared at Philip. Philip, King of Macedon and, for all practical purposes, Hegemon of the Hellenic states - a soldier, a commander, and in every way a king. But he understood immediately. Philip was a father, too.
He nodded. "You know I put no stock in common rumors. But your son truly seems favored by the gods. Bright, confident, everything a prince should be - and he has a generous heart. He will achieve much."
Philip glanced at him. "Your son as well."
Amyntor frowned. "I didn't say that just because of what Alexander did for Hephaestion today."
"And I didn't say that just because of what Hephaestion did for Alexander."
Amyntor studied him, trying to guess where this might lead. But Philip was looking ahead.
Under the royal pavilion, Cleopatra had returned. While Olympias pulled her tousled hair back in a stiff plait with strong, unsympathetic fingers, the girl pouted, but did not squirm much.
Philip grimaced. "There's not much talk about this yet, because things are falling in place only now, and the less notice certain people have, the better. You've heard of Aristotle, yes? The son of my father's physician?"
"Yes, of course," Amyntor replied, wondering at the change of subject. "Used to be one of Plato's top students in the latter's Academy in Athens, and was even one of the candidates to succeed as its master."
"Right." Philip's gaze grew distant. "In a few months, I'll be sending Alexander to school with several of his companions. Young men, a few boys - peers, likely to be important in his future. Construction in Mieza won't be finished until autumn, but Aristotle has agreed to be their teacher. It's only a day's ride away from Pella, but removed somewhat for all that - no plots or political scheming, at least." He snorted. "Not as much as here, anyway - and certainly not like in Athens as it is now. I don't need to point out to you that considering your reports, it's safer to send your son to school here, in Macedon, rather than anywhere close to home. And of course," he added with satisfaction, "Aristotle's tutelage could compare favorably to any education you could get in Athens for him."
He turned to face Amyntor. "Well? Would you like a place at Mieza for your son?"
Amyntor did not reply right away. It was unbelievable, how high his son's prospects had suddenly soared.
Yet there was the other side of it, too. Of course he hoped that Hephaestion would do well. Of course he had taken painstaking care with Hephaestion's upbringing. Of course he knew, logically, that soon his road and his son's must part a little more, that Hephaestion must indeed start making his own way in Macedon, alone and away from his family.
But he was not to be alone, not anymore. He was to be a companion of the prince.
Amyntor had prepared his son in every way he could think of. Yet at this moment he realized, upon being offered this brilliant chance that exceeded all his hopes, that he himself had not been quite prepared.
But then, what father was ever completely prepared to let his son go?
There was a faint warning in his heart, as well. Victory in a horse race was a small matter, a trifle. When it came to things like titles and honors, and the friendship of royalty, men were much less likely to cheer another's rising star.
Yet, perhaps, Hephaestion would be ready for that, too. Just as he had been ready for today.
"You would offer that much, Sire?"
Philip nodded.
"Nothing would please me more," Amyntor murmured, then chuckled incredulously. "I don't think any treasure of mine could match such a gift."
Philip clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, but I think so, Amyntor." He gave Amyntor a wry, sympathetic grin, then looked past him to the two boys at the center of the field. His smile was warm as his gaze alighted briefly on Hephaestion, then came to rest on Alexander.
"After all -" Philip heaved a contented sigh, "no treasure in the world is worth so much as a son who makes his father proud."
* * * * *
"Well, how do you like that?" Alexander huffed when their fathers moved ahead. "They just go off talking about trading gifts, when we should be the ones doing that! We're the ones who actually raced, after all!" He turned excitedly to Hephaestion. "Just imagine - the two of us exchanging gifts, here, in the arena. The crowd would be thrilled!"
To his surprise, Hephaestion did not quite share his enthusiasm. "But that wouldn't work," he said slowly, holding his hands out from his sides. "To begin with, I ... I have nothing to give you."
Alexander blinked. "Well, I don't either," he replied, just now realizing it. "But I'm sure we could think of something. Anyway, we have time now; you're staying for a little while ... aren't you?" he asked anxiously. He had no idea how long Amyntor was visiting.
"Two weeks," Hephaestion answered.
"Well, that's plenty of time!" Alexander exclaimed, though it immediately struck him that two weeks could never be enough - not two years, not twenty! He sobered. "Besides, you've already done something for me, far better than any old present. I'd probably be with the surgeons right now if it weren't for you."
"I don't know if I did that much," Hephaestion protested. "Anyway, I should thank you, for ... for believing me."
Alexander suddenly felt that he could not smile wide enough. But before he could say anything, Hephaestion continued, "It was luck, really. Bucephalus swerved just in time. He's really remarkable; all those stories about him aren't exaggerating!"
Alexander's brows rose. "Your horse is hardly any less impressive! Never mind the race; just watching the show, I could tell ..." He paused, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say. "Well, just for example, there was a moment - just before you caught the staff - even I could hear the ribbons fluttering, but your stallion galloped right on. There are cavalry horses that shy more easily than he does!" He shook his head. "I suppose, having watched you ride, I shouldn't have been so surprised, but I couldn't believe it when you tried to change Bucephalus' course! There was hardly any space to maneuver. What made you think to cut across?"
"I called a warning, but that didn't do any good. Blocking the way was the first thing that came to mind ..." Hephaestion shrugged self-consciously. "Thank the gods it worked, but once you turned aside, you headed straight toward the middle gap, the highest jump! And you didn't look like you were going to stop, or swerve, or pull up - not for anything."
Alexander just looked at him. Then he grinned, seeming for all the world as if he had just been paid a grand compliment.
"No. I wasn't," he agreed. His eyes gleamed. "Perhaps ... it was rather insane, after all."
Hephaestion caught his breath. There had been so many turnarounds today, he would not be surprised at another.
But Alexander had said it so lightly, and a smile still played at his lips.
"Well," Hephaestion ventured, "I'm the one who tried to block a prince's way. And I followed you right through that gap. So I suppose ... you can count me crazy, too."
They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they both grinned.
Suddenly Bucephalus nudged Alexander's shoulder, as if wishing to share the jest. Alexander chuckled. "Bucephalus, I'd like you to meet Hephaestion."
Hephaestion laughed, finally at ease. He mock-saluted roguishly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance!" Bucephalus answered with a majestic nod.
Hephaestion guided his own horse forward. "This is ... my stallion."
"What's his name?" asked Alexander.
"He ... doesn't have one yet," Hephaestion admitted.
Alexander blinked. "Why not?"
"My father's horses are trained for other men. Aristomedes doesn't bother to name them all."
"But he is yours, isn't he?" Alexander demanded indignantly.
Hephaestion nodded. "Just a few days ago, my father suddenly told me I could keep him. Aristomedes once said that he's fit for the greatest of lords; the least I can do is give him a worthy name. But we were busy preparing for this visit, so I haven't chosen a proper name yet." He grinned as Alexander tentatively reached a hand toward the stallion's nose. "Go on, he won't bite."
