Alexander the Great story: Love Letters by Moon71
LOVE LETTERS by Moon71
Chapter 7: Alexander is still worrying over his troubled relationship with Hephaestion, but it begins to looks as though Hephaestion has finally run out of patience and turned to another. To whom can Alexander turn for comfort?
NOTES: Thank you once again to all my loyal readers. I finally have a new computer!!! So things should be smoother from now on. I think. There may be a bit of a gap between this chapter and the next, mainly because I'm rewriting the next bit which I never liked very much. But to make up for it, here is a relatively long instalment with a scene I'm very fond of.
Why do so many of the great philosophers seem to look down upon physical love? Why do they rate it so far below spiritual love? I do not, cannot understand it! Why should desire ruin everything when two people desire each other equally? When they love each other?
Achilles loved Patroklos and was loved by him. Even sleeping with women in the same tent didn't come between them! Orestes loved Pylades; Apollo loved Hyacinthus; even mighty Zeus loved Ganymede! And Heracles… how many boys, how many women, did he love? Yet when he died he was made a god. Are we wiser than the gods?
Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, is the daughter of Zeus! Why do we worship her, why her son Eros, if physical love is so shameful? Is Athene the eternal virgin better than Aphrodite the lover? I know she sided with the Greeks against the Trojans and protected Achilles; I know my family have always worshipped her as the patroness of Athens, but from today I am going to worship Aphrodite and Eros together! I will pray to them! Pray for them to open your eyes and mind and heart to me, to all the secrets of my love I long to share with you…
He lay awake, watching the early sunlight filtering through the shutters. His head ached and he was exhausted; he had not slept at all, had not even been able to close his eyes, simply lying there staring at the ceiling. Reluctantly he turned his head and looked across to Hephaestion's bed. He could have thrown out his arm and touched it, but suddenly it seemed miles out of his reach. He did not even have the urge to cross over to it, to climb into it and at least pretend Hephaestion still loved him as exclusively and innocently as he once had.
Oh my beloved.
The words he had seen on Hephaestion's letter tormented him.
Who was it? One of the other students?
I wouldn't scream for help if Hephaestion climbed into my bed!
Was it that Andromachus?
As Alexander gazed across the gulf between them, he had a strong sense that Hephaestion wasn't sleeping either. Just as he was about to look away again, Hephaestion suddenly sat up and threw off the covers. Alexander's breath caught, half wishing, half dreading that Hephaestion was coming to him.
Hephaestion slid out of bed, moving with the silent stealth of a hunter… or a thief. Pulling on his chiton and throwing a cloak over his shoulders, he slowly unbolted the door and slipped out.
I caught him at it in the bath house…
Barely knowing what he was doing, Alexander sprang up, dressed and followed him, stepping across the cold courtyard and onto the dewy grass. There, on the far side of the low wall, a tall figure paced restlessly. In the dim light Alexander made out the features of the handsome young man he had seen Hephaestion talking to back in the spring, the one who had lingered, gazing wistfully after Hephaestion when Alexander had come to claim him. When Alexander had kissed him. Not the first time he had ever kissed him, of course. But the first time he had kissed him… like a lover.
As Hephaestion reached him, the young man - could this be Andromachus? - grinned and put his arm about Hephaestion's shoulders, talking to him too softly for Alexander to catch his words. A moment later they had disappeared into the woodlands.
A sick panic rose in Alexander's throat. He struggled to breathe.
This would not do. He had to master himself. Old Leonidas was right about him - he was weak; he needed to grow stronger, to rely on no-one but himself. There was no-one out there who truly understood him; he had been naïve to think Hephaestion really did. Love was just one more luxury he would have to learn to live without. He would throw himself into his studies. He would drill his body twice as hard, practice going longer and longer without sleep, eat only half of what they put on his plate at dinner. He would become invulnerable, just like Achilles. And unlike Achilles he would not have a weak spot - that had been Hephaestion, and he would learn to manage without him.