Alexander smiled as he gazed up at the horse's eyes. "I know he won't."
The stallion sniffed experimentally at Alexander's hand. Bucephalus snorted in a friendly fashion; the other horse's ears turned forward, listening. Then Hephaestion murmured something softly. With a gentle whicker, the stallion lowered its head next to Alexander.
Alexander delightedly took up the invitation, patting its sleek, strong neck. "He's wonderful ... The first time one of our grooms approached Bucephalus, he nearly kicked down a fence before I could calm him! But I think your stallion feels safe, with you beside him." His voice softened. "You've trained with him a long time, haven't you? He belongs with you. I've only had Bucephalus a few months, but I wouldn't let anyone take him from me, not for a fortune! To think I might have lost him today ..." He suppressed a shudder. "It would be a shame to part the two of you!"
"That's what Aristomedes said," Hephaestion smiled, "though not half as emphatically as you!"
Alexander stroked the stallion's feathery mane in admiration. "He's so fast, he could have been sired by Zephyr," he sighed. Just like Achilles' horses -
"Like Xanthus and Balius?" Hephaestion grinned. "No. Pedasos, at best - on a good day."
Abruptly Alexander turned, staring at Hephaestion.
In all of Homer's verse, there were but a few lines devoted to Achilles' stallions. Xanthus and Balius, divine sons of Zephyr, who wept when Patroclus died. And Pedasos, mortal - but able to run at their pace, yoked by Achilles as a trace horse beside them, to steady them and keep their chariot on course.
Other boys had trouble recalling the best warriors' names. Most never bothered about other soldiers, never mind their horses.
Yet Hephaestion knew. And his horse seemed tended with as much care as if it were a mythical steed. In the afternoon light the white stallion's coat shimmered, like clouds, sunlit, wind-driven, racing toward distant mountaintops.
Alexander felt curiously light.
"Pegasus!" he murmured, not caring that he had just elevated the stallion's status even more, from son of the West Wind to progeny of Poseidon Earth-shaker himself.
Hephaestion was about to laugh; he and his horse understood each other well, but Hephaestion also knew every laborious hour, every dusty tumble and bruised shin that had built that understanding. Alexander's stallion had understood him within a matter of minutes - Bucephalus, really, was more likely the offspring of some god.
But Alexander looked so serious. Despite himself, Hephaestion felt strangely moved.
"Pegasus, then." He bowed his head solemnly. "For the honor of the name, I thank you."
Alexander inclined his own head, and smiled.
Bucephalus had remained quiet, sensing that the boys' attention was occupied. But finally he grew impatient. Besides, what he wanted was not with his own little rider. He stepped past Alexander to prod at the other boy.
"Oh!" Hephaestion exclaimed. "Well, perhaps we can't exchange gifts, but you've given my horse a name. And I do have something I could give, after a fashion, to Bucephalus. I suppose he knows already." He chuckled as the stallion nudged him more forcefully, and reached toward the satchel at his side. "It's not much," he said, suddenly hesitant, "but ... here."
Despite Bucephalus' forwardness, he knew how skittish the stallion was. So instead of giving it directly to Bucephalus, he offered the apple to Alexander.
An apple with red and gold streaks. Just the kind Bucephalus liked best.
Alexander stared at it. Then, very slowly, he lifted his gaze to Hephaestion, grave with wonder.
Hephaestion shifted uneasily. Was the prince offended? Ridiculous, really, to offer an apple to a prince ...
But then, Alexander slowly raised his hand to Hephaestion's, and accepted the apple. "It's perfect," he breathed.
He contemplated it, holding it close, like some great treasure. Then, with a glowing smile, he handed it back. "You give it to him."
Hephaestion instinctively did so, but it was Alexander who held his attention. For his part, Alexander watched his horse, quiet and pensive while Bucephalus crunched the apple down and nudged Hephaestion again, gently this time, as if in thanks.
"He's never taken to anyone like this before," Alexander murmured. "It's strange, and unexpected - but wonderful, too. Don't you see?" He turned his gaze back to Hephaestion, earnestly, solemnly. "He trusts you."
Hephaestion stared, amazed.
Normally he would never imagine speaking such words, but somehow he sensed that Alexander would not mind. A wry smile tugged at his lips. "You're not exactly ... what I expected, for a prince."
Alexander blinked. "And you're not what I expected either, for ..." He struggled to explain. "For another son, of yet another of my father's friends."
But Hephaestion grinned, understanding perfectly.
Alexander beamed back.
* * * * *
"There you are, Alexander!"
Alexander turned; his friends (including quite a few of those sons of his father's friends) were tumbling up, along with Cleitus and Craterus. Cleitus clapped a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "That was quite a competition!"
"Congratulations, Alexander!" Nicanor and Hector chorused. "And congratulations to you, too -" Suddenly, the boys broke off in dismay.
Hector was the first to overcome his uncertainty. "I'm sorry, but you have a very strange name, you know!"
"Is it a family name?" asked Nicanor.
"Or were you named after the god of the forge?" inquired Hector.
"And how would you spell it anyway?" Nicanor exclaimed.
The others chuckled. The boys reddened; quickly they glanced at Alexander, wondering if they had been rude. Alexander was not irritated, but he did turn a half-apologetic look toward Hephaestion.
To their delight, Hephaestion gave the boys a small, surprised smile, and spelled his name without any sign of being offended. "And you're right on both guesses as to its origin - " he paused, waiting for the boys' names.
"I'm Hector!"
"And I'm Nicanor!"
Hephaestion nodded. "Thank you very much for your congratulations, Hector, Nicanor," he said, impressing them even more for addressing them with sincere courtesy, just as if they were every bit as big as their older brothers.
Alexander smiled as the boys' faces lit up, but he noticed that Hephaestion seemed slightly on guard again, here among all these older youths. And it was no wonder, with Cassander glaring so sullenly, for one ...
"Alexander," Harpalus piped up, "aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend here?"
Alexander grinned. An introduction was just the thing, with all of them here right now. "Well, this is Hephaestion, son of Amyntor. Hephaestion, this is ... everybody." Amid hearty laughter, Alexander continued, naming them one by one.
These, then, were some of the peers whom Hephaestion would join in the Macedonian court. Hephaestion stored the names away carefully. Craterus, an officer, who seemed rather stiffly formal - looking at Alexander rather than at Hephaestion as he muttered a very brief greeting. Cleitus, another officer, who cheerily clapped Hephaestion on the back so hard that he was almost too busy keeping his balance to hear the man's congratulations on his horsemanship, while several others nodded - in agreement. Cassander, Nicanor's older brother, though quite his opposite in demeanor, just as Hector was so different from his older brother, Philotas, the commander of the guards. Ptolemy, Nearchus, and Harpalus - all looked quite sharp, each in his own way. Perdiccas and Seleucus appeared more relaxed, while Leonnatus was nearly as enthusiastic as Hector and Nicanor.
"You've lingered here a while, Alexander," Harpalus remarked. "We thought you might've taken Bucephalus back to the stables."
"I think he completely forgot the rest of us, having found such a wonderful new friend," Cassander retorted. He turned away sharply. "Well, I'm off. Father wants me to prepare for the banquet tonight, as befits a general's son. Come along, Nicanor!"
Nicanor's face fell. "It's not for a long time! I want to stay!"
"Fine! Don't come whining to me when our parents scold you for loitering!"
"Oh, leave off," Ptolemy said. "Just tell them he's with Alexander."
Cassander scowled. Unable to stare down Ptolemy, he gave the new boy a scathing glare. "What are you looking at?" He stalked off, muttering something about busybody Athenians.
Hephaestion just looked on curiously as he departed, but Alexander frowned. Fortunately, Perdiccas spoke up. "Don't worry about him."
"Cassander's usually like that," Seleucus added.
"Really? You mean he wasn't trying to make a good impression just now?" Hephaestion made a funny face, belying the mischief behind the words. Alexander forgot his irritation, joining in the others' laughter.
"Actually that's about as polite as he'll get!" crowed Leonnatus.
"Well, boys, seems like it's left to you to show our guest a better example of Macedon's finest citizens," Cleitus smirked. "Though I'm not sure you're up to it, even if you pooled all your manners together!"
"Are they to take you as the example, then?" Craterus inquired dryly.
"May all the gods forbid!" Cleitus laughed. "I intend to be on my worst behavior at tonight's feast, for example."
"Speaking of the feast, you'll be there, right?" Harpalus asked Hephaestion. "Everyone who's anyone will be attending."
"Meantime, we can take you to see our marketplace," Seleucus suggested. "It might not be as big as those in Athens, but I daresay it has things Athens doesn't - even trinkets from lands beyond Persia sometimes!"
"We can visit the gymnasium first!" Leonnatus grinned.
"You spend enough time there, Leonnatus!" Ptolemy chuckled. "What about the library?"
They kept arguing - armory, stables, palace, even just strolling through the city. Hephaestion listened with growing enthusiasm. Whatever bad blood there was between Athens and Macedon, they seemed to care little enough about it to give him a chance as an individual.
Through the clamor of voices, Alexander came forward. "Actually, Hephaestion, there is a place I would like to show you."
He had spoken quietly, but his expression held something intense.
Hephaestion smiled. "Where?" he asked, just as quietly.
Alexander beamed. "Come! We're going for another ride!"
The companions realized Alexander's intention.
"We just went for a ride yesterday!" protested Leonnatus. "And you rode even farther than the rest of us!"
"People are already going home to get ready for the feast," Nearchus remarked.
Craterus frowned. "Your parents will want you to prepare somewhat for it, won't they?"
Alexander looked back, but made ready to mount Bucephalus. "Everything will be fine," he insisted.
"You can go and still make it back in time," Cleitus winked, "especially with such fast horses." Hector and Nicanor cheered.
Ptolemy shrugged. "At least consider your guest, Alexander. He's been riding all afternoon, and he might want a rest."
At that, Alexander finally hesitated.
But then came Hephaestion's voice, eager and bright and quite the opposite of tired; he and Pegasus were already trotting toward the gate. "Come on, Prince Alexander! Which way are we going?"
Alexander laughed and swung astride Bucephalus. "See? We'll be perfectly fine!" he called to the companions, and urged Bucephalus forward. "Just call me Alexander, Hephaestion; all my friends do! -"
Epilogue
So the two of them rode out together, galloping through the green field and beyond.
Euthymius came by, deep in conversation with Aristomedes about the ideals upheld in Xenophon's treatise. He had intended to take Bucephalus back to the stables, expecting the prince to have more important business, but both men stopped short as Alexander and Hephaestion dashed by on their steeds, waving excitedly to them on their way out the gate.
To the companions' amazement, Euthymius sniffled.
However, Aristomedes seemed to understand, and patted his shoulder sympathetically. Yet Euthymius could only rub a brawny hand against his eyes and hiccup. When Cleitus asked what was wrong, it was too much; he bawled out something garbled about how marvelous it was to see two such fine youths riding two such fine, fine horses. Look, he cried, how the sunlight glistens on the steeds' marvelous coats, one cloud-white, the other jet black; how it crowns the boy's heads, one in burnished bronze, and the other in gleaming gold. Such opposites, and yet such parallels. What a beautiful sight it is!
The companions made sure to tell Alexander, that very night at the feast, about their gruff old Euthymius bursting into tears of sheer admiration and spouting lines quite akin to poetry - as well as the incident at the stables, where their new friend had charmed apples from the very same cantankerous stable master.
But even though they laughed, they had to agree as Aristomedes sighed and echoed Euthymius' sentiments. What a magnificent image they make - almost as if those splendid steeds are divine stallions, bearing a pair of young heroes straight from the legends of old!
Of course, unlike the story of Alexander's meeting with Bucephalus, this tale has not been passed down through the ages. Those who wrote the histories had other things to glorify, their own stories to tell, their own legends to pass on.
However, Alexander and Hephaestion cared little about such things, especially at that young age, and reveled instead in the joy of the moment. As for the rest of that day, suffice it to say that Alexander rode again to that flowering valley with Hephaestion at his side - and that this time, once there, he did not stop. On that long, sunny day amid the bounty of the earth, they rode together onward, eastward.
(With their spirits so high, they felt like they could ride on forever - but, being the wonderful sons and responsible young men they were, they returned to the palace just in time for the feast. They arrived at the great hall squeaky clean and "properly" decked out, too, in fine, rich clothes that showed no hint of all the forestry they had crashed through in their explorations that afternoon. No one found anything in their appearance to complain about. Not even Queen Olympias.)
And of course, this was only the beginning!
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
© Copyright Joyeee 2007
A/N: Once upon a time I hoped to post fast enough for readers to remember some things from Ch.1 when reading this last chapter - like Alexander wishing he could give Bucephalus his favorite kind of apple, etc. So much for that idea!
Thanks: To
suesfan , whose insight, patience, and encouragement helped this along in so many ways. To Moon71, whose comment kicked off the initial idea for this story. And to everyone who's stuck through with this, especially the wonderful reviewers - the feedback has been informative and helpful - and all around, just incredible. (More always welcome!) Sincerely, thank you. Without further ado -
Chapter 4: The Beginning
Olympias flew down from the royal box to seize her son in a tight embrace, caressing his hair anxiously even as she poked and prodded at him to find out if he had been hurt - none too gently, so strong was her fear. Philip followed, likewise scrutinizing Alexander for injuries, though with a soldier's pragmatic calm. As Olympias fired questions at Alexander about what exactly the other boy had done to him - too anxious to wait for any answers - Philip grimaced. He doubted that Amyntor's son had tried to cause an accident. Everything depended now on what Alexander would say; if only Olympias would let the boy speak - ! But she did not relent, not even when Alexander pressed the prize of the almond branch into her hands.