Yet at that moment he felt he could not stand a moment longer within the realm of Mieza, the place he had once thought of as an earthly paradise, away from the Court, surrounded only by learned men and other boys; with Hephaestion sharing his room, absolutely his, ready to talk, to listen, to give comfort, whatever Alexander needed, whenever he needed it, and no-one to come between them. He had to get away before it drove him mad.
"Alexander! Oh, my sweet little Alexander!" Hellanike threw her arms about him and smothered him in kisses, sitting him down at her table and rapidly producing sweet wine and honey-cakes. "What a wicked boy you are, to keep away from your old nurse for so long! I know how you boys are - you think you're too grown up to have anything to do with women who aren't young and pretty!"
Guiltily he had to admit to himself that he had rather been avoiding her; she had a habit of treating him as if he was still in the nursery and he dreaded meeting her in the company of his peers. But when he had arrived in Pella after his frantic ride - he might almost have said escape - from Mieza, he had not known who else to turn to.
His father, on the remote chance he might even be free to talk to him, would surely regard him as an unnatural sissy for panicking at the thought of Hephaestion wanting to bed him, let alone standing by while another claimed his prize. His mother would take it as proof that Hephaestion had never been good enough for him and then probably decided that it was really all for the best, as Alexander should learn not to rely on anyone as much as he relied on Hephaestion and remind him that she was the only person who he could really trust.
Nor could not bear to confide in his dear old Lysimachus - how could he confess to his beloved "Phoenix" that Achilles had been abandoned by his Patroklos? Alexander had winced at the memory of running to his old tutor in a rush of childish delight some months after meeting Hephaestion, to tell him he had found his Patroklos at last. How wrong had he been?
"Do you know, I believe you've grown almost six inches since I last saw you? And you've put on weight, Zeus bless you! I knew you'd shoot up just fine when you got away from that horrible old Leonidas! Young sprouts don't grow unless you feed and water them, that's what I said to Cleitus, of course he just laughed at me, but what do men know about raising children…?"
Alexander was about to protest that Leonidas' Spartan-like regime was designed to strengthen him, but then he realised he had emptied his plate of the small, sweet cakes in a fashion which was hardlyself-denying.
He had just taken a large gulp of the sweet wine as Hellanike suddenly asked, "how is your dear little friend, now? I hear he's grown very tall and handsome, just like his father! Oh dear!" suddenly she giggled like a girl, her cheeks flushing bright pink. "I had quite an awful crush on Amyntor son of Demetrius when he first arrived at Court! He was so handsome, and with such sophisticated Athenian ways… Cleitus used to tease me about it, then say most Athenians were frauds and poseurs relying on their nice Greek accents and their reputation for cleverness to impress silly Macedonian girls like me! Why, Alexander," she cried as she turned to look at him, "whatever is the matter, my love?"
Alexander could feel his own face burning now; tears were stinging mercilessly at the back of his eyes and choking up his throat. "Hephaestion…" his voice came only as a pathetic whimper, but he could not help it, "Hephaestion doesn't… Hephaestion isn't my friend anymore!"
"Oh, Alexander, I'm sorry…" He had half expected Hellanike to run over and to clutch him to her bosom; to coo and soothe and gently scold that he was being a big silly; that little boys had their tiffs and they'd make it up and all would be better before he knew it. But instead she rose only to refill his glass before sitting back down opposite and watching him with dark eyes full of pity. Suddenly she was not a nurse with her overgrown charge, she was a woman, younger than he usually thought her but old in experience, perfectly aware of the senseless cruelties of the fates.
"You - you don't sound surprised," Alexander mumbled, swallowing more wine in the hope of quelling his tears.
Lanike shrugged. "These things happen, my dear one… friends you think will be at your side forever… just change, when they grow from children to adults. It happens to us all, but most of all to young Princes like you… of course many will want to be your friend because you're a prince, but others… well… they don't like it… having to share your friendship, cope with gossip and jealousy… oh yes, I hear it all, even what Cleitos doesn't think fit for the ears of gossipy women! There isn't a nobleman in Macedon with a boy - or a girl - close to your age who doesn't resent Amyntor just a little for breezing in from Athens and letting his handsome son push his way to the front of the queue!"