Beyond the folds of his mother's robes, Alexander saw Amyntor rush by, and suddenly her implacable distress was not his only concern. A moment later he heard Philotas shout, "Seize him!"
With a jolt of alarm, he sprang from his mother's hold.
* * * * *
The soldiers closed in. Hephaestion took a step back, but they had surrounded him and there was nowhere to go - he only knew one person in the whole arena who might yet forestall this impending disaster, but he could not, would not shame his father by running to him now. His arm was grabbed from behind; his stallion stamped furiously, on the verge of violent retaliation against the man who had dared to lay a hand on its young master. Hephaestion pressed his free hand to its neck and breathlessly commanded it to stay still; the horse snorted but obeyed, while he instinctively tried to twist away from the soldier's grasp -
"Wait!"
A young voice, but clear, confident. The guards turned; Hephaestion could not see beyond them, but he realized who it was, even as he shook off the soldier's hold.
It was Alexander.
The next moment someone broke through the press of soldiers and clasped Hephaestion close.
"Father!"
Hephaestion had never seen his father lose his calm, and even now his voice was controlled as he murmured, "Hephaestion, my son -" Yet underneath his soothing tone there was something intense - fierce. "No need to worry; just tell me what happened. I'll explain to them."
Relief flooded through Hephaestion, so strong as to make him lightheaded; his fingers closed unconsciously in a tight grip on his father's robes. At the same time, determination surged once more. His father trusted him, even now, and Hephaestion was not going to let him down.
As the prince ran up, the soldiers instinctively made way for him - not only because his father was king. Alexander was usually pleasant with them, confident but also amiable; the son of the king, but also a curious boy. Right now, however, he was every inch the prince.
He stopped short just within the circle, breathing hard.
Amyntor still had a protective arm around Hephaestion's shoulders as he glanced toward Philip and Olympias, repeating tensely, "Just tell me and I'll talk it through with them. Everything will be just fine."
Hephaestion pulled back a little to look up into his father's face. Somehow he summoned a smile, or at least a semblance of one. "You're right, Father. Everything will be fine."
He turned to face the prince.
Amyntor was already deliberating how to address the king and queen, what exactly he would say to Philip. But at his son's words, he looked down in astonishment, only to see Hephaestion release a white-knuckled grip on his robes.
A spark of pride flared within his heart.
Hephaestion had already headed forward. Taking a deep breath, Amyntor willed himself to concentrate on that spark instead.
* * * * *
Philotas moved to intercept Hephaestion. Alarmed, Alexander stepped before him and said sharply, "I'll speak with him, Philotas."
Frowning, Philotas glanced surreptitiously toward the king and queen, who were still standing a small distance away. Alexander clearly wished to handle this himself, and they seemed willing to let him try. Nevertheless, they were watching, closely. Philotas paused, but remained in his place as guard commander. "Alexander . . ."
Alexander felt a prick of exasperation. He did not need anyone to baby him, and though his parents still wielded great influence in his life, right now absolutely no one else was going to act in his stead. "You've no right to accuse him of anything, Philotas. You weren't there; you didn't see what happened! If anyone has that right, it's me."
Immediately he realized how ominous this might sound to Hephaestion, who had looked somber as he approached, but determined, too. Alexander swiveled back, only to see Hephaestion stop short, then take a deep breath, as if he were about to plunge into a deathly cold lake. At this, Alexander wished nothing more than to take his words back, but what was done was done. Waving the soldiers off impatiently, he quickly closed the distance between himself and Hephaestion.
* * * * *
When Alexander first spoke to the officer, it was as if a burden had been lifted from Hephaestion's chest, for it seemed that somehow this mess could still be resolved, that the prince understood what had really happened. But at Alexander's final words, the weight plummeted straight back, even heavier than before.
The last thing he wanted to do now was to meet the prince's gaze. Even if he could explain himself, even if he could convince Alexander that his only motive was to get him to avoid that branch - he had called the prince insane. That was the very word he had yelled so foolishly! There was no reason to hope for lenience.
And crushing in on his resolve was something truly unbearable - he had made his father a promise ...
He set his jaw. And he was just about to begin a very calm, extremely reasonable, impressively logical explanation of everything, when Alexander asked, "What happened?"
Hephaestion looked up, startled at the lack of anger in the prince's voice. Apparently Alexander had ordered the soldiers to stand off, and they had backed away a little - several paces, in fact.
He was prepared for hostility. But at this seeming reprieve, the calm, reasonable, logical explanation completely deserted him.
Seeing his incredulous expression, Alexander elaborated, "You cut in front of Bucephalus ... The way you ride, it seems very ... unlike you, to make such a move, one that might endanger another horse, as well as your own. Not to mention, you were running quite a risk, yourself!" Alexander's voice held no accusation, only curiosity. "So, why did you do it?"
Hephaestion did not answer right away, not yet daring to believe the look in the prince's gaze, a look that seemed oddly like ... trust.
Preoccupied with that strange light in Alexander's eyes, he fumbled for an answer. "The path you were riding toward - I rode through it, when we headed out. There's a branch at the bend. My horse could barely slip under it, but your stallion ..." He trailed off. Even to his own ears the excuse sounded quite lame.
Alexander's brow furrowed. Then, his eyes widened with comprehension. "Bucephalus wouldn't have made it."
He called to the guards that all was well, then returned his attention to Hephaestion before he could see Philotas scowl in surprise and motion to his men to stay in place.
Hephaestion did see, but the guards were the last of his concerns at the moment. For the prince to accept his word, just like that! He could hardly believe it! The Macedonian court - any court! - was notorious for hidden dangers - including sabotage. Shouldn't the prince be more on guard?
"Don't you at least want to see the branch for yourself?" he exclaimed.
Alexander gazed at him quizzically.
Then, he smiled.
"You told me what happened. I don't need to look."
Hephaestion blinked, stunned.
Before he could summon a coherent response, the officer approached, hissing the prince's name. Alexander turned to him. "Call your men off, Philotas. He just saved me a few broken bones, at the very least."
"Someone really should take a look, Alexander," Philotas growled, acutely conscious of the dark stares of both Philip and Olympias. His first action as an officer was dissolving into nothing before their eyes, and all because of Alexander's own childish naiveté! "Here, I'll go. You there, get me a horse."
The guard left before Alexander had a chance to stop him. Alexander gritted his teeth, but he had to concede that it was within Philotas' right to investigate in his name, especially with the support of his parents.
He nodded at Hephaestion reassuringly - and was peculiarly heartened himself. Hephaestion no longer seemed concerned about the accusation against him. He was watching Alexander instead, perplexed - but with no sign of fear for his own fate.
With a swell of confidence, Alexander leapt onto Bucephalus. "If someone has to take a look, Philotas," he declared, managing to keep his voice mostly free of sarcasm, "I'll go myself. With Hephaestion." He gestured encouragingly for Hephaestion to mount up too.
"Alexander!" Philotas blurted out. "He's a suspect!"
Alexander scowled. Grudgingly, Philotas subsided.
Hephaestion mounted quietly, still glancing at Alexander as if he were a baffling puzzle. The three of them rode out.
* * * * *
When they returned, Philip and Olympias were waiting at the gate. Amyntor stood by, silent. Only his grim expression betrayed that he heard every accusation the queen was throwing at his son as her anger crested. Even before Bucephalus halted she rushed forward. Fretfully she clutched Alexander's hands in her own.
"What's this, Alexander? Why are you letting him ride after what he's done?" Her voice turned knife-sharp. "You - son of Parmenion, no? I thought I made myself very clear -"
"It's all right, Mother!" Alexander slipped his hands out of her grip and gently grasped her arms. "Everything's all right!"
Olympias shot a venomous glare at Hephaestion before finally returning her son's gaze. Alexander smiled, eager to set her mind at rest.
"It's thanks to Hephaestion that I avoided a fall, Mother. A very bad one." He explained about the branch in the path. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father relax quickly, but he had to repeat himself several times for his mother to really hear it.
Slowly, as the gleam in her eyes lost its edge of alarm, Alexander's voice softened too. "Hephaestion saved me from the fall, Mother. He saved me."
Alexander glanced at Hephaestion then, just for a moment. The warmth of it caught Olympias' attention, and she followed her son's gaze toward the other boy.
Now she studied him, really looked at him. He lowered his eyes respectfully as soon as he realized her gaze was upon him, but it was enough. Before then, he had been watching Alexander - neither with defensive apprehension, nor with the usual blubbery, fawning adulation of courtiers. He was just looking on, wide-eyed, silently taking everything in.
After years of maneuvering as a woman in the royal court, Olympias knew loyalty when she saw it. Now she could definitely see the beginnings of it, there in the eyes of Amyntor's son.
Finally, she was willing to reconsider. Alexander seemed to have taken an unusual liking to this boy, more so than to any of his previous companions. With that in mind, if he had saved her son - as Alexander said he had - then, perhaps, she could spare him from her wrath. If only for Alexander's sake.
That did not mean, however, that she had to like him. (Especially since, by causing Alexander to ride faster and rougher than ever before, the boy had undone in a few minutes her entire hour of careful hair-curling and wardrobe-planning.) Even though he might have helped Alexander today, no matter how well Alexander thought of him, he had better know his place, and tread with extreme care around her son. She would be watching.
As for Alexander, he had proved himself yet again. Suddenly remembering the almond branch, she lovingly returned it to him. With all these annoying distractions out of the way, his triumph would soon be officially declared, and it would not do for him to be without his hard-earned prize.
Philip had listened closely to Alexander - but only the first time around. As Alexander repeated himself for his mother's sake, Philip noticed instead how his son's hands, still small compared to his own, deftly reversed his mother's grip on them, how he took hold of her arms, trying to calm her. How he actually succeeded.
Philip allowed a small, satisfied smile.
He shot a dismissive look at Philotas, but the young man was hovering too close to Alexander to notice.
"Alexander, it's not exactly proof," Philotas muttered. Really, this was winding down as pathetically as a party that had run out of wine, not at all the sort of conclusion he had envisioned for his first commanding action.
Alexander shot him an incredulous stare. Then his lips curved upward knowingly. "Thank you, Philotas."
"You've proved your loyalty well today," Olympias added with frigid sovereignty. Behind her, Philip coolly nodded.
Mollified by this bit of recognition - and sensing at last that the royal family's irritation would turn on him if he persisted any further - Philotas hastily signaled his men to return to their posts.
* * * * *
The crowd rumbled in agitation, watching the proceedings from afar. A few scattered individuals sneered - "He's an Athenian after all, what could you possibly expect?" But most of their fellows shot them irritated glares; the boy had won them over with his earlier performance. Moreover, Alexander had entered into a competition with him - it would be a shame if he were merely a petty cheat! Unable to hear what was being said at the center of the arena, they murmured restlessly among themselves, until finally the guards withdrew.
"It's all right!" Philip's voice boomed across the field. "We suspected a little accident. There was a close moment there, as you no doubt saw, but everything turned out fine! What's more - " he turned back to his son proudly, "as you all can bear witness, Alexander is the victor!"
The triumph of their young prince was a highly appropriate finale; the crowd gave a standing ovation. But to everyone's surprise, Alexander merely shook his head. Their cheers faded into a baffled, suspenseful hush.
Alexander went to stand by the other boy. "Father," he called out, his voice carrying clearly throughout the arena, "if it weren't for Hephaestion the accident would have happened, and the win would not have been mine."
Philip wheeled around; Olympias frowned severely. Alexander never shared victory. Toys, books, leisure time - certainly he was openhanded with those, especially toward his younger companions. Victory was another matter. He had never offered to share such a thing, and of course, even if he had, no one would ever have dared to accept.
However, Alexander was oblivious to their shock, too busy addressing the audience instead - explaining exactly how Hephaestion had saved him and his beloved Bucephalus from a terrible accident. "Therefore, Father," he concluded, "I think this race should be declared a tie!"
Startled, Hephaestion backpedaled instinctively, warily. But Alexander caught his hand so that they held the almond blossoms together, and smiled.
The crowd seemed to have lost its breath. But after a stunned pause, they broke forth once again with a hearty roar of approval.
Philip snorted, amused. Alexander certainly had a flair for grand gestures.
Taming Bucephalus had been such a gesture in Philip's opinion - a great achievement, a triumph as glorious as any a boy might dream of. But today, Alexander had done something more. He had stepped up - not as a boy, and not out of a desire to prove himself mature, which would merely have proved the opposite. He had acted independently, for himself, as the royal prince he was.
As for the cause of all this ... Philip smiled. The more he observed Amyntor's son, the stronger his instinct grew, that Hephaestion might be a good friend to Alexander. Perhaps even better than the companions he already had - for this friendship would form by Alexander's choice alone.
He glanced at his wife, who was watching their son proudly. It was rare enough that they felt similarly about anything. Philip nodded, pleased.
"Let it be as you say, Alexander!"
Amidst the deafening cheers that followed, Alexander's name resounded all around as the spectators praised his fairness and generosity.
Olympias' first reaction to Philip's words was irritation, especially since a few shouts arose for Hephaestion as well. But her husband's decree was, after all, what Alexander wanted. The crowd's response reassured her that her son was still adored above all others, and furthermore, it proved that this magnanimous act of his, far from lessening his triumph, had won him even greater glory. Satisfied, Olympias headed back toward the royal box.
Philip tapped Amyntor's shoulder.
"So, the wager ends in a tie."
It took Amyntor a moment to pull his gaze away from his son, but he did. "So it does." He sighed. "Thanks to you, Sire, and to the prince."