"Hephaestion's not…" Alexander began to protest in spite of himself.
"I know, my love, I know," Hellanike smiled gently, "but you know how people are. But don't you distress yourself over it! Just think! You're growing up so fast! You're very nearly a man! Before long you'll be a soldier! And then you'll marry, and have children… the Gods willing, I might even be nurse to them…!"
"I don't want to grow up!" Alexander spluttered, "I hate being a man, I hate everything about it! I want everything to be the way it was! I want Hephaestion to… to…" Ashamed of his weakness, his buried his face in his hands and wept miserably.
"There, there," clucked Lanike, at last behaving the way she should, pulling him close to her and rocking him tenderly. "This isn't like my Alexander, who couldn't wait to get out the nursery and get hold of a sword! Why, you couldn't grow up fast enough! Remember how you raged when the King wouldn't take you on campaign? You won't feel like this for long; you're just at an awkward age, we all go through it, even me…!" Suddenly she stifled a giggle, drawing back and wiping Alexander's tears away with the palms of her hands. "Even Cleitos!"
A convulsive giggle broke from Alexander. "…Cleitos…?"
"Oh, you have no idea… when he was only thirteen he fell in love with…" Hellanike shook her head. "No, I mustn't, I still feel awful for mocking him about it at the time, but he was such big bully; do you know, when I was first chosen to be your nurse, the great oaf thought it would be the funniest prank to snatch you out of your cradle and hide you in the stables… as quiet as a thief in the night he was; I was napping right beside you and I didn't hear at thing! He'd even kept you quiet - so he bragged to me later - by coating his fingers in honey and letting you suck them!"
"I sucked Cleitos's fingers?! Ughh!"
"Well, you had your revenge, my love - he didn't know you were cutting teeth! I made him show me the bite marks afterwards… but oh, how I wish I'd woken up to see his face when you clamped down on him and he couldn't make you let go for fear of setting you howling! But bitten or not, he got clean away with you and hid you in the stables... and you should have heard me screaming when I woke up and found you gone…"
"So what happened? Did he get away with it...?"
"Doesn't he always? Well, let me tell you..."
Resting his head against her shoulder, sipping his wine and listening to the stories she told with her enchantingly self-deprecating humour, Alexander let himself get lost, at least for a few hours, in the childhood he had only one season ago been so impatient to leave behind.
He had hardly expected to find Hephaestion in his room when he got back, but there he was bent over his desk, no doubt writing another of those cursed letters. Alexander was thrown by the rush of bitter hatred he felt as he stared at his friend's back; seeing him brought all sorts of ugly thoughts and images he had put aside while with Hellanike, and suddenly he felt every drop of the wine he had drunk.
No doubt Hephaestion was writing to Andromachus - big, handsome, manly Andromachus - telling him how much he had enjoyed satisfying his grotesque desires. The thought of that man, of any man putting his sweaty paws on Hephaestion's pure, beautiful body sickened Alexander and - even worse, the last emotion he wanted - filled him with jealousy. It was more than the thought of someone else claiming Hephaestion's love, it was the thought of someone claiming Hephaestion himself, of knowing more of Hephaestion than Alexander ever would.
He had not wanted to know his friend that way, he knew that; he had decided that. Let someone else have the part of Hephaestion that was so unimportant to him! But thoughts plagued him of Andromachus manhandling Hephaestion's most intimate parts, bruising his tender limbs, roughly kissing his sweet lips…
Andromachus, who was undoubtedly some crude boor, who could never treat Hephaestion's body with the reverence and love Alexander would have…
Would have if he had wanted to, which he didn't…
And Hephaestion, responding to the man's brutish advances, laughing in ecstasy… showing that lecher a side to him that Alexander had never seen…
That Alexander had chosen never to see!
Enjoying a particular happiness that Alexander had not given him…
A cheap, low, worthless happiness that Alexander chose not to give him!
Enjoying any happiness that Alexander had no part in…
Damn Hephaestion for throwing his virtue away like some kitchen boy! He should had more respect for himself, if for no other reason than because Alexander loved him! Didn't that mean anything to him?