"So." Philip's good eye glinted. "Neither of us gets a prize for winning. But how about an exchange of gifts?"
"What did you have in mind, Sire?"
With a quick look at the boys, Philip started toward the royal pavilion. "Come."
Amyntor gave his son a final glance.
He was not a man to be ruled by emotion; years of politics had long since ensured that. But he had always cherished his son. And at this moment, as sentimental as it seemed, as cliched as it might be, he could not deny that which now swelled in his heart. There stood Hephaestion, unharmed, and moreover, undaunted - after everything that had happened, after facing dishonor and even punishment for an act of courage and integrity - after he took up full responsibility for his own actions.
It hit Amyntor with pride, and wonder - and in the midst of the joy, a small, bittersweet twinge. Not regret - no, never! - but something like it.
His son was growing up. Everything that Amyntor had ever hoped for, and more.
Alexander was speaking with Hephaestion, and the eagerness on his face lightened Amyntor's heart. Pretending not to see Alexander's fleeting glance in their direction, he caught up with Philip.
"They grow quickly, don't they?"
Amyntor stared at Philip. Philip, King of Macedon and, for all practical purposes, Hegemon of the Hellenic states - a soldier, a commander, and in every way a king. But he understood immediately. Philip was a father, too.
He nodded. "You know I put no stock in common rumors. But your son truly seems favored by the gods. Bright, confident, everything a prince should be - and he has a generous heart. He will achieve much."
Philip glanced at him. "Your son as well."
Amyntor frowned. "I didn't say that just because of what Alexander did for Hephaestion today."
"And I didn't say that just because of what Hephaestion did for Alexander."
Amyntor studied him, trying to guess where this might lead. But Philip was looking ahead.
Under the royal pavilion, Cleopatra had returned. While Olympias pulled her tousled hair back in a stiff plait with strong, unsympathetic fingers, the girl pouted, but did not squirm much.
Philip grimaced. "There's not much talk about this yet, because things are falling in place only now, and the less notice certain people have, the better. You've heard of Aristotle, yes? The son of my father's physician?"
"Yes, of course," Amyntor replied, wondering at the change of subject. "Used to be one of Plato's top students in the latter's Academy in Athens, and was even one of the candidates to succeed as its master."
"Right." Philip's gaze grew distant. "In a few months, I'll be sending Alexander to school with several of his companions. Young men, a few boys - peers, likely to be important in his future. Construction in Mieza won't be finished until autumn, but Aristotle has agreed to be their teacher. It's only a day's ride away from Pella, but removed somewhat for all that - no plots or political scheming, at least." He snorted. "Not as much as here, anyway - and certainly not like in Athens as it is now. I don't need to point out to you that considering your reports, it's safer to send your son to school here, in Macedon, rather than anywhere close to home. And of course," he added with satisfaction, "Aristotle's tutelage could compare favorably to any education you could get in Athens for him."
He turned to face Amyntor. "Well? Would you like a place at Mieza for your son?"
Amyntor did not reply right away. It was unbelievable, how high his son's prospects had suddenly soared.
Yet there was the other side of it, too. Of course he hoped that Hephaestion would do well. Of course he had taken painstaking care with Hephaestion's upbringing. Of course he knew, logically, that soon his road and his son's must part a little more, that Hephaestion must indeed start making his own way in Macedon, alone and away from his family.
But he was not to be alone, not anymore. He was to be a companion of the prince.
Amyntor had prepared his son in every way he could think of. Yet at this moment he realized, upon being offered this brilliant chance that exceeded all his hopes, that he himself had not been quite prepared.
But then, what father was ever completely prepared to let his son go?
There was a faint warning in his heart, as well. Victory in a horse race was a small matter, a trifle. When it came to things like titles and honors, and the friendship of royalty, men were much less likely to cheer another's rising star.
Yet, perhaps, Hephaestion would be ready for that, too. Just as he had been ready for today.
"You would offer that much, Sire?"
Philip nodded.
"Nothing would please me more," Amyntor murmured, then chuckled incredulously. "I don't think any treasure of mine could match such a gift."
Philip clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, but I think so, Amyntor." He gave Amyntor a wry, sympathetic grin, then looked past him to the two boys at the center of the field. His smile was warm as his gaze alighted briefly on Hephaestion, then came to rest on Alexander.
"After all -" Philip heaved a contented sigh, "no treasure in the world is worth so much as a son who makes his father proud."
* * * * *
"Well, how do you like that?" Alexander huffed when their fathers moved ahead. "They just go off talking about trading gifts, when we should be the ones doing that! We're the ones who actually raced, after all!" He turned excitedly to Hephaestion. "Just imagine - the two of us exchanging gifts, here, in the arena. The crowd would be thrilled!"
To his surprise, Hephaestion did not quite share his enthusiasm. "But that wouldn't work," he said slowly, holding his hands out from his sides. "To begin with, I ... I have nothing to give you."
Alexander blinked. "Well, I don't either," he replied, just now realizing it. "But I'm sure we could think of something. Anyway, we have time now; you're staying for a little while ... aren't you?" he asked anxiously. He had no idea how long Amyntor was visiting.
"Two weeks," Hephaestion answered.
"Well, that's plenty of time!" Alexander exclaimed, though it immediately struck him that two weeks could never be enough - not two years, not twenty! He sobered. "Besides, you've already done something for me, far better than any old present. I'd probably be with the surgeons right now if it weren't for you."
"I don't know if I did that much," Hephaestion protested. "Anyway, I should thank you, for ... for believing me."
Alexander suddenly felt that he could not smile wide enough. But before he could say anything, Hephaestion continued, "It was luck, really. Bucephalus swerved just in time. He's really remarkable; all those stories about him aren't exaggerating!"
Alexander's brows rose. "Your horse is hardly any less impressive! Never mind the race; just watching the show, I could tell ..." He paused, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say. "Well, just for example, there was a moment - just before you caught the staff - even I could hear the ribbons fluttering, but your stallion galloped right on. There are cavalry horses that shy more easily than he does!" He shook his head. "I suppose, having watched you ride, I shouldn't have been so surprised, but I couldn't believe it when you tried to change Bucephalus' course! There was hardly any space to maneuver. What made you think to cut across?"
"I called a warning, but that didn't do any good. Blocking the way was the first thing that came to mind ..." Hephaestion shrugged self-consciously. "Thank the gods it worked, but once you turned aside, you headed straight toward the middle gap, the highest jump! And you didn't look like you were going to stop, or swerve, or pull up - not for anything."
Alexander just looked at him. Then he grinned, seeming for all the world as if he had just been paid a grand compliment.
"No. I wasn't," he agreed. His eyes gleamed. "Perhaps ... it was rather insane, after all."
Hephaestion caught his breath. There had been so many turnarounds today, he would not be surprised at another.
But Alexander had said it so lightly, and a smile still played at his lips.