Then the reality of what must have happened that morning really struck him. Hephaestion had done something that Alexander had not done, with someone other than Alexander. Hephaestion had taken a step into manhood without him.
That morning Hephaestion had surely taken Andromachus as his lover. He had taken a lover. There could only be one first time for it, and Hephaestion had just had his. And no matter how what happened between the two of them now, even if Alexander suddenly changed his mind and wanted to be with him in that way, he would never be the first.
Well it didn't matter. Who cared about such things? If his parents had had their way, Alexander's first time would have been with some high-class whore who, if rumours were true, his father had enjoyed in his place. Your wife, your best friend, your erastes; elegant hetaerae, common market-place whores, maidservants or kitchen boys. Sex was just sex and it didn't matter who you had it with. Hephaestion had just proved that, hadn't he? He was just like all the other boys and men in Macedon and maybe he always had been; maybe it was only it was only Alexander's love that had made him seem special…
Then Hephaestion turned around and Alexander froze. His friend's face might have been a mirror for his own, his normally bronze skin was pale and blotchy and his eyes were red-rimmed. He looked so pathetic that Alexander simply didn't have the heart to challenge him. Did he hurt you? he had the urge to demand, if he dared to force himself on you I'll have his throat cut, I'll have him crucified, I'll -
Then Hephaestion looked at him with such hard, unapproachable bitterness that he no longer knew what to say, or even what to feel. A small, spiteful part of him was actually relieved that Hephaestion looked so dispirited; hoped he had done it and hated it and now would be grateful to return to Alexander's chaste loving. But then a new thought poured cold water on the heat of his malice; if Hephaestion, who wanted it so much, found it awful, how dreadful it must really be! And for just a moment, Alexander felt a stab of disappointment.
With a deep, shuddering sigh, Hephaestion rolled up the paper he had been writing on and thrust it into his trunk before throwing himself down onto his bed and covering his face with his pillow. Sitting down on his own bed, Alexander stared for a very long time at the trunk's wooden frame, at its heavy lid, at the brass lock that Hephaestion had forgotten to fasten.
Chapter 7: Alexander is still worrying over his troubled relationship with Hephaestion, but it begins to looks as though Hephaestion has finally run out of patience and turned to another. To whom can Alexander turn for comfort?
NOTES: Thank you once again to all my loyal readers. I finally have a new computer!!! So things should be smoother from now on. I think. There may be a bit of a gap between this chapter and the next, mainly because I'm rewriting the next bit which I never liked very much. But to make up for it, here is a relatively long instalment with a scene I'm very fond of.
Why do so many of the great philosophers seem to look down upon physical love? Why do they rate it so far below spiritual love? I do not, cannot understand it! Why should desire ruin everything when two people desire each other equally? When they love each other?
Achilles loved Patroklos and was loved by him. Even sleeping with women in the same tent didn't come between them! Orestes loved Pylades; Apollo loved Hyacinthus; even mighty Zeus loved Ganymede! And Heracles… how many boys, how many women, did he love? Yet when he died he was made a god. Are we wiser than the gods?
Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, is the daughter of Zeus! Why do we worship her, why her son Eros, if physical love is so shameful? Is Athene the eternal virgin better than Aphrodite the lover? I know she sided with the Greeks against the Trojans and protected Achilles; I know my family have always worshipped her as the patroness of Athens, but from today I am going to worship Aphrodite and Eros together! I will pray to them! Pray for them to open your eyes and mind and heart to me, to all the secrets of my love I long to share with you…
He lay awake, watching the early sunlight filtering through the shutters. His head ached and he was exhausted; he had not slept at all, had not even been able to close his eyes, simply lying there staring at the ceiling. Reluctantly he turned his head and looked across to Hephaestion's bed. He could have thrown out his arm and touched it, but suddenly it seemed miles out of his reach. He did not even have the urge to cross over to it, to climb into it and at least pretend Hephaestion still loved him as exclusively and innocently as he once had.
Oh my beloved.
The words he had seen on Hephaestion's letter tormented him.
Who was it? One of the other students?