"Well," Hephaestion ventured, "I'm the one who tried to block a prince's way. And I followed you right through that gap. So I suppose ... you can count me crazy, too."
They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they both grinned.
Suddenly Bucephalus nudged Alexander's shoulder, as if wishing to share the jest. Alexander chuckled. "Bucephalus, I'd like you to meet Hephaestion."
Hephaestion laughed, finally at ease. He mock-saluted roguishly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance!" Bucephalus answered with a majestic nod.
Hephaestion guided his own horse forward. "This is ... my stallion."
"What's his name?" asked Alexander.
"He ... doesn't have one yet," Hephaestion admitted.
Alexander blinked. "Why not?"
"My father's horses are trained for other men. Aristomedes doesn't bother to name them all."
"But he is yours, isn't he?" Alexander demanded indignantly.
Hephaestion nodded. "Just a few days ago, my father suddenly told me I could keep him. Aristomedes once said that he's fit for the greatest of lords; the least I can do is give him a worthy name. But we were busy preparing for this visit, so I haven't chosen a proper name yet." He grinned as Alexander tentatively reached a hand toward the stallion's nose. "Go on, he won't bite."
Alexander smiled as he gazed up at the horse's eyes. "I know he won't."
The stallion sniffed experimentally at Alexander's hand. Bucephalus snorted in a friendly fashion; the other horse's ears turned forward, listening. Then Hephaestion murmured something softly. With a gentle whicker, the stallion lowered its head next to Alexander.
Alexander delightedly took up the invitation, patting its sleek, strong neck. "He's wonderful ... The first time one of our grooms approached Bucephalus, he nearly kicked down a fence before I could calm him! But I think your stallion feels safe, with you beside him." His voice softened. "You've trained with him a long time, haven't you? He belongs with you. I've only had Bucephalus a few months, but I wouldn't let anyone take him from me, not for a fortune! To think I might have lost him today ..." He suppressed a shudder. "It would be a shame to part the two of you!"
"That's what Aristomedes said," Hephaestion smiled, "though not half as emphatically as you!"
Alexander stroked the stallion's feathery mane in admiration. "He's so fast, he could have been sired by Zephyr," he sighed. Just like Achilles' horses -
"Like Xanthus and Balius?" Hephaestion grinned. "No. Pedasos, at best - on a good day."
Abruptly Alexander turned, staring at Hephaestion.
In all of Homer's verse, there were but a few lines devoted to Achilles' stallions. Xanthus and Balius, divine sons of Zephyr, who wept when Patroclus died. And Pedasos, mortal - but able to run at their pace, yoked by Achilles as a trace horse beside them, to steady them and keep their chariot on course.
Other boys had trouble recalling the best warriors' names. Most never bothered about other soldiers, never mind their horses.
Yet Hephaestion knew. And his horse seemed tended with as much care as if it were a mythical steed. In the afternoon light the white stallion's coat shimmered, like clouds, sunlit, wind-driven, racing toward distant mountaintops.
Alexander felt curiously light.
"Pegasus!" he murmured, not caring that he had just elevated the stallion's status even more, from son of the West Wind to progeny of Poseidon Earth-shaker himself.
Hephaestion was about to laugh; he and his horse understood each other well, but Hephaestion also knew every laborious hour, every dusty tumble and bruised shin that had built that understanding. Alexander's stallion had understood him within a matter of minutes - Bucephalus, really, was more likely the offspring of some god.
But Alexander looked so serious. Despite himself, Hephaestion felt strangely moved.
"Pegasus, then." He bowed his head solemnly. "For the honor of the name, I thank you."
Alexander inclined his own head, and smiled.
Bucephalus had remained quiet, sensing that the boys' attention was occupied. But finally he grew impatient. Besides, what he wanted was not with his own little rider. He stepped past Alexander to prod at the other boy.
"Oh!" Hephaestion exclaimed. "Well, perhaps we can't exchange gifts, but you've given my horse a name. And I do have something I could give, after a fashion, to Bucephalus. I suppose he knows already." He chuckled as the stallion nudged him more forcefully, and reached toward the satchel at his side. "It's not much," he said, suddenly hesitant, "but ... here."
Despite Bucephalus' forwardness, he knew how skittish the stallion was. So instead of giving it directly to Bucephalus, he offered the apple to Alexander.
An apple with red and gold streaks. Just the kind Bucephalus liked best.
Alexander stared at it. Then, very slowly, he lifted his gaze to Hephaestion, grave with wonder.
Hephaestion shifted uneasily. Was the prince offended? Ridiculous, really, to offer an apple to a prince ...
But then, Alexander slowly raised his hand to Hephaestion's, and accepted the apple. "It's perfect," he breathed.
He contemplated it, holding it close, like some great treasure. Then, with a glowing smile, he handed it back. "You give it to him."
Hephaestion instinctively did so, but it was Alexander who held his attention. For his part, Alexander watched his horse, quiet and pensive while Bucephalus crunched the apple down and nudged Hephaestion again, gently this time, as if in thanks.
"He's never taken to anyone like this before," Alexander murmured. "It's strange, and unexpected - but wonderful, too. Don't you see?" He turned his gaze back to Hephaestion, earnestly, solemnly. "He trusts you."
Hephaestion stared, amazed.
Normally he would never imagine speaking such words, but somehow he sensed that Alexander would not mind. A wry smile tugged at his lips. "You're not exactly ... what I expected, for a prince."
Alexander blinked. "And you're not what I expected either, for ..." He struggled to explain. "For another son, of yet another of my father's friends."
But Hephaestion grinned, understanding perfectly.
Alexander beamed back.
* * * * *
"There you are, Alexander!"
Alexander turned; his friends (including quite a few of those sons of his father's friends) were tumbling up, along with Cleitus and Craterus. Cleitus clapped a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "That was quite a competition!"
"Congratulations, Alexander!" Nicanor and Hector chorused. "And congratulations to you, too -" Suddenly, the boys broke off in dismay.
Hector was the first to overcome his uncertainty. "I'm sorry, but you have a very strange name, you know!"
"Is it a family name?" asked Nicanor.
"Or were you named after the god of the forge?" inquired Hector.
"And how would you spell it anyway?" Nicanor exclaimed.
The others chuckled. The boys reddened; quickly they glanced at Alexander, wondering if they had been rude. Alexander was not irritated, but he did turn a half-apologetic look toward Hephaestion.
To their delight, Hephaestion gave the boys a small, surprised smile, and spelled his name without any sign of being offended. "And you're right on both guesses as to its origin - " he paused, waiting for the boys' names.
"I'm Hector!"
"And I'm Nicanor!"
Hephaestion nodded. "Thank you very much for your congratulations, Hector, Nicanor," he said, impressing them even more for addressing them with sincere courtesy, just as if they were every bit as big as their older brothers.
Alexander smiled as the boys' faces lit up, but he noticed that Hephaestion seemed slightly on guard again, here among all these older youths. And it was no wonder, with Cassander glaring so sullenly, for one ...
"Alexander," Harpalus piped up, "aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend here?"
Alexander grinned. An introduction was just the thing, with all of them here right now. "Well, this is Hephaestion, son of Amyntor. Hephaestion, this is ... everybody." Amid hearty laughter, Alexander continued, naming them one by one.
These, then, were some of the peers whom Hephaestion would join in the Macedonian court. Hephaestion stored the names away carefully. Craterus, an officer, who seemed rather stiffly formal - looking at Alexander rather than at Hephaestion as he muttered a very brief greeting. Cleitus, another officer, who cheerily clapped Hephaestion on the back so hard that he was almost too busy keeping his balance to hear the man's congratulations on his horsemanship, while several others nodded - in agreement. Cassander, Nicanor's older brother, though quite his opposite in demeanor, just as Hector was so different from his older brother, Philotas, the commander of the guards. Ptolemy, Nearchus, and Harpalus - all looked quite sharp, each in his own way. Perdiccas and Seleucus appeared more relaxed, while Leonnatus was nearly as enthusiastic as Hector and Nicanor.
"You've lingered here a while, Alexander," Harpalus remarked. "We thought you might've taken Bucephalus back to the stables."
"I think he completely forgot the rest of us, having found such a wonderful new friend," Cassander retorted. He turned away sharply. "Well, I'm off. Father wants me to prepare for the banquet tonight, as befits a general's son. Come along, Nicanor!"
Nicanor's face fell. "It's not for a long time! I want to stay!"
"Fine! Don't come whining to me when our parents scold you for loitering!"
"Oh, leave off," Ptolemy said. "Just tell them he's with Alexander."
Cassander scowled. Unable to stare down Ptolemy, he gave the new boy a scathing glare. "What are you looking at?" He stalked off, muttering something about busybody Athenians.
Hephaestion just looked on curiously as he departed, but Alexander frowned. Fortunately, Perdiccas spoke up. "Don't worry about him."
"Cassander's usually like that," Seleucus added.
"Really? You mean he wasn't trying to make a good impression just now?" Hephaestion made a funny face, belying the mischief behind the words. Alexander forgot his irritation, joining in the others' laughter.
"Actually that's about as polite as he'll get!" crowed Leonnatus.
"Well, boys, seems like it's left to you to show our guest a better example of Macedon's finest citizens," Cleitus smirked. "Though I'm not sure you're up to it, even if you pooled all your manners together!"
"Are they to take you as the example, then?" Craterus inquired dryly.
"May all the gods forbid!" Cleitus laughed. "I intend to be on my worst behavior at tonight's feast, for example."
"Speaking of the feast, you'll be there, right?" Harpalus asked Hephaestion. "Everyone who's anyone will be attending."
"Meantime, we can take you to see our marketplace," Seleucus suggested. "It might not be as big as those in Athens, but I daresay it has things Athens doesn't - even trinkets from lands beyond Persia sometimes!"
"We can visit the gymnasium first!" Leonnatus grinned.
"You spend enough time there, Leonnatus!" Ptolemy chuckled. "What about the library?"
They kept arguing - armory, stables, palace, even just strolling through the city. Hephaestion listened with growing enthusiasm. Whatever bad blood there was between Athens and Macedon, they seemed to care little enough about it to give him a chance as an individual.
Through the clamor of voices, Alexander came forward. "Actually, Hephaestion, there is a place I would like to show you."
He had spoken quietly, but his expression held something intense.
Hephaestion smiled. "Where?" he asked, just as quietly.
Alexander beamed. "Come! We're going for another ride!"
The companions realized Alexander's intention.
"We just went for a ride yesterday!" protested Leonnatus. "And you rode even farther than the rest of us!"
"People are already going home to get ready for the feast," Nearchus remarked.
Craterus frowned. "Your parents will want you to prepare somewhat for it, won't they?"
Alexander looked back, but made ready to mount Bucephalus. "Everything will be fine," he insisted.
"You can go and still make it back in time," Cleitus winked, "especially with such fast horses." Hector and Nicanor cheered.
Ptolemy shrugged. "At least consider your guest, Alexander. He's been riding all afternoon, and he might want a rest."
At that, Alexander finally hesitated.
But then came Hephaestion's voice, eager and bright and quite the opposite of tired; he and Pegasus were already trotting toward the gate. "Come on, Prince Alexander! Which way are we going?"
Alexander laughed and swung astride Bucephalus. "See? We'll be perfectly fine!" he called to the companions, and urged Bucephalus forward. "Just call me Alexander, Hephaestion; all my friends do! -"
Epilogue
So the two of them rode out together, galloping through the green field and beyond.
Euthymius came by, deep in conversation with Aristomedes about the ideals upheld in Xenophon's treatise. He had intended to take Bucephalus back to the stables, expecting the prince to have more important business, but both men stopped short as Alexander and Hephaestion dashed by on their steeds, waving excitedly to them on their way out the gate.
To the companions' amazement, Euthymius sniffled.
However, Aristomedes seemed to understand, and patted his shoulder sympathetically. Yet Euthymius could only rub a brawny hand against his eyes and hiccup. When Cleitus asked what was wrong, it was too much; he bawled out something garbled about how marvelous it was to see two such fine youths riding two such fine, fine horses. Look, he cried, how the sunlight glistens on the steeds' marvelous coats, one cloud-white, the other jet black; how it crowns the boy's heads, one in burnished bronze, and the other in gleaming gold. Such opposites, and yet such parallels. What a beautiful sight it is!
The companions made sure to tell Alexander, that very night at the feast, about their gruff old Euthymius bursting into tears of sheer admiration and spouting lines quite akin to poetry - as well as the incident at the stables, where their new friend had charmed apples from the very same cantankerous stable master.
But even though they laughed, they had to agree as Aristomedes sighed and echoed Euthymius' sentiments. What a magnificent image they make - almost as if those splendid steeds are divine stallions, bearing a pair of young heroes straight from the legends of old!
Of course, unlike the story of Alexander's meeting with Bucephalus, this tale has not been passed down through the ages. Those who wrote the histories had other things to glorify, their own stories to tell, their own legends to pass on.
However, Alexander and Hephaestion cared little about such things, especially at that young age, and reveled instead in the joy of the moment. As for the rest of that day, suffice it to say that Alexander rode again to that flowering valley with Hephaestion at his side - and that this time, once there, he did not stop. On that long, sunny day amid the bounty of the earth, they rode together onward, eastward.
(With their spirits so high, they felt like they could ride on forever - but, being the wonderful sons and responsible young men they were, they returned to the palace just in time for the feast. They arrived at the great hall squeaky clean and "properly" decked out, too, in fine, rich clothes that showed no hint of all the forestry they had crashed through in their explorations that afternoon. No one found anything in their appearance to complain about. Not even Queen Olympias.)
And of course, this was only the beginning!