I wouldn't scream for help if Hephaestion climbed into my bed!
Was it that Andromachus?
As Alexander gazed across the gulf between them, he had a strong sense that Hephaestion wasn't sleeping either. Just as he was about to look away again, Hephaestion suddenly sat up and threw off the covers. Alexander's breath caught, half wishing, half dreading that Hephaestion was coming to him.
Hephaestion slid out of bed, moving with the silent stealth of a hunter… or a thief. Pulling on his chiton and throwing a cloak over his shoulders, he slowly unbolted the door and slipped out.
I caught him at it in the bath house…
Barely knowing what he was doing, Alexander sprang up, dressed and followed him, stepping across the cold courtyard and onto the dewy grass. There, on the far side of the low wall, a tall figure paced restlessly. In the dim light Alexander made out the features of the handsome young man he had seen Hephaestion talking to back in the spring, the one who had lingered, gazing wistfully after Hephaestion when Alexander had come to claim him. When Alexander had kissed him. Not the first time he had ever kissed him, of course. But the first time he had kissed him… like a lover.
As Hephaestion reached him, the young man - could this be Andromachus? - grinned and put his arm about Hephaestion's shoulders, talking to him too softly for Alexander to catch his words. A moment later they had disappeared into the woodlands.
A sick panic rose in Alexander's throat. He struggled to breathe.
This would not do. He had to master himself. Old Leonidas was right about him - he was weak; he needed to grow stronger, to rely on no-one but himself. There was no-one out there who truly understood him; he had been naïve to think Hephaestion really did. Love was just one more luxury he would have to learn to live without. He would throw himself into his studies. He would drill his body twice as hard, practice going longer and longer without sleep, eat only half of what they put on his plate at dinner. He would become invulnerable, just like Achilles. And unlike Achilles he would not have a weak spot - that had been Hephaestion, and he would learn to manage without him.
Yet at that moment he felt he could not stand a moment longer within the realm of Mieza, the place he had once thought of as an earthly paradise, away from the Court, surrounded only by learned men and other boys; with Hephaestion sharing his room, absolutely his, ready to talk, to listen, to give comfort, whatever Alexander needed, whenever he needed it, and no-one to come between them. He had to get away before it drove him mad.
"Alexander! Oh, my sweet little Alexander!" Hellanike threw her arms about him and smothered him in kisses, sitting him down at her table and rapidly producing sweet wine and honey-cakes. "What a wicked boy you are, to keep away from your old nurse for so long! I know how you boys are - you think you're too grown up to have anything to do with women who aren't young and pretty!"
Guiltily he had to admit to himself that he had rather been avoiding her; she had a habit of treating him as if he was still in the nursery and he dreaded meeting her in the company of his peers. But when he had arrived in Pella after his frantic ride - he might almost have said escape - from Mieza, he had not known who else to turn to.
His father, on the remote chance he might even be free to talk to him, would surely regard him as an unnatural sissy for panicking at the thought of Hephaestion wanting to bed him, let alone standing by while another claimed his prize. His mother would take it as proof that Hephaestion had never been good enough for him and then probably decided that it was really all for the best, as Alexander should learn not to rely on anyone as much as he relied on Hephaestion and remind him that she was the only person who he could really trust.
Nor could not bear to confide in his dear old Lysimachus - how could he confess to his beloved "Phoenix" that Achilles had been abandoned by his Patroklos? Alexander had winced at the memory of running to his old tutor in a rush of childish delight some months after meeting Hephaestion, to tell him he had found his Patroklos at last. How wrong had he been?
"Do you know, I believe you've grown almost six inches since I last saw you? And you've put on weight, Zeus bless you! I knew you'd shoot up just fine when you got away from that horrible old Leonidas! Young sprouts don't grow unless you feed and water them, that's what I said to Cleitus, of course he just laughed at me, but what do men know about raising children…?"
Alexander was about to protest that Leonidas' Spartan-like regime was designed to strengthen him, but then he realised he had emptied his plate of the small, sweet cakes in a fashion which was hardlyself-denying.
He had just taken a large gulp of the sweet wine as Hellanike suddenly asked, "how is your dear little friend, now? I hear he's grown very tall and handsome, just like his father! Oh dear!" suddenly she giggled like a girl, her cheeks flushing bright pink. "I had quite an awful crush on Amyntor son of Demetrius when he first arrived at Court! He was so handsome, and with such sophisticated Athenian ways… Cleitus used to tease me about it, then say most Athenians were frauds and poseurs relying on their nice Greek accents and their reputation for cleverness to impress silly Macedonian girls like me! Why, Alexander," she cried as she turned to look at him, "whatever is the matter, my love?"
Alexander could feel his own face burning now; tears were stinging mercilessly at the back of his eyes and choking up his throat. "Hephaestion…" his voice came only as a pathetic whimper, but he could not help it, "Hephaestion doesn't… Hephaestion isn't my friend anymore!"
"Oh, Alexander, I'm sorry…" He had half expected Hellanike to run over and to clutch him to her bosom; to coo and soothe and gently scold that he was being a big silly; that little boys had their tiffs and they'd make it up and all would be better before he knew it. But instead she rose only to refill his glass before sitting back down opposite and watching him with dark eyes full of pity. Suddenly she was not a nurse with her overgrown charge, she was a woman, younger than he usually thought her but old in experience, perfectly aware of the senseless cruelties of the fates.
"You - you don't sound surprised," Alexander mumbled, swallowing more wine in the hope of quelling his tears.
Lanike shrugged. "These things happen, my dear one… friends you think will be at your side forever… just change, when they grow from children to adults. It happens to us all, but most of all to young Princes like you… of course many will want to be your friend because you're a prince, but others… well… they don't like it… having to share your friendship, cope with gossip and jealousy… oh yes, I hear it all, even what Cleitos doesn't think fit for the ears of gossipy women! There isn't a nobleman in Macedon with a boy - or a girl - close to your age who doesn't resent Amyntor just a little for breezing in from Athens and letting his handsome son push his way to the front of the queue!"
"Hephaestion's not…" Alexander began to protest in spite of himself.
"I know, my love, I know," Hellanike smiled gently, "but you know how people are. But don't you distress yourself over it! Just think! You're growing up so fast! You're very nearly a man! Before long you'll be a soldier! And then you'll marry, and have children… the Gods willing, I might even be nurse to them…!"
"I don't want to grow up!" Alexander spluttered, "I hate being a man, I hate everything about it! I want everything to be the way it was! I want Hephaestion to… to…" Ashamed of his weakness, his buried his face in his hands and wept miserably.
"There, there," clucked Lanike, at last behaving the way she should, pulling him close to her and rocking him tenderly. "This isn't like my Alexander, who couldn't wait to get out the nursery and get hold of a sword! Why, you couldn't grow up fast enough! Remember how you raged when the King wouldn't take you on campaign? You won't feel like this for long; you're just at an awkward age, we all go through it, even me…!" Suddenly she stifled a giggle, drawing back and wiping Alexander's tears away with the palms of her hands. "Even Cleitos!"
A convulsive giggle broke from Alexander. "…Cleitos…?"
"Oh, you have no idea… when he was only thirteen he fell in love with…" Hellanike shook her head. "No, I mustn't, I still feel awful for mocking him about it at the time, but he was such big bully; do you know, when I was first chosen to be your nurse, the great oaf thought it would be the funniest prank to snatch you out of your cradle and hide you in the stables… as quiet as a thief in the night he was; I was napping right beside you and I didn't hear at thing! He'd even kept you quiet - so he bragged to me later - by coating his fingers in honey and letting you suck them!"
"I sucked Cleitos's fingers?! Ughh!"
"Well, you had your revenge, my love - he didn't know you were cutting teeth! I made him show me the bite marks afterwards… but oh, how I wish I'd woken up to see his face when you clamped down on him and he couldn't make you let go for fear of setting you howling! But bitten or not, he got clean away with you and hid you in the stables... and you should have heard me screaming when I woke up and found you gone…"
"So what happened? Did he get away with it...?"
"Doesn't he always? Well, let me tell you..."
Resting his head against her shoulder, sipping his wine and listening to the stories she told with her enchantingly self-deprecating humour, Alexander let himself get lost, at least for a few hours, in the childhood he had only one season ago been so impatient to leave behind.
He had hardly expected to find Hephaestion in his room when he got back, but there he was bent over his desk, no doubt writing another of those cursed letters. Alexander was thrown by the rush of bitter hatred he felt as he stared at his friend's back; seeing him brought all sorts of ugly thoughts and images he had put aside while with Hellanike, and suddenly he felt every drop of the wine he had drunk.
No doubt Hephaestion was writing to Andromachus - big, handsome, manly Andromachus - telling him how much he had enjoyed satisfying his grotesque desires. The thought of that man, of any man putting his sweaty paws on Hephaestion's pure, beautiful body sickened Alexander and - even worse, the last emotion he wanted - filled him with jealousy. It was more than the thought of someone else claiming Hephaestion's love, it was the thought of someone claiming Hephaestion himself, of knowing more of Hephaestion than Alexander ever would.
He had not wanted to know his friend that way, he knew that; he had decided that. Let someone else have the part of Hephaestion that was so unimportant to him! But thoughts plagued him of Andromachus manhandling Hephaestion's most intimate parts, bruising his tender limbs, roughly kissing his sweet lips…
Andromachus, who was undoubtedly some crude boor, who could never treat Hephaestion's body with the reverence and love Alexander would have…
Would have if he had wanted to, which he didn't…
And Hephaestion, responding to the man's brutish advances, laughing in ecstasy… showing that lecher a side to him that Alexander had never seen…
That Alexander had chosen never to see!
Enjoying a particular happiness that Alexander had not given him…
A cheap, low, worthless happiness that Alexander chose not to give him!
Enjoying any happiness that Alexander had no part in…
Damn Hephaestion for throwing his virtue away like some kitchen boy! He should had more respect for himself, if for no other reason than because Alexander loved him! Didn't that mean anything to him?
Then the reality of what must have happened that morning really struck him. Hephaestion had done something that Alexander had not done, with someone other than Alexander. Hephaestion had taken a step into manhood without him.
That morning Hephaestion had surely taken Andromachus as his lover. He had taken a lover. There could only be one first time for it, and Hephaestion had just had his. And no matter how what happened between the two of them now, even if Alexander suddenly changed his mind and wanted to be with him in that way, he would never be the first.
Well it didn't matter. Who cared about such things? If his parents had had their way, Alexander's first time would have been with some high-class whore who, if rumours were true, his father had enjoyed in his place. Your wife, your best friend, your erastes; elegant hetaerae, common market-place whores, maidservants or kitchen boys. Sex was just sex and it didn't matter who you had it with. Hephaestion had just proved that, hadn't he? He was just like all the other boys and men in Macedon and maybe he always had been; maybe it was only it was only Alexander's love that had made him seem special…
Then Hephaestion turned around and Alexander froze. His friend's face might have been a mirror for his own, his normally bronze skin was pale and blotchy and his eyes were red-rimmed. He looked so pathetic that Alexander simply didn't have the heart to challenge him. Did he hurt you? he had the urge to demand, if he dared to force himself on you I'll have his throat cut, I'll have him crucified, I'll -
Then Hephaestion looked at him with such hard, unapproachable bitterness that he no longer knew what to say, or even what to feel. A small, spiteful part of him was actually relieved that Hephaestion looked so dispirited; hoped he had done it and hated it and now would be grateful to return to Alexander's chaste loving. But then a new thought poured cold water on the heat of his malice; if Hephaestion, who wanted it so much, found it awful, how dreadful it must really be! And for just a moment, Alexander felt a stab of disappointment.
With a deep, shuddering sigh, Hephaestion rolled up the paper he had been writing on and thrust it into his trunk before throwing himself down onto his bed and covering his face with his pillow. Sitting down on his own bed, Alexander stared for a very long time at the trunk's wooden frame, at its heavy lid, at the brass lock that Hephaestion had forgotten to fasten.